Yesterday was a memorable day indeed. Louise, Dad (Floyd) and I, along with dad's sister, started off our day going to church, a church that my dad grew in as a new believer in Christ, a congregation of folk that he poured his life into. He was a contributing member for the first ten years of the church's life (1949-1959). This is also the church I first heard the Good News of the Gospel as a pre-schooler, the place of my infant baptism and dedication. St. Paul's Lutheran in Colville WA. Dad met a fellow after the service that joined the church in 1966. He claimed that in those early years of his own initial experience with the church, dad's name was regularly mentioned in endearing terms. This older gentleman exclaimed, "I always wanted to meet you and thought I never would have the chance!" Twenty five years later, wow. We had a great time worshiping and the two congregations worshiping together in unity capped off the morning quite well.
I know that many families don't have opportunities to explore their roots successfully, so I am indeed grateful for what took place Sunday afternoon and evening. Seven of us, including a cousin and an aunt visited two cemetaries, the old family farm, homes where three generations had lived for a time, and even saw the house in which my dad was born!
We heard stories galore. Probably the most touching location for me was the old family farm. Remember when hiking you would come along an old log cabin that had fallen down and you wondered who lived there and what kind of life they had experienced? Since we were spending the day with local relatives, they directed us to the site of the old family farm. We pulled off the road, walked up an old abandoned grassy two-tire-tracked road, and approached a dilapidated log cabin with its roof collapsed and a 20-foot cherry tree growing in the middle. This wasn't just another old cabin, this was the house where my dad and his four younger sibling had lived for close to a decade. Water was retrieved from the year-round creek that ran along side the property. The large logs had been hand-sawn and axed flat. We learned that it had originally been a small barn, retro-fitted complete with a living room, kitchen and bedrooms. The outhouse was about twenty feet from the structure. My dad told us where the old wood shed was, where the path had been down to the creek, and then we went exploring where the silo and "new" barn had been built. We found the found of the silo about a hundred yards from the house. The upward sloping property of perhaps 80 acres had two open fields with interspersed pine trees and shrubs. Vista views of surrounding moutains were inspiring. What a treat to come with the two surviving siblings who lived on that ranch, still known as the Dick Ranch! My dad's three siblings were all born in that log cabin. Their dad died in that log cabin and along with that death, a family era abruptly ended. One brother and I mused about buying the property, now fallowed for decades, this former farm was where land met family history and the stories we grew up with. I am thankful to God for this whole day, but especially for the visit to the family farm. I will share some picture with you soon. Kevin
Monday, May 30, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Heading for Home
This isn't what you might think. Louise, Floyd (dad) and I are not heading back to Denver, but rather I am talking about my roots. This morning one of my first thoughts was that of the mini-series from a couple of decades ago, Roots. Well, today, the three of us, along with two of my three brothers, are doing some re-tracing of steps in our lives when we catch up on our "roots." We are taking along with us my dad's sister and meeting up with one of our cousins to spend the next couple of days retracing the family history. We will, on this second anniversary of the passing of our mother/wife explore dad's past with his young family. We will be visiting Colville, Curlew, and possibly visiting Danville. Colville is where I was born and left when I was in the middle of second grade. Danville was where my dad was born. Curlew is where he, his sister and the rest of the family, now departed, grew up. We will visit two separate cemeteries where our grandparents and great-grandparents were born.
We will also drive by and visit the two homes where our young family lived, the home we remember visiting grandma Elsie, and also the old homestead that my dad's family lived on prior to grandpa Charlie's death in 1935.
The last time I visited the area with a couple of my own children about 12 or so years ago, I was surprised how settling it all was. It wasn't morbid to consider the passing of family members or where they have loved and lived, it was grounding. I felt in a way something I had not experience before, that I belong to a longer line of succession, a connection to a very personal past. These people were not just stories or faded memories, they had had their day in the sun, living in their ever-present "now," loving and living and experiencing joys, sorrows, challenging and triumphs. We see black and white pictures of them and the surrounding they live in, but they experience, as we do, colors, smells, touch and all of life. Yes, a different time, a different culture, but the major difference was technology. Their was not a black and white life. It was full. Roots.
I am very much looking forward to this weekend, celebrating life, even while visiting grave sites and old memories.
One of my brothers, Craig, has not been up in this area since our family moved in December of 1959. It is a special time for him and us. Last night we experienced a great family gathering, not only for our little entourage from Colorado and southern California, but also those from Washington State. Several cousins and associated families gathered with the patriarch and matriarch of the family-whole. We got reacquainted, some for the first time since their childhood. It was a very enjoyable experience, a better experience of a different kind than our travels up the coast that we so much enjoyed.
On Monday, we plan to head into Canada. Roving charges for internet is not kindly, so it is my plan to take a hiatus from posting. I will resume once in Alaska. In the meanwhile for the many of you that are looking at the blog, but who have yet to sign up (that is most of you, I understand) you may want to reconsider and sign-up. What this will do for you is automatic notification when a new blog is created, and also, an ability through the blog to leave comments, which I would enjoy.
I hope all of my readers have a great holiday weekend ahead. I would encourage you to catch up on your past, experience some roots and enjoy the ever-present life you are living right now. Kevin
We will also drive by and visit the two homes where our young family lived, the home we remember visiting grandma Elsie, and also the old homestead that my dad's family lived on prior to grandpa Charlie's death in 1935.
The last time I visited the area with a couple of my own children about 12 or so years ago, I was surprised how settling it all was. It wasn't morbid to consider the passing of family members or where they have loved and lived, it was grounding. I felt in a way something I had not experience before, that I belong to a longer line of succession, a connection to a very personal past. These people were not just stories or faded memories, they had had their day in the sun, living in their ever-present "now," loving and living and experiencing joys, sorrows, challenging and triumphs. We see black and white pictures of them and the surrounding they live in, but they experience, as we do, colors, smells, touch and all of life. Yes, a different time, a different culture, but the major difference was technology. Their was not a black and white life. It was full. Roots.
I am very much looking forward to this weekend, celebrating life, even while visiting grave sites and old memories.
One of my brothers, Craig, has not been up in this area since our family moved in December of 1959. It is a special time for him and us. Last night we experienced a great family gathering, not only for our little entourage from Colorado and southern California, but also those from Washington State. Several cousins and associated families gathered with the patriarch and matriarch of the family-whole. We got reacquainted, some for the first time since their childhood. It was a very enjoyable experience, a better experience of a different kind than our travels up the coast that we so much enjoyed.
On Monday, we plan to head into Canada. Roving charges for internet is not kindly, so it is my plan to take a hiatus from posting. I will resume once in Alaska. In the meanwhile for the many of you that are looking at the blog, but who have yet to sign up (that is most of you, I understand) you may want to reconsider and sign-up. What this will do for you is automatic notification when a new blog is created, and also, an ability through the blog to leave comments, which I would enjoy.
I hope all of my readers have a great holiday weekend ahead. I would encourage you to catch up on your past, experience some roots and enjoy the ever-present life you are living right now. Kevin
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
My First Picture Postings!
Some would say that I am related to this fine creature. My only claim of connection to this ape is that I am his photographer. I took this photo using my Kodak digital camera at the San Diego Zoo in late March. I especially like this picture because of his pensive look, his hand to his chin, gazing at all the humans gathered to view him! Who is looking at whom?
I am related to this man! This past weekend we visited my cousin, Susan, in Olympic. She was kind to share her trove of family pictures with me, most of which I have never seen. This picture is my grandpa, Charlie Dick, my dad's dad, taken in 1915, prior to WWI. He served as a corporal. He experienced an untimely death at age 48 leaving four children and a grieving wife. Grandpa Charlie was a college educated school teacher, but he was also an avid horseman and liked trading in mules.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
On the Puget Sound
I admit, I do not know this area of the county well although I was born in the State of Washington. Our family moved in December of 1959 to San Diego, so Washington State was more a memory than an experience in my life, except for the short interludes of travel through it on rare long distance family vacations.
When we loop eastward away from the open ocean coast we hugged the coast of the Puget Sound as best as we could with our 60 foot vessel we call truck and trailer, yet to be named. We ventured off Highway 101 at Sappho, north of Forks, WA. on Highway 113 and then 112. What I find about such excursions off the more beaten path are more surprises, perhaps subtle in nature. These two highways' companion vehicles were primarily logging trucks. Homes were dotted along the road, little worlds to themselves, some looking like they suffered a terrible storm, others were closer to something you would see in a travel book enticing you to come for a visit. As we drove this stretch, we were frustrated that we were so close to the water, but because of the vegetation we could only see slivers of blue slicing through the towering tree trunks. Oh, yes, finally a clearing ahead, just where the highway crew has parked their equipment for the much needed roadside repairs! How dare they park there, the only turnout in the first half of the journey on Highway 112! To our relief, a few miles further we were once again right on the coast and there was a place to pull out and stop for a much needed respite of drive and walk on the beach. The water laid out before was relatively calm, a slight breeze, plenty of sunshine. This part of what I always thought to be the Sound, is actually called the Strait of Juan de Fuca after a maritime explorer of the same name. Just in case you wanted to know, Juan de Fuca was born in 1536, a Greek man in the service of the king of Spain, Philip II, best known for his explorations of the southern portion of the Sound. We stayed in the Port Townsend area for a total of four night, the first night dry camping at Port Townsend State Park, south of town, and three nights at Fort Worden State Park, just north of the same town, adjacent to the peninsula where the Rotschield Lighhouse is located. From that RV park, a few steps from where we parked, we had a vantage view of parts of Vancouver Island, Whidbey Is., lower San Juan Islands, and the snow capped mountains of the Cascade Range to the East, and Mt. Rainier to the South and East, a most impressive mountain even at such a long distance rising to 14,411 feet. Fort Worden is one of Washington's most attended State parks, partly because it has various museums, the Fort buildings are still intact with some open for tours. It is a beautiful location and one that I would like to visit again. The older part of town was also quite attractive with its various boats and ships and boatyards. One club, down by the next docks in lower downtown, its building stored the longboats for racing. I do not readily remember what they are called, but you have seen them in movies or on sport channels - narrow, perhaps no more than two or two and a half feet, fifty-plus feet long, a racing boat for four oarsmen. No, we only looked. I will reserve my boating to something more for men of my own age and shape. (smile) Best wishes to all, signing off from a RV park for two nights in Cle Elum, WA. See if you can find that on a map, population just under 2,000. Kevin, Louise and Floyd - traveling.
When we loop eastward away from the open ocean coast we hugged the coast of the Puget Sound as best as we could with our 60 foot vessel we call truck and trailer, yet to be named. We ventured off Highway 101 at Sappho, north of Forks, WA. on Highway 113 and then 112. What I find about such excursions off the more beaten path are more surprises, perhaps subtle in nature. These two highways' companion vehicles were primarily logging trucks. Homes were dotted along the road, little worlds to themselves, some looking like they suffered a terrible storm, others were closer to something you would see in a travel book enticing you to come for a visit. As we drove this stretch, we were frustrated that we were so close to the water, but because of the vegetation we could only see slivers of blue slicing through the towering tree trunks. Oh, yes, finally a clearing ahead, just where the highway crew has parked their equipment for the much needed roadside repairs! How dare they park there, the only turnout in the first half of the journey on Highway 112! To our relief, a few miles further we were once again right on the coast and there was a place to pull out and stop for a much needed respite of drive and walk on the beach. The water laid out before was relatively calm, a slight breeze, plenty of sunshine. This part of what I always thought to be the Sound, is actually called the Strait of Juan de Fuca after a maritime explorer of the same name. Just in case you wanted to know, Juan de Fuca was born in 1536, a Greek man in the service of the king of Spain, Philip II, best known for his explorations of the southern portion of the Sound. We stayed in the Port Townsend area for a total of four night, the first night dry camping at Port Townsend State Park, south of town, and three nights at Fort Worden State Park, just north of the same town, adjacent to the peninsula where the Rotschield Lighhouse is located. From that RV park, a few steps from where we parked, we had a vantage view of parts of Vancouver Island, Whidbey Is., lower San Juan Islands, and the snow capped mountains of the Cascade Range to the East, and Mt. Rainier to the South and East, a most impressive mountain even at such a long distance rising to 14,411 feet. Fort Worden is one of Washington's most attended State parks, partly because it has various museums, the Fort buildings are still intact with some open for tours. It is a beautiful location and one that I would like to visit again. The older part of town was also quite attractive with its various boats and ships and boatyards. One club, down by the next docks in lower downtown, its building stored the longboats for racing. I do not readily remember what they are called, but you have seen them in movies or on sport channels - narrow, perhaps no more than two or two and a half feet, fifty-plus feet long, a racing boat for four oarsmen. No, we only looked. I will reserve my boating to something more for men of my own age and shape. (smile) Best wishes to all, signing off from a RV park for two nights in Cle Elum, WA. See if you can find that on a map, population just under 2,000. Kevin, Louise and Floyd - traveling.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Ten Days Since the Last Blog
I thought time raced by when I was busy at work all the previous years, but I have been surprised to see how one day flows into another when we are on the road. Time seems to have accelerated, but I won't claim that it is because I am getting older although my lower back tells me otherwise because of all the sitting I do in the truck. Here it is a week and a half later since my last blog, I can hardly believe it. We have traveled up the coast of Oregon and Washington over this past month and I am woefully behind in capturing by word my experiences and feelings as we experience anew such beauty of forest and coastline, and quaint towns and villages. My sense is that Oregon's coast is prettier than Washington's, with the mountains and hills coming closer to the water's edge, sometimes towering over the ocean, much like Northern California's terrain. The roads are better for driving a big rig than N. CA, but some of that has to do with the terrain also. This is not to say that coastal Washington is not beautiful, but I have been taken aback by all the logging activity on the private land surrounding the Olympic National Park. Large tracks of forests have been clear cut and replanted. They call it sustained forestry, but I think I would very much more enjoy seeing the virgin forest with its diversity of trees and other fauna. The large stately trees are only stumps and the re-vegetated forests have trees of all the same size. Some tracks have branches piled up over 30 feet high, waiting for who knows what, maybe a forest fire. Many spots have been clear cut right to the roads edge, looking more like what a war zone would look like, utter destruction, a grey pale over the track of land. I have the distinct impression that Oregon's government regulates the beauty of their coastal areas more tightly than Washington.
Surprises. Having lived in Colorado with its Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve in the southern part of the state, I thought I would not be taken aback by other sand dunes, and so it was a surprise to drive alongside and stop and experience the sand dunes that make up Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area located mid-coast, north of Coos Bay and just south of Florence. I remember one particular scene as we drove north down the highway something that astonished all three of us. We were enjoying the ride mid-morning amidst the sun-lit forests with the intermittent streams, rivers and clearings just a short distance from the ocean, a landscape with hills on both sides of our beloved Hwy 1. As the truck and trailer ventured down the road we looked up and out on the hillside ahead of us thinking we would only see the all-too-familiar green landscape of the hills before us. What caught our eyes instead at the top of the hill, yes top, a off-white sand dune basking in the sun! I thought sand dunes were at bottoms of hills, but in this case (and others we discovered ahead of us in our travels) they were at the top. This particular hill that I am describing is several hundred feet high thickly forested 3/4 (or more) of the way up. My first thought past the disbelief of what I was seeing was that I wanted to stop and climb it. Soon we realized as we drove through this area is that virtually every forested hill was a sand dune, most now hidden from view with vegetation. What we also discovered about this area, particularly around the town of Florence 30 miles to the north was sand dunes can exist in most unexpected places, interspersed with ponds or small lakes. Imagine a shopping center like Walmart, but by a different name, and right next door, just a few hundred feet from the main drag through town, there is a large sand dune of perhaps one mile square and forty feet high. A quarter mile hike outside of our campsite three miles north of town amidst forest and streams, you hike right into a sand dune area, miles from the ocean. These areas and others speak of a more turbulent time in geological past, or at the very least the action of the ocean that in some areas there is a gaining of land, and not a loss over the millennia. In this area, it must be the latter.
Just a couple more things I wanted to share concerning this part of our travels leading up to the Puget Sound. I generally like the towns we drove through along Oregon's coast, some showing a careful concern to cleanliness and zoning, pleasing to the eye and not overdone. They are real communities of families and individuals raising their children and enjoying what life brings, fed by tourism and fishing mostly; Brookings, Gold Beach, Port Orford, Charleston, Coos Bay and North Bend. I also liked Florence, Newport and Lincoln City. Seaside, where we stopped for church last week, the town was too small for my liking, but the people we met loved the area despite that the whole town and surrounding ground was at sea level. All I can say is that they were passionate about their love for the area and its people, a tribute to any town despite the lack of what might be considered basic services.
-Kevin
Surprises. Having lived in Colorado with its Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve in the southern part of the state, I thought I would not be taken aback by other sand dunes, and so it was a surprise to drive alongside and stop and experience the sand dunes that make up Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area located mid-coast, north of Coos Bay and just south of Florence. I remember one particular scene as we drove north down the highway something that astonished all three of us. We were enjoying the ride mid-morning amidst the sun-lit forests with the intermittent streams, rivers and clearings just a short distance from the ocean, a landscape with hills on both sides of our beloved Hwy 1. As the truck and trailer ventured down the road we looked up and out on the hillside ahead of us thinking we would only see the all-too-familiar green landscape of the hills before us. What caught our eyes instead at the top of the hill, yes top, a off-white sand dune basking in the sun! I thought sand dunes were at bottoms of hills, but in this case (and others we discovered ahead of us in our travels) they were at the top. This particular hill that I am describing is several hundred feet high thickly forested 3/4 (or more) of the way up. My first thought past the disbelief of what I was seeing was that I wanted to stop and climb it. Soon we realized as we drove through this area is that virtually every forested hill was a sand dune, most now hidden from view with vegetation. What we also discovered about this area, particularly around the town of Florence 30 miles to the north was sand dunes can exist in most unexpected places, interspersed with ponds or small lakes. Imagine a shopping center like Walmart, but by a different name, and right next door, just a few hundred feet from the main drag through town, there is a large sand dune of perhaps one mile square and forty feet high. A quarter mile hike outside of our campsite three miles north of town amidst forest and streams, you hike right into a sand dune area, miles from the ocean. These areas and others speak of a more turbulent time in geological past, or at the very least the action of the ocean that in some areas there is a gaining of land, and not a loss over the millennia. In this area, it must be the latter.
Just a couple more things I wanted to share concerning this part of our travels leading up to the Puget Sound. I generally like the towns we drove through along Oregon's coast, some showing a careful concern to cleanliness and zoning, pleasing to the eye and not overdone. They are real communities of families and individuals raising their children and enjoying what life brings, fed by tourism and fishing mostly; Brookings, Gold Beach, Port Orford, Charleston, Coos Bay and North Bend. I also liked Florence, Newport and Lincoln City. Seaside, where we stopped for church last week, the town was too small for my liking, but the people we met loved the area despite that the whole town and surrounding ground was at sea level. All I can say is that they were passionate about their love for the area and its people, a tribute to any town despite the lack of what might be considered basic services.
-Kevin
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
"Man, life is good"
This is what my dad just declared as he prepares to go to bed after another interesting day.
Some of you may have been a bit skeptical, although you didn't ever show it, when I mentioned that my early retirement was precipitated by my desire to gift my dad with travel. What I noticed about him was that he was diminishing quite rapidly after the loss of my mother, his bride of over 63 years. It is almost two years since we lost her. My dad, even under the care and superision of my oldest brother, Brian, was not thriving and was becoming frail. Unknown to him and us, my dad had developed a kidney stone and his kidneys were functioning at a low point at 29%. In medical terms, he was in kidney failure. We took over his care when he was only 114 lbs. At 5'9" he was very thin and frail. With the help of three doctors and two hospital stays of short duration, he started a goodly turnaround. With over 50% kidney function and now a weight in excess of 133 pounds, he has regained much of what he lost physically over the past four or five years. Last winter he was hesitant about traveling with us, thinking that he might be in the way, or that it was our trip he was crashing upon. He now understands it is "our" trip, and if he had anyplace he wants to stop and see, we will try to meet those wishes. For the most part, he is a great traveling companion. He has turned into a rock-hound and drift wood collector and most recently he has expanded it to the new flora he is discovering as we travel north. He declared today after one of our quicker-than-normal beach viewing stops that each stop takes off one year of aging. Although he only remembers smaller bits and pieces of our trip than we do, he may be enjoying it the most. He has no worries, concerns or pain, replaced by wonderment, exclamations that he never saw something so beautiful or majestic. To some extent his inner child has been reborn where everything is to be explored and enjoyed. In his walk after supper, without Louise and I, we watched as he donned his little blue sport cap with a red beenie on top and put on his new favorite jacket he gained at Monterey, and he headed out. My comment to Louise was that it would be difficult for him to get lost since the county RV park, although rural, was completely fenced. Just to be on the safe side, I gave him a 3X5 card with our space number written on it. 45 minutes later we saw him approach our truck and trailer with an older couple. He got lost and they helped him find his way back. He didn't know for sure it was the right rig even though he had been living in it for the past four months, until he open the door and recognized us. This is the mix we live with, but it is a good way for him to live and experience life. He is happy, genuinely happy, and thankful. "Life can't get better than this," was his early evening expression. I agree. -Kevin
Some of you may have been a bit skeptical, although you didn't ever show it, when I mentioned that my early retirement was precipitated by my desire to gift my dad with travel. What I noticed about him was that he was diminishing quite rapidly after the loss of my mother, his bride of over 63 years. It is almost two years since we lost her. My dad, even under the care and superision of my oldest brother, Brian, was not thriving and was becoming frail. Unknown to him and us, my dad had developed a kidney stone and his kidneys were functioning at a low point at 29%. In medical terms, he was in kidney failure. We took over his care when he was only 114 lbs. At 5'9" he was very thin and frail. With the help of three doctors and two hospital stays of short duration, he started a goodly turnaround. With over 50% kidney function and now a weight in excess of 133 pounds, he has regained much of what he lost physically over the past four or five years. Last winter he was hesitant about traveling with us, thinking that he might be in the way, or that it was our trip he was crashing upon. He now understands it is "our" trip, and if he had anyplace he wants to stop and see, we will try to meet those wishes. For the most part, he is a great traveling companion. He has turned into a rock-hound and drift wood collector and most recently he has expanded it to the new flora he is discovering as we travel north. He declared today after one of our quicker-than-normal beach viewing stops that each stop takes off one year of aging. Although he only remembers smaller bits and pieces of our trip than we do, he may be enjoying it the most. He has no worries, concerns or pain, replaced by wonderment, exclamations that he never saw something so beautiful or majestic. To some extent his inner child has been reborn where everything is to be explored and enjoyed. In his walk after supper, without Louise and I, we watched as he donned his little blue sport cap with a red beenie on top and put on his new favorite jacket he gained at Monterey, and he headed out. My comment to Louise was that it would be difficult for him to get lost since the county RV park, although rural, was completely fenced. Just to be on the safe side, I gave him a 3X5 card with our space number written on it. 45 minutes later we saw him approach our truck and trailer with an older couple. He got lost and they helped him find his way back. He didn't know for sure it was the right rig even though he had been living in it for the past four months, until he open the door and recognized us. This is the mix we live with, but it is a good way for him to live and experience life. He is happy, genuinely happy, and thankful. "Life can't get better than this," was his early evening expression. I agree. -Kevin
Continued Laguna Seca Recreational Park
The grade leveled off a bit as we climbed at least a thousand feet within a half mile distance. What we found is a very unique park because of its companion attraction, the Mazda Raceway. The raceway appears to be two full rounds of track, one disappearing because the hill it ran around. There were stands, loudspeakers and advertisements. Although most of the campers were associated with the races that were taking place that weekend (including a classic car race, it was quiet in the evenings. In parts of the campground there is an 180 degree view of the Salinas Valley with its beautiful interspersed oak trees and lush green hillsides. Luckily, the last campsite we looked at was the one that met our requirements, so we settled in. We planned to go to church the following morning on our way to Monterey. I detached the truck and we headed out the next morning. Once we worshiped, we headed off to Fisherman's Wharf. Now I should have known better, but the parking was impossible on a Sunday afternoon and the one spot I found, our truck was too BIG to fit it. We decided to visit Cannery Row instead and found a spot on the street to park. I suspect both places are similar, giving some attention to history but most of its activity is tourist shops with items made in China and other far-East areas. The next day was more interesting- a trip to the Monterey Aquarium - something worth seeing for sure! Most notable are the seahorses that look like like pieces of seaweed. We left on Tuesday to visit Louise's sister, having never been to her home in Clayton. Her backyard faces the Mt. Diablo State Park and she has an unobstructed view of Mt. Diablo. It's summit is only 3,849 ft., but from its summit it can see the second farthest distance in the world, second only to Mt. Kilimanjaro. For those who are interested and know the general topography of this area of the west, the claim is, on a clear day after a winter storm, on the summit you can see past the golden gate bridge to the Farallon Islands, North to Mt. Lasson, South to the Santa Cruz Mtns. and East to the Sierras and Yosemite. I wished we had the time to find this out for ourselves, but maybe another trip another time.
We were anxious to get back on the road after we enjoy an great evening with Louise's sister. We had stayed in Vallejo for the night and then aimed our sites for the coastline again. We drove through Petaluma on the way to Bodega Bay. We were really impressed by the unexpected beauty of Petaluma with its lushness, its flowers and its varied landscape and homes. I thought I could live there, close to the big cities of San Francisco and Oakland, but away from the hustled and rush. On our way to Bodega Bay and our eventual stop for overnight at Anchor Bay, we stopped in a delightful little, little town for lunch. The town of Tomales we found because of a confusing sign and wrong turn, but what a delightful road we found and a town that could be on a postage stamp replete with a deli, a post office, a general store, a town hall, and a garden center. Clean, quaint and friendly would describe it well. Some buildings were dated from the 1870s. No stop lights, no stop signs, but plenty of life. A simple treat, and yes, the food was good too.
Something you need to know about Louise and I (and now my dad, Floyd) is that for the most part, we like traveling without a lot of plans we need to follow. We hold general ideas of direction and destination. Toward the end of our day of travel on some roads we did not plan we headed up the coast south of Bodega Bay. Having just passed Anchor Bay, we made a quick decision at the bottom of the small turning hill to turn left into an RV park, finding ourselves nestled in the Red Woods and kissed by surf and sand. Really. It is The RV park is owned by twenty individuals, each having a rig parked year round, but only used seasonally. They allow overnight guests and we were one of them, maybe the only one when I think about it. $45 is steeper than what we want to pay for a night's stay, but it was magical trailer-housed between two large and towering redwoods and within a 100 yards from beach's edge with clifts to the right and left. We enjoy and evening and a morning. -Kevin
We were anxious to get back on the road after we enjoy an great evening with Louise's sister. We had stayed in Vallejo for the night and then aimed our sites for the coastline again. We drove through Petaluma on the way to Bodega Bay. We were really impressed by the unexpected beauty of Petaluma with its lushness, its flowers and its varied landscape and homes. I thought I could live there, close to the big cities of San Francisco and Oakland, but away from the hustled and rush. On our way to Bodega Bay and our eventual stop for overnight at Anchor Bay, we stopped in a delightful little, little town for lunch. The town of Tomales we found because of a confusing sign and wrong turn, but what a delightful road we found and a town that could be on a postage stamp replete with a deli, a post office, a general store, a town hall, and a garden center. Clean, quaint and friendly would describe it well. Some buildings were dated from the 1870s. No stop lights, no stop signs, but plenty of life. A simple treat, and yes, the food was good too.
Something you need to know about Louise and I (and now my dad, Floyd) is that for the most part, we like traveling without a lot of plans we need to follow. We hold general ideas of direction and destination. Toward the end of our day of travel on some roads we did not plan we headed up the coast south of Bodega Bay. Having just passed Anchor Bay, we made a quick decision at the bottom of the small turning hill to turn left into an RV park, finding ourselves nestled in the Red Woods and kissed by surf and sand. Really. It is The RV park is owned by twenty individuals, each having a rig parked year round, but only used seasonally. They allow overnight guests and we were one of them, maybe the only one when I think about it. $45 is steeper than what we want to pay for a night's stay, but it was magical trailer-housed between two large and towering redwoods and within a 100 yards from beach's edge with clifts to the right and left. We enjoy and evening and a morning. -Kevin
Still Catching Up on My Past
If you are reading this for the first time, you may want to start with my first posting and then read forward. When I catch up on our travels and get more current in my blog updates, I hope to have more interesting, funny or more meaningful entries. I am also soon to try to figure out how to post pictures or create links for you to follow because the places were are seeing and photographing. Let me share briefly what we did around Monterey CA. We ended up camping up on a hill at an RV park owned and run by the county of Monterey called Laguna Seca Recreation Area. When getting off Highway 68 we were faced with the great unknown, it was Saturday evening the 30th of April and we looped around to only find ourselves on a 16% grade! Likely the steepest public road you have ever been on has been 7% grade. Our trusty 93 Ford F-250 did its duty and we had power to spare as it pull nearly 10,000 lbs. behind it. The next entry will tell you what we found when we got up the hill. -Kevin
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Catching Up -Abbreviated Style
We pulled out of Denver, Colorado, the first week of February, between snow storms and a 25 year record cold snap of -17 degrees F, seeking warmer weather and looking forward to a lengthy visit in Arizona with one of our daughters, son-in-law and two grandsons! Enjoying the time and company, we set out for southern California. Spent a few days with one of my brothers in Hemet, then off to Escondido area for additional five weeks with Louise's folks and family, visiting two other brothers of mine and a bit of sight seeing included. We headed off on our adventure-trek two days after Easter Sunday. Heading north we soon hooked up to Highway 101 and then Highway 1. Because of our planned departure being delayed one week, we decided to skip the tourist stops and drove straight through Los Angeles basin. We landed in Carpenteria the first night next to the beach and then traveled to Pismo Beach where we stayed for a couple of nights. We headed north, inland this time, due to a road closure on Hwy 1 and we set up camp outside Monterey.
Getting Started
This is my first posting, months later that I first intended to do so. I apologize to those who thought I had forgotten about them and was just moving on. I am not. I may be traveling, but my thoughts are with you all. If you are initially reading this it is because you are my special invited friends and family. If you have been referred to my Travels with Louise and Floyd Blog, welcome! If you find it to be interesting, share it with a friend. I would welcome your comments and your questions.
Unlike some folk, I do not live for social networking. That is part of the reason it has taken me this long to communicate to you. I much prefer face-to-face or telephone conversations over the less personal electronic communication. Also, I have fairly good excuses. Who among you have moved moved 2 1/2 households (moved out of two homes and moved much less into a 30 foot trailer), traveled over 2,000 miles so far, and managed to make one's life mobile and electronic?
Unlike some folk, I do not live for social networking. That is part of the reason it has taken me this long to communicate to you. I much prefer face-to-face or telephone conversations over the less personal electronic communication. Also, I have fairly good excuses. Who among you have moved moved 2 1/2 households (moved out of two homes and moved much less into a 30 foot trailer), traveled over 2,000 miles so far, and managed to make one's life mobile and electronic?
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