Sunshine After the Rain (and hail) (and wind) (and thunder) (and more rain)

I rather enjoy my life on my [hobby] farm. We have enough growing here that I can call it a [hobby] farm. We have several patches of vegetable gardens.We have chickens. We have several berry plants and fruit trees. I like to call my backyard "my oasis." This past weekend, I spend several hours working in my oasis, enjoying the glorious sun and breeze. My back muscles and swatches of tender red skin will attest to it. 

Last week, we had two severe storms roar through West Tennessee. The first one came suddenly with little warning. It was sunny, calm, and 84 degrees one moment. Then it was blowing sideways rain, pelting hail, and the weather radio began to blare the evil tornado warning message. The electricity went out for about two hours and it rained all night. Sure enough, within a day of that storm another one came through. The second one lacked the tornado warning, but it knocked out our electricity for a solid 23 hours and brought damaging winds. Randall worked for some six hours helping the fire department clear roads of felled trees that night.

I could see the storms looming on the second day and the events from the day before made me especially "weather aware." I lit candles as we sat down for dinner. Sure enough, the electricity went out as we were eating. Randall barely finished his second slice of pizza when he got that call from the fire department and was gone until almost 1am.

I had the foresight to light candles before dinner because of the previous day's storms.
I did not know the need would last so long.
It is amazing how difficult it is to have both no electricity and nowhere to go.

The next morning was clear and sunny but I knew it would be difficult. I had just transplanted several of my "babies" from their safe harbor under their grow light in the basement to their new homes in the garden. Hail and plants are not friends. I donned my red, rubber boots and proceeded to march around my yard for a damage assessment. I couldn't even bare to take pictures because the damage made me sad. Stalks and stems held up torn and holey leaves as mini, green surrender flags. The strawberry patch was a mess of shredded, green foliage and a few beaten-up berries. Several of my babies were gone.

My beautiful broccoli (from maybe three weeks ago)?

We have such a small [hobby] farm that these damages are practically insignificant. But I could feel the weight of a farmer who has to face whatever nature throws her way. Weather? Pests? Fungus? Blight? I don't farm for a living, but in the moment of sadness for losing all of the living things that I helped cultivate, I also realized that there is so much more. Generations have felt this way. People across many landscapes on different continents have felt this way. I have been raised in a modern enough time that the weather is more of an annoyance and not the force to be reckoned with if you want to feed your family. It took me about three days to digest my sadness and work onward.

I spent many hours this past weekend in my yard (my guess is something like 13 or 14 hours total). Yes, there were things to clean up. There are always things to clean or repair on a farm. But there were also chores to keep things moving forward. More plants need to be planted, more weeds need to be pulled, more seeds put in the ground. I had my chance to be sad for what happened after those storms, but dwelling in the damage was not going to make anything better.

What impressed me during those beautiful days is how the damaged plants bounced back. They have leaves with holes but those leaves still turned to face the sun. Birds still sang. The earth still rotates and the sun still sears my skin unless I apply regular and complete doses of SPF 800. Maybe that is why I love to garden? I receive many lessons outside, like the days don't stop even if I want them to. That the worst maybe isn't actually the worst. That the sun will return even after the most severe storms blow through.

As I was working on one part of the yard, Randall was mowing. He stopped and started motioning to me like a crazy person (let's just say that maybe we should not be charades partners). I finally understood that he was motioning to a tree. I checked it out and saw a mockingbird's nest about chest-height with one spotted egg in it. New babies! This morning, I saw that there are now three eggs in it. That mockingbird probably did not like the storms, neither, but here it is, continuing with its life.

And yes. I should be studying for my final final law school exam of the semester. But my brain can only do so much, so I am reflecting and writing instead. It is a way of continuing to digest the events of the week (and maybe also the events of the past two and a half months).

Planting Wildflowers

I've been meaning to write more. My buddy, Paul, helped motivate me to get back into it. Last night, I found a moment that felt inspired enough that I could write about it. Forgive my forthcoming stream of consciousness:

Randall and I purchased land from his dad this spring. One swath of land runs to the side of our property and we decided it would be a good place to create some form of "buffer" from potential future neighbors. We decided said buffer would be an orchard. Now, this land has been agricultural in nature; the farmers who leased it rotated growing crops on it, like soybeans and corn. When the land has nothing growing, we see a weed-splosion occur. In order to combat the weed-splosion, we bought this: 

Clover and wildflower seeds! The clover is native and will be good for the ground as it grows our various fruit and nut trees. It is also good for pollinators (and we have to save the bees!). However, because of the world predicament we are in (this here Time of the Coronavirus), I have turned into Scrooge. If we don't need it, we are not spending any money on it. So, while we talked about wildflowers back in January, a few weeks ago Randall said he was going to buy the seed for the patch along the road. "Maybe next year?" I offered. "It seems like an unnecessary expense right now." He said that's one way to look at it, then followed up: "but think of the joy we will provide to anyone driving by who sees the cheery patch of flowers." Ok. "Think of the joy you get every time you see flowers." He's not wrong.* So we bought the wildflower seed. And I already experience great amounts of joy just thinking about the flowers.

Knowing it was going to rain over the next several days, Randall and I tilled the land in order to spread the layer of seeds. Randall and I had already used the tractor a few weeks back to turn over the soil. So as the daylight hours slipped away, Randall and I feverishly completed the task of planting seeds. Ok, I just did some tossing of seeds and a few light raking motions to cover them up. But we got the field planted.

Look! Look at this! Ok, ok. Right now it looks like patchy dirt. But while Randall and I were sowing seeds, a thought dawned on me. We are sowing hope. We plant for the future. We don't know what the future will hold (in this case, we hope it is a field of wildflowers), but our efforts are for the future.

So I offer this thought: we are living in a world of uncertainty right now (completely off topic, but if I hear the word "unprecedented" one more time, I might stab someone). Maybe it feels like we are living in an abstract place of patchy dirt. Maybe it is difficult to see through the weeds. But we keep working toward a future that holds things like wildflowers. We keep educating children for their brighter future. We keep being kind to others because that's the type of world where we want to live. We keep living, taking each day as it comes knowing that we can't change that these days continue to come, we can only do our best with them. Ultimately, there is still a future and even if it feels like a vast space of tilled-up dirt right now, we can still hold on to hope. Hang in there and stay well, my friends.

*Actually, often my handsome husband knows more about me than I do. In this case, he preemptively offered me a season of feeling grounded in my garden.

Life in an RV (for a week)

One of the most-oft questions people ask upon the return from a trip is "how was it?" I think we especially got asked this question since we've been back because 1) we went to a cool place, 2) we traveled with teenagers, 3) we traveled with teenagers across country for a week, and 4) we were in a confined, vehicular space of recreation for said week. 

To answer: everyone survived.

One of the handiest of things was being able to park when we wanted to use our space. On the first night, we parked in a Walmart parking lot somewhere in Arkansas and slept there:

Now, sleeping ended up being very hard for me. That's weird, because generally I can sleep anywhere at any time. I did not sleep more than two-hours at a time for the whole week; I would sleep, wake up, repeat throughout the night. In order to keep the rig cool, we had to run the loud AC unit (and sometimes generator). If someone so much as blinked, you could feel it when you were laying down in the bed. We had to sleep with all the doors open for air circulation and that was the longest amount of time that I had no privacy (and that Randall and I had no married-partner privacy). Trips to the bathroom at places like rest stops and Walmarts became the only moments of privacy any of us experienced for the week and that was more draining than I anticipated.

For most of our lunches, we tried to find a park to set up and eat. We'd stabilize the rig, pop out a slide, and folks could eat a lunch (hot or cold!). We did dinner that way a few times (I planned the snot out of meal prepping for RV trips).

A small, but super-convenient space

It was also handy that everyone could spread out during the drive. That was probably the most convenient part of having the RV. In a minivan or station wagon, everyone would be snug, crammed even, and sitting for what ended up being especially-long drives. In the RV, folks could sit on the couch or at the dinette and could lay down if needed. So in that sense, it served its purpose. The kids could watch movies on different TVs. Additionally, without the availability of a bathroom on board, we would have been stopping at 45 minute- to hour- intervals to accommodate my amazing ability to stay hydrated. 

We initially evaluated that renting the RV (through RV Share) would probably end up costing about the same as renting a car, driving, staying in hotels, eating out all week, etc. After we tallied totals, we probably spent a little more than we intended, but I also think we did the trip our way and it worked out the best it could have possibly worked out for our family. We will all have memories from the week that we will carry for the rest of our lives. 

I definitely enjoyed the freedom of just being able to park wherever and enjoy.
Here, we parked at a city-managed park, ate our lunch, and the kids played in the river for a bit.

And Randall and I have talked about getting our own little rig for retirement. I enjoyed the experience enough to not reject the idea in its entirety.

Managing Expectations

When people ask me "what does a tour director do?" I usually respond lightly "I point at things and take dinner reservations." A tour director does a heckofalot more than that. Once of my biggest roles is that of expectation-manager. Guests who come on tour have ideas and expectations of what they might experience. After having led dozens of tours over the course of five year, I knew what complaints to expect and had some tricks up my sleeve to prevent these complaints by setting expectations in advance. Evidently, I need to figure out how to apply these tricks to myself. I had my own expectations of our visit to Yellowstone, as well as the trip itself. When those expectations did not work out as I anticipated, I have nobody to blame but me.

We woke up very early on our scheduled day to visit Yellowstone National Park. I knew it would get busy quickly and I thought it would be neat to watch the sun rise. I planned on spending some time at the Old Faithful location and wanted to secure parking for our rig. I also desperately wanted to see the Grand Prismatic Spring. Our first few minutes into the park granted us a glimpse of a glowing sky:

"Hooray!" I thought. "A sunrise at Yellowstone! And over the very spot I want to see!" We planned on stopping at the Grand Prismatic Spring. If you are not familiar, it is a fairly visually-iconic location of Yellowstone:

Within minutes after that glimpse of sky, we rolled into fog and clouds. This was our early morning view of the Grand Prismatic Spring:

I had not managed my own expectations. I had not planned on preparing myself for the advent of weather. And I *know* better. The kids pipped up more than once "that's it? where are all the colors? aren't we going to see it?" And I shallowly responded with something like "that's just a part of traveling, especially to places in the outdoors." I didn't believe myself.

The physical clouds eventually blew over but my mental and emotional cloud hung around. I was disappointed in missing out on the part of the park I was most excited about. I mean, I still experienced it. But I did not experience it in a way I expected. Additionally, at that point in the trip, the kids had gotten comfortable whining telling me their opinions about the trip and sharing what they would have liked better. You have probably been exposed to some version of a movie storyline where a parent tries to offer a fun vacation to his family (usually, it is a goofy father figure) and the kids just want to complain and stay home with their friends for summer vacation. I felt like I was that goofy father figure, grasping for something to keep my stepkids happy. Even reading articles about being a stepparent while traveling with stepkids did not prepare me for how I felt during several parts of the trip. Disappointed. Defeated. I gritted my teeth a lot. I tried to excuse myself sometimes. I even bubbled over some, just like we saw those geysers bubble over. I expected some form of a picture postcard vacation and I got a foggy day version of it. I still experienced it, but I experienced it in a way different than what I expected. I manage expectations for a living and I couldn't do it for myself.

And, as it goes, life moved on.

Old Faithful did its thing and folks "ooohed" and "aaaahed." The clouds disappeared and I got a sunburn on half of my face. We continued on our whirlwind visit over the course of the day. We were able to see Old Faithful spew 2.5 times. We hiked some (and the kids learned what hiking at elevation feels like). We saw some marmots. We picnicked by Yellowstone Lake. We stopped at Fishing Bridge. We then had to hustle home in order to meet the unyielding demands of the kids' biomother, which meant driving some 1,450 miles in two days (and we did it with 15 minutes to spare). The trip was equally exhilarating and exhausting.

I went on a very cool trip and got to share amazing places with my Love. I added two states to my "visit list" (only three more and I will have been to all fifty states). My body connected to physical spaces that my heart holds so near and so dear. I think just breathing the air at National Park Service sites energizes me at a cellular level. And yet, I sowed personal expectations that yielded disappointments. Social media sites like Instagram and Facebook allow you to share all your wonderful experiences and show off that you are having the best time. They don't leave a lot of room for sharing about disappointments (so I turn to my blog! I know, it is technically social media, too...). Who wants to hear Elizabeth whine about how she struggles with parts of life when she if off visiting Wyoming and Montana? But my struggles were as much a part of my trip as the geothermal activity we witnessed (and smelled). Also, I am allowed to write what I want on here and nobody is making you read it.

The trip will fade into my memory as a positive experience. My brain will rearrange my recollections so I remember the fun and forget the disappointment. And I imagine when I get ready to travel again, I will forget all these life lessons about managing my own expectations that I have been exposed to this past week. And that's just life.

Side note: Midwesterners are fun. But I still say "soda."

*I wrote and posted this on my own time.

Day 3: Go [indirectly] to Jail

We woke up with this outside of our window:

While it would probably have sounded awesome to hear the river running, the generator of our "rig" is especially loud and drowns out all noises, even thoughts. We got the kids up early to start our Colorado adventures.

First, we popped into The Dam Store for the kitch of it.

Then we had breakfast at the Colorado Cherry Company. Cherry pie and buffalo jerky topped off with cherry cider? Breakfast of champions.

Then off we went to do some exploring at Rocky Mountain National Park (and surrounding area, as we had limited time).

We stopped at the Wyoming State Historical Prison site (we did not pass go, we did not collect $200).

Then we drove another seven hundred and sixteen hours through the bottom of Wyoming to get to our campsite. (Well, it felt like it, anyway). That part was nerve-wracking, as we had absolutely no signal for most of that drive.  We crashed in Dubois, Wyoming knowing that we had another early, long, and wonderful day ahead.

Beep (bleep) Beep

We woke up in Kansas this morning (which is a good thing, since we fell asleep in Kansas last night...). We overnighted at an RV park in Chapman.

The staff were super friendly and the shower house was immaculate. There were several box-store produced signs of encouragement. I think the one that read "Don't let yesterday use up too much of today" spoke to me most.

I am especially prone to dwelling in the past (hey, I am an historian, after all). I worry a lot about what I said or what I didn't say when I could spend that time dealing with the present. Although, sometimes, dealing with the present provides it's own struggles (so it is easier to reminisce about our version of the past).

Hours and hours of Kansas

Today we are riding in an RV through Kansas. We should be to Colorado by lunchtime. I want to embrace everything about my today, however, we have a slight situation: something about air flow makes the RV sound like it is spontaneously honking as we drive along. It is one part annoying, one part aggravating, and all parts loud. It is not the actual horn. And it does not seem that cars passing us can hear it (nobody has started at us as they drive by, nor provided us with any special "hand signals"). But it still happens and, gosh, it is hard to stay "present." Figuring out potential remedies is becoming Randall's slight obsession. Well, that, and removing these smushed bugs from the massive windshield.

Onwards (while staying present, of course).

Not Technically "Day 1" because we started driving last night

I am typing this out on my cellular device that doubles as a technological wonder these days. Currently, I am somewhere on Interstate 70, heading straight into the sunset on a family trip to Yellowstone. Some time ago, my husband and I decided renting an RV on a cross country trip with three teenagers was a good idea. Today is our first full day of said trip and so it still seems like a good idea.

I brought my computer with me but it has been giving me fits and now won't even turn on. Thanks, Dell. Randall's co-workers evidently mentioned how it might be fun to track the trip (maybe via video). If I can get the technology to work, I might just make it happen. For now, typing out blog posts on a phone will have to do.

I'm Back (or Am I?)

I have drafted and saved many blog posts over the past several years. My desire to write exists. Time to sit and write thoughts about thoughts does not. So I have been reticent to publish or attempt to commit to blogging again, as I don't want to start only to wane. During the school year, my time is more or less consumed with taking classes, doing homework, reading for classes, taking notes for classes, retaking notes for classes, studying for classes, driving to or from classes, and making dinner for my family. Sometimes, I get some free time to vacuum the massive amounts of pet hair that is now a common feature at my house.

Since I last posted (some four years ago), I divorced, spent some time gallivanting, had intentions to move to a new and wild location, found a most marvelous man in rural, west Tennessee, married said marvelous man, gained three step kids, three step cats, two step dogs, and seven step chickens. In the past year, the chickens have all met their maker and we gained another cat. I also decided to go back to school in pursuit of a law degree because I am insane, evidently. Anybody providing advice about being a step-parent will say "it's one of the hardest things you can do in life." Anybody providing advice about going to school will say "it's one of the hardest things you can do in life." And here I am rolling along, doing two of the hardest things you can do in life in tandem. Many of those drafted and saved posts were inspired by events of my past year because this past year has provided more than enough fodder for writings.

One reason I want to keep up with publicly posting about my life again is rooted in the earliest reasons I started this blog over ten years ago. I felt like I neglected talking to my extended family while I was in grad school, and this was one way to let everyone know I was still alive. It is also therapeutic for me. So I think what I might do is publish this and see what happens after that. No commitments, though.

See? I do things.

I promise, I have been meaning to post! It is not always easy, as internet is spotty at best out on the road. Yes, I am on the road and am behind on my days. I thought on Saturday that I would try to post once a day every day this week. And today is Wednesday and I am just now writing.

 

I thought I would share some photos from the road, or in this case, the water. Yesterday, we cruised through Lake Powell (also known as the flooded part of Glen Canyon). Usually, the trip is just an hour and a half and then we go on our merry way.

 



 

Except, then we got a call. Well, the captain got a call. Another boat's steering went out. Rather than have their 98 passengers paddle, they called our captain to see if we can pick them up.

 

 

So we did. It took an extra 15 minutes or so, but between the crew members of both boats and the patience of all passengers, we completed our rescue mission. (Ok, ok, maybe that may be a little dramatic...)

 

 

Every once and a while, I get a few moments to myself. So after a day that started at 5am, I enjoyed a local amber ale, a kale salad (POW!- it packed a nutrient punch), and some light reading about the slave trade in the eightteenth century.

 

 

My days are busy and I have little time to think about anything beyond what I need to do next for the tour. But sometimes I take a moment to appreciate my surroundings. Last night, along with a nearly full moon, I watched oranges and purples battle each other as the sun set. Ultimately, a starry night won.

 

 

Small Fires Happen

"Small fires happen."

When my friend was talking about things I cook up, she meant figuratively. I also meant it figuratively when I said "as long as I don't burn down the kitchen!" And we laughed. She probably didn't know it, but her reply about small fires served as words of encouragement. Small fires do happen.

I have been playing with my color pencils. Fire is hard to capture.

Recently, I have seen quite a few folks around me who are clearly struggling with where they are in their life. I struggle with it, too, sometimes. We thought we would be somewhere else, doing something else, living someplace else. We made choices that brought us here and sometimes we feel like here is not where we want to be. And when small fires happen, it feels like the end of the world. The small fires feel like they engulf us because we fuel them with our own doubts. The sooner we accept that these small fires happen, the sooner we can put them out and move along.

I think it is important to keep "cooking things up." The more often you try things in the kitchen of life, the more often you are going to start small fires. The more often you start small fires, the better equipped you will become to deal with them. The better equipped you are to deal with life's small fires, the more you can experiment in the kitchen. Maybe this is not the best example of life's cycles, but it is what I have been pondering.

I never want to stop trying. I never want to get so caught up with the "oh, I wish I had" that I forget I am still alive and opportunity is waiting for me. So here is to today's small fires! May you appreciate them in the moment and later be able to see how they helped shaped your future.