Entries about flowers

I remember very clearly lying on a picnic table in Petersburg, Alaska. I said to my friend, “I wish we could do this all afternoon. We could get a bottle of wine, maybe do a crossword and fall asleep.” She agreed. Then we checked the time. Our sunny revelry was over. We had to go back to work.

Well, my life has changed since that sunny afternoon. A week has passed by and I’ve fulfilled my contractual agreements with that ship. It left me behind in Sitka, Alaska and I’ve been happily unemployed for the last four days.

I spent my last week on the ship working a very odd schedule. I started my shift at 9 pm and finished it at 9 am. It’s not a good schedule to have, especially if you have any desire to be social. But, I did it without complaint, as that was what they asked of me.

I was in a sleepy torpor for two days as I tried to shift my sleeping schedule to more traditional patterns. I spent a lot of time lounging in sun strewn dandelion patches. Sitka has great dandelion patches. The flowers are bright and robust - nestled into the thick mat of fresh green grass. I thought back to my afternoon siesta with my friend back in Petersburg and I knew that lying around in a sunny park is everything I thought it could be.

At one point, I thought to myself that I should really write about my last week on the ship. I had a lot of fun teaching some new deckhands the tricks of the trade. I enjoyed the Alaskan seascapes in full bloom. I knew it was a passing thought, when I looked up at the clouds. I was just too tired.

The following photos will be my voice for the past week. They ring loudly and true about the supreme beauty in which I live, work and play.

Alaska in May

The Waterfalls of Tracy Arm

Midway Islands

Three Shades of Gray

Point Anmer, Point Styleman and Grave Point

Sunrays Over Taku Harbor

South Sawyer Glacier Explorations

Arctic Tern Taking Flight

Harbor Seals and South Sawyer Glacier

Icebergs

Davit Crane Fancy Work

This is the best piece of fancy work I have tied so far. This sling holds the hook of our davit crane to a rail. There are two different types of chain sinnets, two different types of whippings, and a four strand star knot atop the wooden button I made out of an old piece of wood. Look for another article on knot tying in the near future.

Early Morning in Glacier Bay

I love working the night shift in Alaska because the sun rises so early in the morning. I saw this scene around three thirty in the morning. It is a very peaceful time.

Afternoons in Front of the Marjorie Glacier

I’ve been spending a lot of quality time watching the Marjorie Glacier. Glaciers, like whales, often require many hours of patient observation before they will do anything of note. More often then not, they will remain motionless for hours at a time before rewarding the persistent with a grand show. Even if nothing happens, the suspense and pleasure of watching glaciers is time well spent.

Complacency

A friend of mine asked me, “Do you ever get complacent about the views around you?” It was a fair question. Have I become jaded? Maybe I have, I don’t know. For example, I remember the awe I once felt about seeing a humpback whale from a distance and hearing its powerful blow. Now, after seeing hundreds of them up close for the last three years, I wonder.

I enjoy seeing a whale as much as I always have. It is fair to say I’ve gotten much more fussy about which whales I’ll choose to photograph. After sorting through thousands of boring whale pictures and deleting most of them, I know what I’m looking for: An interesting composition in good light of a whale. If it isn’t intriguing, I’ll set my camera down and simply enjoy them.

Speaking of which, another friend of mine came down to my cabin to wake me up. “Thom! There are twenty orca outside, right now!” I leaned on my left arm and sleepily replied, “Twenty, hunh? Twenty one is the magic number.” With that, I rolled over and feigned sleep. I thought it was a good line, considering she shook me out of a dead sleep. Now, don’t get any ideas. After a few minutes, I got up and went out to watch the orca. There were three pods with about six members in each group. There might have been a single or two swimming around as well. It was the most orca I have seen together in one big pod. I didn’t take many photos as the whales were far away, but I like this one.

Waking Up In Sitka

On the third day of my stay in Sitka, I started waking up. My friend Annie and I went for a long walk in one of the most beautiful forest settings I have ever found. I called it a “Celebration of Green.” I’ll offer more on that later this week.

Today, I woke up to a beautiful blue bird sunny day. I lay in the warm womb of an afghan blanket as cool air from the open window wafted over my supine body. It was the best night of sleep I’ve had this year. I felt totally refreshed and energized. I was a new man. I looked at my clock, which said 7:32 a.m. I knew in that moment I had my mojo back! I have left that sleepy torpor behind, and it is time to embrace my life projects with all of the energy I can give them.

I wish I could convey just how happy I am right now. Words can’t do it.

Remembering Florida

Florida has been good to me. It's such a beautiful state - so full of life and color. It's a wonderful contrast to the chilly northern climates that I had been visiting. It was good to walk around in shorts again. It was good to swim in a river. It was good to sit around a bonfire under a starry sky. It was good to climb trees again. I ate a lot of amazing food. I did battle in my first paintball war in twenty years. I ate some of the best shrimp of my life in Apalaciacola. None of this would have been nearly as fun if it wasn't for my good friends and hosts, Clayton and Laura Lee.

Florida offered me many new experiences I wouldn't find anywhere else. I saw my first alligator. I ate my first alligator (it was delicious). I pulled an orange right off the tree and ate it for breakfast. I swam with manatees. I took a ride through a Florida swamp on an air boat. I built my first chicken coop. I ate the best strawberry you can get, and I snorkelled down a beautiful crystal clear river (see Soaring Through the Wild Blue). It was great.

Fireside Banjo Jam

This is what it’s all about. I met up with my good friend Clayton on his farm way up in the panhandle of Florida. We spent 15 minutes cutting up a dozen pine logs and set up a good fire. The stars lit up the dark sky, accompanying the hanging crescent moon. We drank some beers. We played our banjos. We talked of life, and how good it is. This was my first night in Florida, and a damn fine one at that.

Stuck

Clayton and I got back in his truck. He started it up, and stopped for a second. We could go straight across the sand lot, or we could turn around and stick to the parking lot. Clayton asked me, “Do you think we can make it?” I answered without really thinking about it, “Sure, let’s go for it.” Well, we went for it. We didn’t make it. The sand became deep halfway across and we sunk up to the axle. We were stuck.

After a half hour of futile effort, one call to a tow truck, and trying a few more bad ideas, a four pack of guys came to our rescue. The four of them lifted the back of the pick up and Clayton jammed a six by six log under the tire. Then we all pushed while Clayton spun his way to the road beyond. We escaped just before the tow truck arrived. It was a solid afternoon had by all.

Coop!

Clayton needed to build a chicken coop for his chickens. I became excited about the idea, and drew up some elaborate blueprints of what Clayton wanted it to look like. I love sketching out the finished product almost as much as I like building them.

One afternoon we went out to the hardware store to buy the supplies, and the next day we started the build. It took a lot longer to build than I thought it would, but the end result looked a lot like how I envisioned it.

I thought back to where I was two weeks before when I was wandering around downtown Manhattan. Now here I was building a chicken coop on a farm in rural Florida. I love the diversity of my life.

On Oranges

Florida has the best oranges. Have you ever smelled an orange blossom? It is the most intoxicating perfume I've ever scented. Have you ever eaten an orange right off the tree for breakfast? I did. It was the juiciest most flavorful orange I have ever tasted.

The Florida Wild

The following photos are from various parts of Florida. Florida is beautiful. It is full of birds, wildlife, flowers, gators, and some of the best trees I’ve ever seen. I love Florida’s trees. The white Cyprus and the giant live oaks are my new favorite, especially when covered in Spanish moss.

Florida Forests

Terrapin

Evening Tree Reflection

White Cyprus and Spanish Moss

Gulf of Mexico

Female Grackles Walking the Swamp

Male Grackle

Swamp Vegetation

Baby Gator

Grackle Flight

Ghost Fish

Wood Ducks

Shamrock in Good Light

Pitcher Plant Frog

Lily Pads and Reflected Clouds

My favorite part of Florida was spending quality time with my friends. Cheers!

Many moons ago, I was thinking about what I would like to do in Argentina. Not only did I want to see the sights, but I wanted to make my trip more meaningful than sticking to the tourist trail. My first idea, was to take Spanish lessons somewhere in the country. My second, was to try WOOFING, also known as, working on a farm. I joined WOOFING Argentina (www.wwoofargentina.com). I searched through dozens of farms, and created a short list of those farms that appealed to me. My deciding factors consisted of location, type of farming, length of stay, and language. Then I narrowed the short list down to two farms. I wrote them a query letter, and one farm invited me to help them.

The farm I chose is located just inside Chubut province, about four kilometers south of El Bolson. Bolson is a small bohemian farming city situated in a lush green valley between two ranges of mountains. I heard good things about Bolson during my travels. I arrived five days before I joined the farm to explore the valley.

The Best Hostel in the World

La Casona de Odile is the best hostel in South America, if not the world. There are many reasons for this, but my favorite reasons are its location and the sense of community among its visitors and staff.

The hostel is located five kilometers north of Bolson on a beautiful piece of property the owners have cultivated into a wonderful park. It is a peaceful place.

The park reeked of Zen. The moments flowed past like the trout in the stream that meanders through the garden.

1. I sat next to the pond and watched tiny droplets of water plop into the surface of the pond.

2. I slipped through the plants to find diamond droplets of water on the green plants after a rainsquall.

3. The sun came out and I hunkered in the shade of the brightly lit plant so I could see the veins and cells of plant. It looked like I was looking at the earth from space, but it was only a plant from inches away. Nature has a way of repeating patterns though out its realm.

When I arrived at Odile, I set about unpacking, getting clean, then making dinner. There was a group of eight people laughing, and cooking dinner together in the spacious kitchen. At first, I thought they were all traveling together by the way they interacted. I later learned that all of them were traveling alone, and had met here at Odile. After I had finished my dinner, they invited me to join their group and try the fondue that they were enjoying. The conversation bloomed, and it wasn’t long before I was firmly entrenched within the group.

We spent five days exploring the valley, laughing, playing cards, slack-lining, cooking, and eating. Food brings people together, and we spent a lot of time together- eating and drinking.

This is why hostels are great places to stay. It’s a funny thing about hostel traveling. Good people come and go, and with each new person who arrives, the group dynamic changes. It gets a new flavor. It’s great. But at the same time, it’s hard to say goodbye. I hate saying good-bye.

Gone, but not forgotten:
M and Robbie (Ushuaia), Ben, Stephanie, Camille (Chalten), Phillip (Chalten and Calafate).

Not quite gone, and never forgotten:
Tharien, Sabrina, Shane, Jelena, Sarah, Cristian, the Staff at Odile (Bolson).

So Long, Odile. Hello, Los Pinos

When I stepped out of the cab, my host greeted me with a warm two-minute barrage of Spanish. My deer in the headlights look must have been awesome. I had just imbedded myself into an Argentine farm run by a family who spoke no English. Ha! Take that, Thom!

I met my workmates, Cristian (from Chile), and Virginie (from France). Cristian quickly became my savior, as he can speak some English. He took me on a tour of the farm, and showed me the basic operation. Let me tell you, this is one beautiful farm.

The name of the farm is Granja Los Pinos. The farm is productive. It is growing raspberries, potatoes, black currants, walnuts, cherries, apples, flowers, and a vegetable garden. There are three dogs, lots of cats (only one of them is a cool cat), sheep, chickens, and several flocks of loud birds. It is located on the foothills of Cerro Piltriquitron, and has a lovely view of the mountains and surrounding valley.

I’ve been on the farm for four days now, and so far, it is as good as I hoped it would be. On weekdays, I work for six hours a day. The morning runs from 9:30 in the morning to 12:30 pm. We’ll take a three-hour break, cooking a large family style meal that we eat together. The conversation flows fast. I sit quietly trying to understand the scope of the conversation. I understand about every seventh word, but I’m hoping to narrow that down to every fourth word by the end of my tenure here. Then we’ll spend the afternoon working from 3 pm to 6 pm.

The work is easy, and we take a very relaxed pace.

The Morality of Nut Cracking

It has rained every day since I have arrived in Bolson. When it rains, it is our job to crack open dried walnuts and sort the nuts into two piles- good nuts and bad nuts. At first, nut cracking is straightforward. One person cracks the nuts, the other two people sort them. After a couple hundred nuts, I started thinking about the philosophy of nut cracking.

Cristian told me that, “After you crack 10,000 nuts, you will gain enlightenment.“ I told him that, “If you live in the moment, you only have to crack one nut.”

On the third day of nut cracking, the morality of what we were doing entered the conversation. Cristian asked me, “I want to know what this nut did to be bad.” I didn’t have an answer.

After awhile, I realized that we were deciding the fate of these nuts. If they are good nuts, humans eat them. If they are bad nuts, the chickens will eat them. The humans will eat the chickens. I suppose something could eat the human before those poor walnuts return to the earth.

Who are we to decide if it’s a good nut or a bad one? Am I going nuts?

A Language All His Own

The most difficult part has been overcoming the language barrier. It hasn’t been a problem with the work, Roly will take us to where he wants things done, and tell Cristian what to do. I can tell what he wants done just by the tools we have and the short demonstration we are given. No problem. But, I feel like I’m missing out on getting to know my wonderful hosts. They are warm, engaging, and fun. However, I still don’t know what they are saying.

At lunch one day, Analia asked me, “Who is Odile?” I told her a rambling rendition of taking a bus from Calafate to Rio Gallegos before riding all night to Bolson where I found the Casana de Odile. Her daughter asked the question again in English. To which, I realized my mistake. I’m not trying to be an idiot, it comes naturally.

The other day after my friends and I had eaten, I eloquently asked, “How much cheese, please?” My friends and I were almost on the floor laughing about that one.

Cristian asked me, “What do you call a small ship?”
“A boat.” I replied.
“No, no, no, a small ship. What do you call it?” He said. I offered other words that mean the same thing.
He then rephrased his question, “What kind of ship would you put on a fire, the osada?”
That’s when I realized he was asking about sheep. Argentine’s use the young sheep for their barbeque dinners, and he was asking if we do the same. We both laughed, and I explained the difference between ship and sheep. For fun, I added chip and cheap to the conversation too.

The good news is that I am improving. Cristian has been giving me Spanish lessons throughout the day, and we will talk about it over tea when the day is done. I have a long way to go, but I’m on the right path. Immersing oneself into the Spanish language is not easy.

On Cold Showers and Leisure Time

On the first day, I took out my slack-line and set it up between two trees. I showed Cristian the basic steps, and he was soon walking the line. Yet another fish hooked. I think Gibbon Slack-lines should pay me a commission for the number of people I have gotten addicted to this sport.


There is also a great ping-pong table in the workshop. Cristian and I have been playing each other in the evenings. Last Friday night we played ping-pong, drank matte, and listened to Argentine radio for hours. I like Friday nights up on the farm.
On my first night, I went into our small rustic bathroom and turned on the taps to run the shower. The water that came out was only slightly warmer than a glacier waterfall. I figured I had turned the wrong one on. I turned that one off, and twisted the other knob and waited. The water temperature didn’t change. I really wanted a shower. I exhaled, and started working my body under the freezing water. It was a fast shower, but I felt better.

Afterward, I asked Cristian if we have hot water in our cabin. “Ahh. We could, all you have to do is ask for it. I like cold showers; It’s good for the body, no? Everyday it feels colder.”
I laughed, and then I halfway bought into it. I reasoned that there are people in the world that have never had hot water in their lives. Why should I? This would be part of my challenge- cold showers for 3 weeks.

Two days later, I asked to have the hot water turned on.

Farm Photos.

I will leave you this week of some of my first photos of the farm. Happy holidays from South America!

A walk through the suburban streets of Seattle during summer is a stroll through an ever-changing garden. This Saturday past, my good friend Amelia and I went for a walk to collect a cup from a coffee house in Freemont. As we walked, I couldn’t help but notice the growing vibrancy of the city. Most of the homes had a small garden plot, running the length of their front lot between their front porch and sidewalk. The gardens would often butt up against their neighbors, to the effect of a summer garden an entire block long. The plants varied from bushes and shrubs to flowers and herbs. The tang in the air was of sweet fragrant flowers, musty earth tones and rotting vegetation. The world had the smell of a greenhouse, without the house.

It was a special morning. As we walked, our eternal friendship grew deeper through a long exchange of conversation. Amelia did most of the talking. I did most of the listening. She shared her life experiences of the last few weeks as she faced the fire (literally) by taking on a third job as a short order cook. It is these moments we all face in life: beginning something new, struggling with the challenge, learning, and making progress. The struggle is what will make you, or break you. My friend is not broken.

For my part, I listened. It’s a simple thing, but not everyone has the ability. I offered what little insight I could provide. She already knows where she stands, but sometimes a friend’s appraisal helps settle the mind.

My visit to Seattle was brief. I spent my limited time in pursuit of fantastic food, bookstores, bonfires on the beach, and quality time with friends. It’s kind of funny. I feel like I see the best of Seattle on each visit. The weather is always great. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced the rain the city is known for. For me, Seattle will forever be a city of sunshine, flowers, and the freshness of life.

I left Seattle on Saturday afternoon. I had a unique view out of my window, as my plane taxied down the runway. I kept thinking of the improbability of those giant planes behind us ever taking off. Soon the engines wound up, and I was rocketing down the runway. I grinned. Flying is fun, especially when you get into the moment. The nose rose, and we entered the sky. I continued to watch out my window as the city expanded and grew smaller at the same time. We entered a cloud and I lost sight of Seattle. It wasn’t long before we popped out of that cloud into the wild blue yonder of the upper atmosphere. And there was Mt. Rainier. The giant stone Buddha sat in a sunny bath of white foamy clouds. I felt very fortunate to be in that moment. It was a very happy scene, and one I won’t soon forget.

To North Crestone Lake

I had been following North Crestone Creek since I left my campsite at seven in the morning. It was now nearing ten o’clock, and I had hiked four miles while rising well over three thousand feet. Across the grassy meadow to my right was a skinny waterfall that dropped one hundred feet or more. I figured that North Crestone Lake had to be hiding somewhere above the waterfall.

Up here, the air was noticeably thinner. My breath came in small gasps as I followed the steep switchbacks that wound through the loose rock of the ridge wall. When I paused to rest, I caught my breath within a minute, and my heart slowed to a normal rhythm. I smiled. I was in shape. The last three months of vagabonding has treated me well. I am in the best shape of my adult life, and this five mile hike into the high country of the Sangre De Cristo (SDC) mountains of Colorado was a piece of cake (POC).

During my hike, I passed through four noticeable zones of vegetation. I started out in a narrow canyon of the creek in a thick pine forest. I gradually rose into healthy groves of aspen. Their lime green trunks were smooth to the touch, and their quaking leaves offered a shimmering shadow on the path I followed. The aspen groves gave way to open high mountain meadows. They were full of lush green grasses and bursting with wildflowers. Finally, when I neared the lake I found an alpine meadow. The soil was thin, but it still provided enough nutrients for an entire meadow of wildflowers. I unfocused my eyes and saw a carpet of purple, mays, white and blue dotting a lush green background. This could have been a dreamscape.

The scenery was spectacular. I have had visions of Colorado high mountain meadows in my head for as long as I could remember. The landscape I walked through was reminiscent of these daydreams, and the higher I climbed the more I realized I was living my dream.

I counted twelve different varieties of wild flowers. I’m certain this number is a conservative count, as I hadn’t been keeping track for most of the hike. Flitting among the pockets of flowers was an equally diverse population of butterflies. I wondered if the thin air affected a butterfly in any way, but they seemed normal to my eye. This Swallowtail posed beautifully for me and allowed me to get very close to its perch. Perhaps mountain butterflies are more tolerant of humans, then their low elevation cousins.

I felt small. The rocky mountain peaks of the SDC towered all around me. Sheer walls of rock protected their high points, and by the effort it would take to scale them. To me, they looked inviting. Where there is a will, there is a way, and I’m certain I could unlock the puzzle of climbing those walls safely. However, this was just a warm up hike, and I decided against the extra strain of mountaineering on this hike.

Finally, I gained the top of the ridge and below me lay the crystal clear lake tucked neatly beneath four peaks. I laughed. I whooped, and I let out a yodel. It’s true, I can yodel. But I don’t do it very often. It’s bad enough I roam around without contributing much to society for months on end, why would I make the populace listen to my yodeling too? My soaring voice ricocheted off the first mountain and back to the wall behind me, before making its way higher up the walls of the distant mounts and escaping into the stratosphere. I was satisfied with my insignificance. Once in awhile, you might notice a cricket chirp too.

I skipped down the trail to the edge of the lake, pausing to admire the sunny meadow full of flowers, bees, grasses, birds, butterflies and me. There wasn’t anyone else around for miles. I stripped down to my underwear, and eased myself into the cold water. As I slipped deeper and deeper into the water, my skin tingled with chill. It was like dipping yourself into an icy energy field that took your breath away, yet left you feeling more alive than you have ever felt, at least for this week. It was awesome.

I drip-dried among the flowers, content to take in some sun, and sip water while the world buzzed around me. I think it’s safe to say I was buzzing too, but it is hard to notice your own buzz that you emit and share with the world.

End Game
When I reached the trailhead, I was melting. As a candle slowly shrinks, my wax was dripping out of me in the form of sweat. It felt like ninety degrees, at least. I popped open my car, and dodging the rolling ball of heat trapped within. I opened my cooler, and found lukewarm water instead of the ice I placed there yesterday. I sighed, grabbed my cheese, a tomato, cranberry juice, and a hunk of French bread.

I sat in the shade of a giant boulder and ate my lunch. It was good, and tasted great. In the heat, I tend to eat lightly, opting for easy to prepare non-cooking foods. It was in that moment that I grew weary of this adventure. I was tired of trying to figure out where I was going to sleep every night. I was tired of the heat. And I was just plain tired. I had been on the road for three months, and I had reached my limit.

I packed up my gear, and put on my flip-flops. I drove out of the campground, and stopped briefly in Crestone to call my brother. The conversation was quite short. “Hey man, I’m headed your way. “ I informed him. “Ok, dude, I’ll see you when you get here.” My brother understands me. He didn’t even question me. With that, I was off. I drove south and east to escape the mountains. From Walsenburg, I started traveling northeast.

As I passed from the mountains and into the eastern plains of Colorado, I felt my soul ease into contentment. On the western edge of the vast emptiness, I found peace. There is something soothing to the open grasslands that speaks to my soul like nothing else I know. As I drove northward, the sun set into the smoky air over Colorado Springs, turning the sun into a bright fiery ball of orange. To the east, a shaft of a rainbow grew bright for an instant, then eased from my sight as if it had never been there. Colorado was saying farewell.

I rolled on into the night.

Nebraska

I was cruising north on a skinny black asphalt road somewhere in western Nebraska. I was too lazy to stop and buy a map, so I wasn‘t sure where I was. It was very liberating to travel without a map. I chose my directions by dead reckoning and by the allure of the surrounding scenery. If I passed a road that caught my eye and it was heading in the right direction (north or east), I took it. It’s the only way to travel the plains.

I was thinking a lot about a cup of coffee. I love the taste of coffee as I drive my morning roads. As luck would have it, a small roadside picnic area appeared just up the highway, and I slowed to pull over. I laughed. It consisted of a small picnic table in the shade of two giant cottonwood trees at the intersection of two lonely highways. It was very modest, but it was perfect. I happily pulled out my Jetboil stove and heated up some water for my French press. I ate an orange, and a Clif bar, while sipping hot black coffee. I was in breakfast heaven.

Nebraska makes me appreciate trees. There aren’t many trees out here, so when I see one, I take a good look. You might not see another one for another hundred miles. I look to see what type of tree it is, how much shade it produces, and can I set up my slack line or hammock. In western Nebraska, Cottonwoods are the most plentiful. Where Cottonwoods grow, you can usually find a good source of water (though it may be underground). That’s why they are so plentiful around the rivers and canyons of the west.

The sand hills region of Nebraska is very beautiful, but so very lonesome. It is so forlorn and empty; it could make a coyote cry. There isn’t much out here but undulating grass covered hills, wild prairie flowers, the relentless wind, and assorted prairie animals. Most Americans and travelers miss this unique place. With time on my side, I pulled over to admire some prairie sunflowers bobbing in the hot wind. I also stopped to use the local rest stop. Believe it or not, this was one of the cleaner rest rooms I’ve seen in my journeys. It had a small population of hornets living inside, but they minded their own business, and I minded mine.

I love driving through the small towns of the plains. If you are driving through Nebraska, get off the major highways. Go and visit towns like Arthur, Tryon (population 157), Amelia, Winnetoon, Verdigre (The Kolach Capital of the World) and Orchard. Not only are these towns charming, but they help break up the monotony of the drive. The big question I ask myself is, “Why do people live here?”

I love the fact Nebraska is a waving state. Eight out of ten cars will wave at you when you pass them on the highways. Not every state waves, but Nebraska does.

In the evening, I pulled into the small town of Orchard. I was getting tired of driving, and I was looking for a place to camp. One great thing about the small towns of the plains is they are very friendly to campers. Most towns have a city park, and most parks offer free camping. Orchard’s city park was perfect. It was dotted with old oak trees and pines. It had some playground equipment for the kids and a covered picnic area for receptions or rainy weather.

The grass was green and well tended. I parked my little car and got out to stretch. I set up my slack line between two trees and practiced my craft. Then I cracked a sweating Corona from my cooler, and chopped up a cucumber, avocado, onion, and green pepper. I squeezed some lime juice on it, hit it with a dash of pepper and ate it with tortilla chips. My green salsa is always a hit.

After dinner, I relaxed in my hammock. I popped another beer, and took out my phone. I sent texts out to five random people, just to say, “Hey, how are you?” The sun set, and the stars emerged from the dusky blue sky.

I think my next American road trip is going to be a tour of the Great Plains. I’m going to start either on the south end in Texas, or on the Canadian shield in northern Saskatoon. I’m going to try and see every backwards old town I can find. I’m going to camp with the coyotes, hike out into those sand hills of Nebraska, and see what is beyond those endless hills. I can’t wait.