If Western Oklahoma is windy and red-yellow-sandy, Western Oklahoma is lush green and full of trees! Almost no wind, either. I suppose because of the trees. One of the reasons we're moving back to The South is vegetation. We both love the desert, and we agree it has its beauty. However, the stark nakedness of it makes you miss the green after a while.
After several days of driving through the mountainous deserts of Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico, and the semi-desert of Western Oklahoma, we finally saw much longed trees today, almost the entire way into Arkansas, except for the first couple of hours of driving through Oklahoma.
While in the dry, naked Oklahoma, we saw skies of menace which reminded us of Kansas seven years ago, when driving towards Utah. Tornado skies are something else - menacing is an understatement. They are a universe all of their own selves. The little lady at a gas station, sporting a Michigan sweatshirt, congratulated us for getting out of there "before the storm and the gusts start". We were grateful, too. A car is an evil thing to manage when the wind pulls it all directions.
Like a patchwork of American history, Oklahoma is home to many Native tribes. Today we passed through the homes of many Native Nations: Chickasaw, Kickapoo, Seminole, Muskogee (Creek). This is always a rare treat to me, as this, to me, is the real America. It makes me respectful and so grateful that they share their land with us.
As
we approached the Eastern states, even starting yesterday, the
weather has gotten warmer and warmer and more and more humid. It's
strange that most of the trees in Arkansas and for the most part in
Oklahoma, too, have not even turned colors yet – it's past the middle of
October. When is the fall starting here?!
Today,
for the first time, I heard cicadas when we pulled in for the night
in the Little Rock, AR KOA campground. Such a familiar and long
missed sound. So soothing to me … For the first time today, we also
turned on the A/C in the camper, instead of the heater. Yay – we're
in the South! Not our South yet, but it counts.
Driving
today was harder than any other day, and not sure why. The altitude
has gotten lower and lower and the wind died down eventually towards
the end of the day, but the day seemed longer and dragging …
I was so excited to come through Arkansas, the home state of one of my favorite US Presidents (and he is not Republican!). And I was so shocked that even after being through Texas, Arkansas was the first state on this trip to sport a bigger than life "Trump - Make America Great Again" billboard. I was so disappointed, I did not even take a picture. Some things are better to remain uncaptured.
I always thought Arkansas is a poor state. But looking at the lush green highways that remind you of the Rhine Valley, you would not know it. Stepping inside of one of the communities, with broken roads, and missing street signs, with poor gas stations almost cracking from age and humidity, with leaky appliances and toothless attendants remind you that you thought right. People are ever so nice, though, and such nice, yielding drivers, too
Some
camping notes: we see people from all over the country in all these
KOAs we're staying at. Seems like mostly older, retired people and
all states are represented. KOA campgrounds are magical places –
you have running water and electricity just like you would at home.
It's such a treat. Thus, the A/C tonight. Hot shower in our own
private shower, every morning, night lights and a place to charge all
our electronics are some of the luxuries. I sometimes (only
sometimes) I get how people can be into the whole tiny living thing.
We really are missing very little. Well, besides space, of course.
Gypsy-the-Cat
has gotten to have his own routine. He sleeps during our drive in his kennel in my car, and he
comes out to the camper for lunch (midway during the day), then goes
back to snoozing for the remainder of the drive. He mostly sleeps and
eats at night. We found out that even if the litter doesn't smell to
us at all, the ammonia in the litter can set off the carbon monoxide
sensor in the camper (which is 2 feet away from his litter box). Who
knew?!
We also found out that although KOAs may say "full hookups", sometimes, they run out of water. But we have had our emergency supply handy, so we were good. Our neighbors, not so much.
We're
two full days away from our final destination, but having gotten four
of the days behind us feels great, albeit incredibly tiring. I do
believe we will take the first day we get to North Carolina to just
sleep it off … But who knows … “miles to go before I sleep”
yet.
The dark skies before the Oklahoma storm
On the Western (windy and barren) side of Oklahoma, all trees have this shape, because the winds twists them so
If I had a dollar for every truck, billboard, sign I have seen through Oklahoma announcing that this is the land of American beef ... I would make it out OK, I think ...
Oklahoma City skyline. All I could think about driving by it was "The Oklahoma City bomber"
After a looonggg drive for days through the desert of many states we came to this, largest body of water we had seen for a while. I chuckled when I saw the name of the road right past it: it was Lotawatah Road. And this is a true story!
Arkansas is like a perpetual park: I have never seen so many National Parks, National Monuments, State Parks one after another within a short distance like in Arkansas
I could not get enough of these trees!
I never understood this American staple: this is a water park with a giant water slide. They are always, no matter what state, right over the very busy highways! Why some architects deem them picturesque and delightful right next to rush hour traffic is beyond my understanding!
Bridge over the highway in Oklahoma City
What is the first sandwich I make when I get to my camp site in Little Rock, AR with cicadas chanting outside and dripping sweat from too much humidity?! Why, a tomato sandwich, of course. Yes, I am home. Let The South begin!
We left Albuquerque, NM around 10 this morning. Seen from the gallop of the car, Albuquerque reminds me of the "normal" part of Vegas: desert and full of brown stucco homes. Albuquerque is tucked under beautiful tall, steep mountains, almost as steep and as green as the Hawaii mountains.
The Eastern part of New Mexico is a high desert, with very little vegetation, and lots of ups and down. And lots and lots of winds ... And then, we crossed into Texas.
I have sworn that I would never bring myself to the "Great State of Texas", but here I was, willing or not, crossing the Texas panhandle. I had so many preconceived notions about Texas: will there be all cows and cowboys? People carrying guns and chasing everyone everywhere with bad intent in mind?! Will cops stop me just because they are bored and fine me just 'cause? Will there be huge Texas flags with 'Stay out or we shoot you' writing everywhere? Will every gas station sell guns and liquor?! Will Christian billboards take over the entire state?! And so forth.
Well, I still don't know some of the answers to all these preconceived notions and questions, but here's what I found out during our drive of a few hours today: Texas is also very windy. No fun pulling a camper in the high winds, let me tell you. Or let Aa. tell you. We were still in high elevations of 3000 ft or more, although it all seemed flat. The radio spoke about "The High Plains", so I guess that's what the Northern part of Texas is: a high plain. There were farms everywhere, and sometimes, nothing for a long time, and then a farm in the middle of that nothing. All I could think of was that farms here must be thousand of acres wide, because there was literally nothing but a farmhouse, and stables, with cow round-ups adjacent to them ever so often.
I thought Amarillo would be larger than it was. I-40 was lined up by cheesy billboards of all kinds of normal and weird announcements. I will let the pictures speak for themselves on that.
We stopped at this tiny (and I mean minuscule) gas station with ONE pump. The small cottage servicing it screamed 'Texas' (look for the pictures to understand why).
Yes, there was the Texas flag and the Texas Star everywhere they could find a place for them - and this was just what I could see from the speed of driving down the Interstate.
One thing that totally baffled me was that the entire length of the Texas panhandle was literally lined with giant windmills. I was waiting for an end of them, but there was not one. It made me wonder: if Texas gets it, why isn't the entire American wide, un-populated land filled with these beauties, making electricity for all of us?! Not that Texas would be lesser than other states, but they tend to be less ... hip and up on embracing modern technologies than other states. Typically.
In the later afternoon, we crossed into Oklahoma. I swear people who cut up the States at some point paid very close attention to their geography: it seems the states are very carefully cut up to be very distinctive and unique in themselves: as soon as the red rock of Utah ends and the yellow and brown stone starts, Utah turns into Colorado. Such, as soon as the yellow sand of Texas ends, and the red clay and lush green of Oklahoma starts, there you have a new state.
Oklahoma must have some law against the cheesy billboards, because as soon as left Texas, they were gone. The interstate resembled Northern Germany more than South Carolina. The farms were lush and green and very manicured lands, compared to the mish-mash in Texas. The wind was stronger. Well, it IS Oklahoma, you know. The roads are better here, too, than anywhere else we have been in the past two days.
Apart from being windy, the windiest yet, Oklahoma is also the most humid yet. The temperature has been hanging out in the 80's all day here, and it is humid, even now, into the night, with the windows wide open. A sign we're getting closer and closer to The South, I am sure.
We are down for the night in Elk City, OK. Right on the highway, so this will make it for a very windy and noisy (from the traffic) night.
In Tucumcari, NM, we had lunch at Denny's. Our waitress, CC, was blown away that the two sides that came with my tilapia had to be both mashed potatoes. She told me to watch for diabetes.
The smallest gas station in America, probably. Can you tell what state we were in?!
This Oklahoma sunset was greeting us at out campsite when we pulled in tonight.
As I am passing this exist, The Eagles' "Tequila Sunrise" is coming on the radio. True story!
Our ride today was in its entirety on Historic Route 66. We only saw two hitchhikers (a sign that Kerouac's time have changed), but it made me think back of the history, nonetheless. A piece of Americana that I am grateful to say I have partaken in.
Solitary ranch in Texas.
The many tens of miles of Texan windmills - the entire length of the Panhandle, for sure.
I took this for a friend: Adrian, your town in Texas.
The many 'interesting' Texas billboards.
Texas cotton fields.
Texas: where America's burgers come from.
A rushed look at Amarillo.
After watching "Dallas" (the series) as a child, I thought that white split rail fences were invented in Texas. I am still not sure that is the case, but we have seen lots of them today.
Everything is supposed to be bigger in Texas, and this cross is testimony to that. Look at the size of the building next to it!
Almost the first sign of real water for a long, long time now - right as we crossed into Oklahoma.
The red clay of Oklahoma: it is very unique: sort of a copper meets manure shade of red.
Second installment: Eastward Bound: UT to NC – Day One – Moab, UT. Red Rocks (http://wander-world.blogspot.com/2017/10/eastward-bound-ut-to-nc-day-one-moab-ut.html)
I wonder why one needs so many churches in the desert. We drove today from Moab to Albuquerque, NM, in full desert landscape and I have seen no WalMarts, no full service grocery stores, but plenty of churches. I guess you can go hungry and miss basic necessities, as long as your soul is saved. We're definitely not in Mormon Country anymore, as there have been no LDS churches to speak of. "Church of God", "Of Immaculate Conceptions", even a "Stoic Baptist Church", even a "Holy Ghost Recreating Area", but no "Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter Day Saints." You also know you're not in Utah anymore because of all the "Cold Beer" and "Cold Wine" signs on all the gas stations, and because of all the casinos. I suspect gambling is very much legal in New Mexico judging by all the casinos on the way down. I know pot is also legal in New Mexico, because of the "Minerva Cannabis Dispensary" in Bernalillo. Right after leaving Moab, you go past beautiful red rock canyons, still, and the Wilson Arch, magnificent, almost above the highway. Then, right after Monticello, you see so many killed deer on the side of the road you're thinking the old times fur traders are roaming about back in business. Right as you cross the state border into Colorado, the land becomes milder and greener - lots of farmland, very nicely kept. There is only a short distance from Cortez, CO to the border with New Mexico. Once you enter New Mexico, the land becomes desert and empty again, but more yellow than red. We were misinformed some and the trip was much harder than we expected, because the roads were so hilly. I thought the land will slope down right after we leave Utah, but no chance: we were in the 5500+ (all the way to 7000) feet elevation the entire trip. That and the winds were hard on the camper. Native American landmarks swap up with Hispanic names - you cross three major Native reservations (Ute, Navajo and Apache) during this trip, and many other smaller ones. Then, in New Mexico, you run across names like Rio Puerco, Rio Grande, Bernalillo, Sadoval. We walked into a Wendy's for lunch and the place was full of Native people - staff and customers alike. We were definitely out of place. Leonard Cohen was blasting on their radio (or whatever music device they had). This country is so mixed, so diverse, and so gorgeous because of it that it always makes me humble and fortunate to roam it like this. Whoever sees it otherwise are lower than plain stupid. Off we are on our third day today and ready to cross the great state of Texas. Catch with you later on ... PS: Please forgive any and all typos, due to the hardships of writing against the gun of the internet being taken away.
I thought the road sign next to the entering Colorado marker was appropriate: what we have seen of this state in the Four Corners region is nothing but beautiful farmland.
The most majestic Shiprock formation, outside of the town that bears its name, in new Mexico. It looks like a New York skyscraper.
All around Farmington, NM, we saw these gorgeous Native pots.
Wilson Arch, a few miles South of Moab. I love how the rock has little dimples through which the sun pierces.
Hard to believe that we have reached I-40 East which will take us ALL the way to NC! No turns from here on out. Just a straight drive.
This is the map of our journey with the stops on the way. And yes, we are actually going through Texas, which is something I told myself I would never get to do ...
Off
we are truly now on the way to NC. This is the second time I am doing
this trip, between UT and NC, and this is Aa's third time. Today was
our shortest day, a little over 3 hours of driving.
I
drive alone in the car, except for Gypsy-The-Cat, and there is lots
of time to think, reflect and ponder upon everything, really. We have
made the trip between Spanish Fork and Moab numerous times in the
past seven years, so today I had plenty of time to think back of all
the memories. People we took the trip with, spots on the way where we
stopped for lunch, camping, or just to shoot this beautiful place.
Turns in the road off to other places we visited. It's all sad, and
good, and grateful. I keep wondering when I will see these places
again, if ever at all.
It's
a gorgeous time of the year to be making this trip – not too cold
(except for nighttime), not too hot either. Today, we drove East and
South with the sun blinding us the whole time. It's a warm, Indian
summer kind of weather – my absolute favorite. The leaves are not
all the way turned in Moab, but what are, they are screaming yellow.
These
are just a very few of the many pictures I shot while driving behind
our camper, and trying to keep the wheel from throwing me at the
cement walls lining the winding mountain highways.
Our 'Last Supper' last night was Indian food, at Tadka, in Payson. You locals, make sure you keep them in business. Kindest people ever and some of the best food!
Good bye, beautiful rocky cliffs!
Our camper ('The Pup') approaching red rocks.
Entering Moab, one (maybe) last time ...
The desert in the fall.
We made it to our first KOA (ever, together, and on this trip).
Our caravan at our campsite
Our view for lunch, from our camper - towards the rocks of Moab.
In
a long sigh, I am bidding a melancholy 'good bye' to the gorgeous
state that has been our home for the past seven years.
It
feels like an eternity since I wrote this
(http://wander-world.blogspot.com/2010/05/going-west-3.html),
and in some respects it feels like yesterday. In some sort of a weird
transhumance ritual, we came up to the mountains of The West in the
late spring, seven years ago. And now we are going back to lower
ground, in the fall.
We
don't have the three cats anymore, and the Toyota Echo that brought
us across America has long been gone. We have one cat, who is getting
to make the journey back, to his home state of North Carolina. Gypsy
is sixteen and five months. This time, I will drive alone, if you're
not counting Gypsy, and my husband is driving his truck which will be
pulling our camper. Our camper will be our hotel throughout the trip.
We will start the journey back in two days, but I wanted to get this
out there, before my internet dies on us, tomorrow. Tonight is the
last night in this house. It will feel weird, and lonely and empty, I
am sure, but in many ways we have zero regrets, and are so excited
about what lies ahead.
We
have learned and grown beyond measure in the past seven years and we
have seen a part of the world which many millions of people only
dream of seeing. The Rockies have been our back yard, and we have not
taken them for granted even once.
It
it surreal, really – that we are not going to be able to jump in
the truck, hitch the camper and drive to Nebo for the weekend or camp
on the side of the road in Diamond Fork, jump in the Toyota and have
dinner and see a concert in Park City at the end of a busy week.
Surreal that we won't be spending any more weekends at Snowbird in
the summer. But alas, the road is waiting and we must go. New
adventures, new states to see, old friends to visit, and new ones to
make.
I
will try to post a little something every day once we hit the road,
from all of the many stops we'll have across America. This land is
wide open and waiting for us. Till next stop, from yet another state,
perhaps … stay well, all, and for those of you in The West: thank
you for seven years of friendship, neighborly love, and memories. We
will miss you!
Gypsy supervising packing and wondering when are we ready to leave already.
I
started this a few days ago, as I was mentally playing a slideshow of
favorite places I have acquainted with in the past seven years of
living in The American West. It was supposed to be just a few words,
but it took on a life of its own. Hope you have the patience and the
time. Here we are …
If
spring makes my heart sing, fall makes my heart be quiet. And listen.
Listen to the swoosh of the leaves lazily, unconvincingly floating down
from trees towards the eternal grave of the earth. Listen for the
rain violently hitting the dusty desert windows, in rage and hunger.
Listen for the time to pass, the days to shrink, and the nights to
swallow us whole for six more gray months. Fall makes me quiet and
makes me listen to my life passing and my time being left behind me.
Rear view mirror, but no rear drive. This is my last fall in The
Rockies, and it's extra special for this reason.
Even
people that know me well might not know this about myself, but I had
two dreams amongst the many I grew up with. I told myself that if I
ever were to move to America (which I did, with the Good Lord's
mercy) I was going to have two experiences: one would be that of
living in The South. I wanted the diversity, to be close to that
history, to that dialect, to the food, to the sweet and gritty
people, to the “Gone with the Wind” days of the past. The second
one was that of living in The West. I wanted to roam aimlessly across
the plains of The West, listen to the enormous silence of the desert,
put roots where the soil was too harsh to harvest, climb the majestic
Rockies, and step on the same trails where the white man and The
Indians met, where the buffalo roamed and the antelope skittishly
but confidently called home. And again, by His grace, I
did this, too.
And
now it's come to the time when I close this second chapter of my
American life. We're saying 'good bye' to The West. My husband wrote
(http://aaronkuehn.net/tol/?p=825)
about all the reasons why, so I won't go into details. I will just
say that there comes a time in everyone's life when things must move
on. Naturally and without effort. We must move forward. And this is
our forward time.
I
will have to say that The West has proven to be everything I was
expecting and dreaming about for decades, and at the same time
absolutely nothing I was expecting. It's bigger. Larger than life,
really. Overwhelming. Much louder and faster than I expected it. Less
American Melting Pot and more American Puritanical. It's tough, but
this was no surprise. I am convinced now that you need more grit to
make it out here than you do in the South. The South welcomes you and
patches up your wounds. The West digs the dagger into them deeper and
makes you bleed more. Makes you a stronger human, for sure, but a
more scarred one. People are colder and more aloof here. Their gaze,
lost in the red dirt of the desert, looking for that chimera that
might never come; dreaming in an abandoned resignation for a
forgiveness that might never come. The West is purging. The South is
the absolution.
If
I have loved The South like I love my mother and father, if I have
loved it like the safe, balmy heaven that I need to rest my body and
find comfort in when it is tired and unsettled, I have loved The West
like you love a sexy, crazy, abusive, but passionate lover. The
temptation is huge, the luring is powerful, the scars deep. I love
The West like you love a drug that you cannot quit.
The
West is made up of stuff the movies, and the legends are made of, and
I got to see it, smell it, taste it with my own senses – a bigger
privilege and adventure cannot be possible.
Life
has not always been easy for us here, if at all. But we made
incredibly beautiful memories in this part of the world. I am beyond
words grateful to have been given the opportunity to have lived here
for seven years! What was but a dream has been my seven (7!!) year
reality now. I have the gray hair and the wrinkles to prove it.
I
can firmly say that we made a life here, a life that was very
different than the one before, but very good, albeit very tough. We
had almost no friends, for the most part. The ones we had left sooner
than us. We will remember long, lonely years when we reveled into
just being on our own, learning the land, camping alone, hiking in
search of the next beautiful corner of The Rockies (and that was
always plenty!), and finding each other, stronger and more in love.
There
are things I won't miss, for sure: I have never used this many
bottles of lotion to keep my skin moist as I have in the past seven
years. The dry air, and the harsh mineral waters cut your skin. I
probably aged faster because of how quickly and often my skin lost its moisture.
Traffic
is insane, at least in the part of the country we're in (Utah
Valley). Pollution is incredibly and surprisingly high in lots of
Western cities, not just in Utah. It's depressing. Services are
mediocre at best.
And
then there are the people, again: they never answer calls. Waiters
and waitresses never acknowledge a woman is sitting at the table.
Employers, at least in Utah, severely underpay women for the same
jobs (or harder) than men. As a woman you really don't exist in this
state, especially as a childless woman.
I
never did understand neighbors here, either: they are not friendly
enough to come over for dinner, or invite you over for a bbq, but
they do leave stuff you don't need nor ask for at your door in
secrecy. I am not sure I'll ever understand that,
even if I were to remain here 20 more
years.
But
warts and all, I am desperately in love with this place, and I will
sorely miss it! There is something surreally cathartic about sitting
on the porch of a log cabin overlooking The Rockies, and taking in
the rocks, the pines, listening to the trickling river, watching the
wild creatures come for a sip of water, and hearing the wind
sheepishly crawling through the trees. Like I said: like a strong
drug you can't quit, I will crave it painfully. I will miss jumping
in the car and driving for 10 minutes to stare at a valley from a
high peak. I will miss the camping in crisp cold mountain air, the
buffalo on the prairie, and the vast lands, with limitless mountain
ranges. I will miss having a mountain view from every window in my
house. I'll even miss the snow peaks in the middle of June!
There
have been hundreds (with no exaggeration) of memories we have made in
the past seven years, and I really would like (another dream) to sit
down one day and write my Big Fat Western Memoir. But I will mention
just some of them here, just in the hope that someone might need some
reasons to move up here. Like I said: it started out with just a few
thoughts, and it grew into this …
In
no particular order, these have been some of my most favorite moments
in my seven years of living in The West:
… being
able to go on a road trip to Napa Valley and winery hop for our
honeymoon. Sipping the best (my husband says) Long Island ice tea on
the San Francisco Harbor. Eating at Morimoto's
in Napa and experiencing California – every bit of its diversity
and noise.
… driving
on a whim to Vegas for some world famous cocktails and a show.
Tripling my money at the penny machines.
… playing
Bingo in Mesquite, NV, and then getting lost in antique stores down
there, full of memories of The Western Past, a mixture of Native
Indian art and Old Frontier paraphernalia.
… eating
at old timey saloons in Park City, Cody, WY, or Jackson Hole. You can
smell the stinky leather boots to this day, and trip on the warped
wooden floors.
… sipping
hot toddies at Hotel
Monaco
in Salt Lake City on New Year's Eve, waiting for the fancy dinner to
start at Bambara's
and for the fireworks show to begin at midnight.
… eating
the best Thai food in America (to date, for us) at Sawadees
in Salt Lake, right before going to see Saturday's
Voyeur
at Salt
Lake Acting Company.
How we're going to miss that
show!
… riding
the chairlift at Sundance during a full moon. Coldest summer night
you will ever experience! Watching the moose lazily bathing in Silver
Lake on Big Cottonwood Canyon, or sipping a cold brew at Solitude on
a lazy, Sunday afternoon in July. Just us, the mountains and the tall
skies – the Nature's Cathedral just for us.
… we
went to this tiny little town of Afton, WY one summer for the
weekend. Never in a million years would I have wanted to go there –
why Wyoming?! What's in Afton?! But they have some of the best cabins
to rent and they have the best trails on the edge of Bridger National
Forest – gushing rivers and tall firs, rocks and peace, deafening
peace everywhere. And believe it or not, some of the best seafood you
find here, in a mom'n'pop store in the middle of downtown.
...lakes
are deeper and cleaner here – except for Utah Lake. I do believe
that there is a huge monster, maybe a whole family of them, living
in Utah Lake that spew out neon waste every hour to give it it's
gloomy, dirty, neon glow every other day. Outside of this lake,
however, the lakes out here are pristine, cold, crystal clear, and
deep.
… wandering
the streets of Ketchum, ID, where Hemingway scattered his last steps
before he died. Ketchum has the best breakfast potatoes at Bigwood
Breakfast Cafe – a
sure sign you're in Idaho.
… sampling
absinthe in a gourmet store and eating elk chili at the brewery in
Jackson Hole, WY. Walking under the elk antler arches in the downtown
– nothing says more “wild” and more “West” than that! Afton
had the antler arches, too. Or maybe I am wrong: there is at least
one thing that says more “wild” than that: wandering in the
middle of the desert and running into hungry hawling coyotes and
wolves in the middle of the day, or seeing horse, cow, or deer
carcasses in almost every hike. Vultures and crows feasting on naked
bones in a melting summer mid-day.
...we
will probably not run again into many establishments with names that
bring ghosts of the past and John Wayne movie memories to mind –
places with “wild”, “cowboy”, “lonely”, “ranger”,
“Indian”, “saloon”, “claim jumper”, “desert rose”,
“one eye”, “buffalo”, “shooter”, “gun” , 'barrel”,
“rain(dance)”, “sun(dance)”, “wind”, “last chance”,
“trading post” in the name.
… going
up the Provo Canyon to Sundance on a whim: whether it was a long
weekend, a boring weekend with nothing to do, a dinner craving, a
Sunday brunch – we could always rely on Sundance to be there for
us. And once we were there, the views, the peace, the chill in the
mountain air took all the pains of the everyday life away. Bob (as in
Redford), we will miss you!
… going
down to Zion or Moab for the weekend and shooting the moon-like
desert life for hours. Getting lost in the redness and getting
speechless in the face of a nature like no other on Earth. The red
rock is as unique as the limestone mountains of Turkey, the jungle of
the Amazon, and the vastness of Antarctica. There is nothing like it,
nothing compares – it just must be seen with your own eyes to
understand. Or to puzzle upon.
… speaking
of Moab: if you can only go there once, make sure you eat dinner in
the sunset, on the Colorado River at the Red
Cliffs Lodge
– about 14 miles off the main drag. Leave time and the world behind
you and go die for a minute – just you, the mighty Colorado, the
red rocks and the sunset. If you still believe that God is bogus, you
have no feelings, really …
… getting
lost in the desert was still my favorite past time here. Going to
Bluff, UT in the winter, when no one is there and there is only one
restaurant in town open and one gas station with a cranky host gives
new meaning to the words “lonely” and “desert”. You
understand why the Navajos are not people of many words in these
parts: they don't dare disturb the serenity of nature and God. Their
turmoils are internal, just like the riveting life of the desert –
all under wraps and in the shadows.
… I
will equally miss the salmon supper in Payson, UT – best, largest
wild Alaskan salmon cooked on an open fire - and the Indian food at
Bombay
House
in Provo. The people at the Bombay
House
were the best hosts I have met in my stay here. The friendliest, most
efficient, and most passionate about what they do.
… I
will miss shooting. Shooting (as in camera) is so easy here: you just
point the camera and make sure you have a steady hand. The light is
almost always perfect and the landscape is begging to be shot. You
can never run out of things to shoot here, but my most special
moments were when we chased the buffalo on Antelope Island, on the
big Salt Lake, or the birds, frisky with frost, in the deep winter,
on Utah Lake. Utah Lake in the sunset goes apey! I will miss shooting
sunsets …
… I
will miss the skies here, mostly. There are no rainbows I have ever
seen anywhere bigger and brighter than here. The sunsets and sunrises
are glorious odes to God and to Earth, painted canvases in search for
an audience. Such show-offs!
… I
have loved all the trips we took from here – from California to
Washington State, from Colorado to Nevada, Montana to Arizona. But
the one place in my heart that will remain like the ever-burning flame
of my life here, and of my memories of The West will be Monument Valley
in the heart of the Navajo Reservation. That place, between the
buttes, in July, at sunset, is the place where all of the energy of
the world and the universe comes for supper. Time truly stands still
and is visible, so you can see it sitting down and having dinner,
chewing ever so slowly till the sun dips into the red dirt. If I have
to take one picture and one picture only from The West with me, snug
in my heart and my sinews, it would be that piece of land right
there.
… Montana
had always been my Mecca. Unlike any other European person that
dreams of coming to America for New York and L.A. and Miami, I wanted
to come to the US for Montana. The untouched land, the wilderness,
the candle-like trees bordering the rocky cliffs – it's all there,
and it's what I think about when I think of The Rockies. For a while
we thought we might even move there, but alas, altitude got the
better of my heart, and we can't anymore, for wanting to live.
Glacier National Park was like coming home, finally. Everything I
have ever dreamed about and loved about mountains, mountain absolute
perfection is achieved there. There is a feeling of reaching an apex,
like I felt when climbing the Twin Towers in New York in 1999, of
achieving something great when you cross the Continental Divide and
stare into the immense valleys below. When you watch olden glaciers
melt into water and air right before your eyes. There is also a
feeling of smallness and unimportance about yourself, in the grand
scheme of things. Montana is all that and so much more.
… when
I think of more Old West reminders, I think of every other eating
place in downtown Park City, I think of The
Lodge at
Bryce, Irma
Hotel
in Cody, WY, The
Mahogany Grill
in Durango, CO, or The
Cowboy Grill
at The Red Cliffs Lodge in Moab, UT. You step into any one of them
and you're expecting that Buffalo Bill is sitting at the bar, Bourbon
in hand.
I
know The American West stops at the level of family photo albums as
far as history is measured, but it does have its own history and its
own character, to be sure, unfound elsewhere in America, I believe.
It's a land of cowboys, hunters, law breakers, women who had to
either make it on their own or hide between the husband and 10 kids,
and maybe even 2 or 3 other wives. If I had a dollar for every time I
said “Wow! We really do live in the Wild West” because someone
shot a cop, or made their own justice somehow, I would be rich now.
History has caught up with these parts, in some ways, but some people
still think the gun and the land run supreme, and nothing and no one
will stand between them and those sacred treasures!
… some
of my favorite time has been spent enjoying the small towns we live
in and near-by: going to the rodeo or buying the annual funnel cake
at Fiesta Days in Spanish Fork, or going to Park Silly in Park City,
or to Oktoberfest in Snowbird. Solitude is such a gem of a resort,
and as deep and powerful as the name itself. Pure, crystallized …
solitude.
… I
will miss the mountain streams skipping step from rock to rock in the
spring. Camping on the mountain tops in the fall and hearing the
tired, not so full sound of the springs running towards the valleys
in rest, waiting for the winter snow and ice to mute them.
… I
will miss the sweet tomatoes my rocky, sandy soil yields – sweetest
I have ever tasted in this hemisphere, because dryness makes sweet.
Same for grapes. Harvesting tomatoes, grapes, pears and cherries was
as close as I ever got to being a true Pioneer woman and taming these
dry, stubborn, rock-full lands. I never did learn how to make apple
pie, neither here, not in The South. I did learn a thing or two about
funeral potatoes. It's not any kind of special recipe, really –
it's just whatever potato dish you want to bring to a funeral to
share. Why not a wedding, or a christening, I have not a clue!
… you
get used to driving long roads here, because there is nothing for
hundreds of miles but the desert and a few bad barns, leaning on one
side. Nothing but beauty and nature, that is. Nothing but wilderness
and the almighty sun. But as long as the drives were, I will still
miss taking them and being in very different climates, and flora and
fauna zones. I will miss planning road trips to places like Lake
Tahoe, CA, Yellowstone National Park, Whitefish, MT, Sun Valley, ID,
Durango, CO, Vernal, UT.
… the
winds in The West are what I underestimated the most. I don't believe
the tornadoes of the South will make me wince anymore, after having
lived here, where 60 mph gusts are the norm. Especially at my house,
at the mouth of the canyon. Winds will always carry me back here, on
their swift wings …
There
are still places I have not seen and I am kicking myself for not
having done so. Would you believe that I still have not see The Grand
Canyon, or the Sequoia Forest in California?! Or Yosemite? Or
Portland, OR? Or Grand Staircase Escalante? For these and many more,
I will be back. That is a promise, health and money not being an
issue.
I
quiet down now and let the wind take my memories away and scatter
them across the plains. I came of another age in this place, both
wonderful and mean. I am older, stronger, tougher, and I probably
used to being lonely, just me and Aa., more than before. We have
grown into a couple here, strong and loving, from the two entities we
came here as, when we had barely gotten married. Some say that no
toughness is built unless there is loss, and as much as we have
gained in these past seven years (us, our love, our marriage, our
travels, our many hundreds of thousands of photographs, our lives
stronger and more accomplished), we have also lost. We lost jobs, two
adorable, amazing kittens, money, even (and not in gambling), health,
patience … It made us stronger and it shaped our road from here, so
zero regrets and much looking forward to the door that is now
opening.
Oh,
I could go on for another 10 pages, but I am looking at my count and
I am into five of them right now, so I better stop! These are all
things that came to mind as I am sitting here, on a windy Tuesday
night, all alone, pondering upon the recent past.
It
is somewhat poetic that the end of such an adventure comes in the
fall for us: it's when my heart gets quiet and can think and reflect
on things past, somewhat melancholy, somewhat longing, but always
accomplished.
I
am already longing for some of the places I stopped to document here,
for posterity. As much as my heart is filled with the apprehension of
what my next chapter back in my beloved South might bring, it is also
filled with the memories and the emotional baggage I have stored in
these past seven years.
And
speaking of my heart: there will forever be a more organic, more
material connection to this place than to any other place in the
world: when they took my aorta and my aortic valve out of it last
year, you could say that a piece of my heart will forever stay in The
West. Quite literally. The West is not for quitters, that's for sure.
And we are not that. We're just ready for the next road trip.
So
long, Utah, and Montana, and Wyoming, and Colorado, California,
Nevada, and Arizona, too … Till next time …
