Little House and Big Weather

The last leg of our trip to Minnesota was all about Laura Ingalls Wilder. We planned to see two different spots she and her family lived, including a festival, complete with a Laura and Nellie look-alike contest. The countryside changed from the blanched plains that seemed to go on endlessly, to the giant patchwork of crops in varying shades of green broken by low lying lakes and dark stands of wood. We stopped at the Akta-Lakota museum in Chamberlin, South Dakota which had some great traditional clothing including a whole display of tiny moccasins.

In the afternoon, we finally made it to De Smet, where several of Laura Ingalls Wilder's books take place. The homestead that belonged to her family is now a living museum - we crawled around the barn which was a dugout in the side of a hill, complete with a family of kittens that made the girls' day.
We got to churn butter, try out the straw mattresses in the bedrooms of the house, pump water from the well and take a ride in the covered wagon to the school house that Laura taught in when Almanzo was courting her. It was a great day - thoroughly enjoyed the whole thing.

The next morning we went to Walnut Grove, 40 miles east and the place where "The Banks of Plum Creek" was. It was a sweltering day - nearing 90 and very humid. What was supposed to be a charming festival in the center of town, was actually a strange mix of bad fried fair food, a tipi with a New Agey middle aged white woman selling crystals and dream catchers, a mini-train, and a Laotian community booth selling egg rolls and woven wall hangings. The only cute thing was the Nellie-Laura look alike contest, which had about 40 little girls all dressed up and answering detailed questions as if they were the characters in the books.

Well, it was way too hot to waste energy being disappointed, and we had our hearts set on getting to the cabin, so we headed north.


 As we drove, I saw the clouds on all sides of us massing. I called Jeff and he said we would be experiencing some weather on the way. Tornadoes? I asked, oh no....just some thunderstorms.

I might just be a kid from California, but what followed was one of the scariest things I've ever driven through. The storm front was a bizarre layering of black and white strips, the air was still as death and there were all sorts of eerie colors - bronze, jade, saffron, tinting everything around us weird shades. I took a deep breath as we entered the front - it was hanging above us like a iron blanket; I could see through to the other side, where a wall of rain looked white as it dashed against the trees. But above us hung menacing black tendrils, circling slowly well below the actual cloud head. As we drove through a tiny town, I saw a bunch of people pulled into a gas station and all staring upwards. I rolled down my window and heard the high-pitched screaming of the tornado siren going off.


My pulse began to race; and somewhere in the back of my head I heard the Crazy Voice - the voice of my dad, the steeple chase racer, the one who gambles big and sometimes wins. "You can outrun this thing." it told me with an evil grin, "Maybe..." I answered myself, not knowing what the heck I was talking about. I've never even been near a tornado. But I knew that getting seven kids out of their car seats and into a basement in an unknown location was not the option I was looking for. We were SO close to home - only about 30 minutes away. I turned on the radio and heard the tornado warnings - about 10-15 miles on either side of us, but such a big storm system, that it had the potential to change at any moment. As the commentator told everyone to take cover, I pushed 80.

Stupid, stupid me, but Jeff, the seasoned Minnesotan, was on the cell phone coaching me as we drove."What county are we in?" I screamed at him, listening as the radio mentioned the tiny town we had just left. "Please take cover and assist any elderly or infirmed neighbors that are living near you." I heard, my hands fumbling with the big map as I tried to drive and peg our location at the same time.

We hit the wall of water on the other side with almost the same ferocity as taking a plunge into a wave. I flicked the windshield wipers onto their highest setting. I felt better, perhaps erroneously. Anything was preferable to the beautiful, deadly calm we had just driven through. It was raining harder than I've ever seen it rain in my life. Branches were blowing across the road, Vera was sobbing in the backseat, a tree knocked down a telephone pole to our right sending sparks flying out in our path. Thunder and lightning seemed to bear down on top of us. We were still going pretty fast, but I was losing the other two cars behind me. "You HAVE to keep up with me," I yelled at Krista, "Matt's hydroplaning!" came the reply. I studied the map - only a few miles to go, and on either side of us, wide ditches filled with water - no houses, no shelter. The crazy rain and wind from every side continued on for what seemed like an hour, although it was probably just another 20 minutes. The tornadoes were to the east and south of us now - we were threading the needle and it felt good. I could hear my dad laughing about it, about me white knuckling Minnesota weather with three kids in the back, battling childhood fears of getting sucked into the sky by a tornado: what a homecoming.

We pulled into the driveway just as the storm eased up. Two huge branches lay in our path, completely covering the road. I used adrenaline from the last 45 minutes to shove them out of the way and then we all came tumbling out of the cars as a fresh wave of thunder and rain hit.

We melted into Keith and Nini's house, warm and welcoming with its lights shining out over the lake. The kids ran to play in the basement, the adults were all handed margaritas, and proceeded to collapse onto the couches. If  I had known what I was going to drive through when I got up in the morning, I think I would have turned around and driven the 2,000 miles back to California, no question. But it was exciting and exhilarating all the same and it seemed a crowning achievement, a rite of passage, for our weary band of travelers who had traversed the country together.

Americana

From Cheyenne to Rapid City the countryside is undeniably Western - wide skies, rocky outcroppings gleaming white against rippling grasses, dark smudges of pine in the distance. My mind drifted from the pavement in front of me back to my grandparents' house in California. I thought about another age, another version of America - a squeaky clean, jaunty America that my mom grew up in, rubbing shoulders with WW2 veterans and astronauts. I thought of the row of old hardbound books called the "Signature Series" that I grew up reading. Heroes of the past: Crazy Horse, Buffalo Bill, Davy Crockett, Theodore Roosevelt, illustrated with the confident idealism of the 40's and 50's floating along in happy succession.  The countryside out the window fit my daydreaming:  we passed a herd of buffalo, and drove and drove and drove.

Matt and Krista stopped at Fort Laramie - got to see an archaeological dig in action as they were pulling up some old boots and a beautiful cut glass perfume bottle. Tam and I had an impromptu picnic on the roadside among grasshoppers and dragonflies. There was a strong wind blowing, and the kids opted to crawl around between the front and backseats instead of getting out, which made for some interesting eating locations. I lost the car keys somewhere during this time, and we scoured the ground around both cars just to make sure we weren't leaving $300 behind on a dirt road in Wyoming, then pulled out the emergency set that Jeff had so thoughtfully left in the center consul (how did he know?).

We read some books about cowboys, Plains Indians, and looked at pictures of life in the Wild West. Vera worked on her states maps, cutting out icons and placing them along our route. Since we were en route, it was tough to supervise the placement of these things, and I'm pretty sure some cacti and mountains ended up where they shouldn't have, but it was a good exercise for cutting and route planning.

Cell service is pretty spotty, and we actually lost Matt and Krista for most of the day - finally caught up to them in the Black Hills outside of Crazy Horse Memorial and spent our happy reunion looking at Lakota Jewelry, large buffalo hides and woven baskets.
The highlight of the day was the group of Native American girls doing traditional dances to the soulful singing of an Ojibwe from Minnesota.. He explained each song before he sang it, and described their intricate outfits, one of which had hundreds of silver cone shaped jingles hanging from it. Vera and Brodie were riveted for the entire performance.

The Black Hills are an amazingly beautiful surprise after miles of deserted grassland. Despite the fact that we were trying desperately to find Matt and Krista, with no backup plan if we couldn't connect with each other, I had a general feeling of well being. Here was a slice of the America you read about in Sunset magazines from the 60's - kids in shorts leaping from huge boulders into jeweled lakes, a ring of tents neatly apportioned on the shore like sweaters at Benetton, air licking my shoulders at just the right temperature. The piney smell of campfire joined us on the way up the hill to Mt. Rushmore, making the sensory enjoyment complete. I half expected my mom and her siblings in their childhood selves, mirages from a mythical American golden period, dressed in plaid shirts and coonskin caps, to come bounding out from the trees giving Indian war yelps.

Mt. Rushmore, as expected, was kind of a flop. Basically hike up the hill between flags, look at the icon of American dominance over nature, or what Americans love best - big things - take a picture, use the bathroom and head out again. I'm sure there are aspects of the monument that are educational and fascinating, but my kids are too little to understand and, to be honest, I find the whole thing underwhelming.

Someday I want to come back to the Black Hills, though, and leap off a boulder with reckless abandon. Maybe I'll even find a coonskin cap for my kids to wear, tell them stories of how their grandma traveled across the country in a station wagon with no air conditioning, how life was bigger, different, slower, more idealistic; life in technicolor.

Off Roading

At the suggestion of our friendly concierge, Tammy and I decided to take a "short cut" to Rocky Mountain National Park.

He convinced us it was much shorter even though it was an unpaved remote road over a mountain pass. I thought about taking the more conventional route and then decided that we should definitely go for the adventure.

We were not disappointed - in fact, this little mountain road was not only like a picture postcard of Colorado, it was like a slice of mountain life: the life I think about when I'm daydreaming about being a serious backpacker. Some women are obsessed with cute baby clothes. I have a secret passion for outdoor clothing...I think I want to pretend that I'm hard core. Oh, to be that cool person in North Face clothing, no make-up, talking nonchalantly about melting snow to make my coffee and bathing in a mountain stream.

Whatever the case, this road was idyllic in many ways. Firstly, we were bumping down a washboard gravel road, the colorado river sliding along far below us. We passed a rafting center, mud-splashed vans with huge luggage racks parked askew on a green field, blue rafts nestled on a rocky shore. We passed an abandoned log cabin set against a stand of silvery aspens, a long alpine meadow, dark with reeds and speckled with blue flowers. Die-hard cyclists were clinging to the cliff face as we passed through a deep ravine. Towering in the distance like the purple mountain peaks of middle earth were the Rockies themselves.

It was all over too quickly, and I made mental notes to come back - or at least to jump at the chance to take another side route next time.

Next on the list was Rocky Mountain National Park. Satisfyingly, we saw a herd of elk within the first five minutes of our entrance to the park. Tammy and I had hoped to have a European picnic with brie cheese and french bread, salami, etc. She had just gotten it set out at a little campground with a grand view of a meadow and mountain pass when a rain shower started. It went from sunny one minute to hailing the next, with Tam and the five children and I scrambling for shelter in the over hang of the outhouses. Lunch was no less of a success for all the weather. The kids loved it, and we munched on our brie in the company of a group of hikers who were returning from a backpacking trip...all stuffed into the 10 square feet of shelter outside of the toilets.

At the top of Trail Ridge road, our heads pounding with the elevation, we met up with Matt and Krista and their two kids. It was an impressive vista, mountains stretching outward in every direction, a glittering snow field in a semi-circle at the head of a plunging crevasse. In true Kathleen form, I was immediately homesick for somewhere else - in this case, Austria. I was still subconsciously looking around for the Spätzle when we loaded the kids in the car to descend on the breathtaking route toward Estes Park.

For months I have been looking forward to showing my kids the alpine region above the timber line, the pikas, the marmots, the delicate alpine flowers that enchanted me as a child. Some things surpass your expectations and some things just fall by the wayside. I would like to say that my kids lived up to my dreams for the day, but our alpine hike was a total flop. All the other kids had a great time, but Vera and Fiona spent the entire hike to the top of the mountain in tears; Fiona because she was tired, Vera because she had hurt feelings from the boys. With sobering thoughts of future teenage years, Clementine crying in the front pack, Fiona dragging on my left hand, I tried to salvage the situation. "Look at the beautiful blue flowers!", I said, "can you hear the pika's chirping to one another?" It was a lost cause, and only resulted in more tears. Well, you can't win them all, and I knew when I was beat. I guess a picnic in a hailstorm is cool enough for a crowd of pre-schoolers anyway. And we'll be in Austria soon enough...I hope. And we saw a herd of Bighorn Sheep on our way down, so that was good enough for me.

Bad Parenting

Thought I needed to post a picture of our Conoco stop, because you can make almost anything that involves kids into a photo opportunity. Jeff and I are constantly pointing out potential indie album covers for the girls when they are older and release their first hit single - I have a suspicion that many parents do this - maudlin poses of preschool angst....will album art still be around then?

Scenic byways and honeymoon resorts

In my dreams, highways are always neatly sprinkled with scenic stops staffed by friendly people who chuckle benevolently as they meet your ragged children and overstuffed car. Your visit is enriched through their interesting anecdotes of local lore, delivered with heartfelt intensity, and then they gently send you on your way leaving you pleased and self-congratulatory for having decided to make that educational stop in the first place.

Not all "scenic" stops are like this, and, as we sat outside the Conoco in Green River later in the day, backs pressed against the glass windows, eating cheetos and coke, our eyes glazed over, I was happy that we had gotten at least one idyllic stop squeezed in.

We started the day off well enough - collected some beautiful red dirt from St. George, and worked on pasting together some of our state maps. Tammy gave a mini lecture on Georgia O'Keefe and Native Americans of the Southwest. Then we set off.

Happily, Fremont Indian State Park was a huge hit. It was a canyon filled covered by petroglyphs and pictographs - we even saw one of a herd of deer being chased by wolves - Tammy and I were hugely impressed by everything this museum had to offer. The kids loved playing in the make-believe Fremont Indian dwelling complete with leather outfits, woven baskets, pelts, and a loom. The docents were dear little women, living up to my stereotype (and secret love) of overly-eager enthusiasts who give way more than enough information on the subject at hand, leading you to believe that if you went to one of their homes, it would be filled with archaeological specimens and books of Indian legends as well.

After the high point of the day at the state park, things plateaued for awhile - literally and emotionally. We crossed through some amazing wild landscape of mesas and vistas, thunderstorms and dripping red rocks. Tammy had put together pictograph charts so the kids could make their own stories about the Native Americans. Vera wrote a novel, of course. But you can't go on forever like this, and not only did the thunderstorms quit, our energy quit as well. That's where Conoco and the Cheetos came in...the one town in about a 200 mile radius, so we had to stop there and make (several) trips to the bathroom with all of the kids, which seems to be a running theme on this trip.
After Green River, when we examined the map again and this time realized that we had to drive four more hours to get to Vail, AND it was already 5:00 pm, we were pretty bummed.
I should add that although Tammy and I have been thoroughly exhausted, the children have all been nothing short of wonderful.
We skipped dinner to save time (horrible parenting, I know), fed the kids craisins and goldfish crackers, and kept on driving. Stopped in Grand Junction at a beautiful park and met an angel in the form of a dad with his son and a huge model airplane which the kids chased for about 45 minutes while Tammy and I re-packed the cars.

At the eleventh hour (literally) of driving, we cruised into a fancy-schmancy resort in Beaver Creek which, from the internet, looked like a great place for a couples' getaway, or a honeymoon destination. Pictures of people lounging in their soft terrycloth robes or enjoying the steam room dotted the website, and why Tammy thought this was a good place to put in a bid, I'm not really sure. But as we pulled in with our hyper children at 11:00 pm, I have to say, these people were the epitome of gracious. At the end of the road, it was great to slip between 12,000 count Egyptian cotton and soak in a deep bath. Oh wait, that didn't happen until everyone was safely in bed - about 1am. In the meantime, having skipped dinner, we pored over the restaurant menu and fantasized about the lobster and porterhouse steak... And then ate a bowl of maple and brown sugar instant oatmeal which we dug out of the bottom of one of our bags. Classy.

Well, you can prepare yourself for a lot of things, but sick kids, flat tires and infants screaming at midnight for no apparent reason may be exceptions to the rule. No matter what you do, this will take it out of you. And after 465 miles through mostly desert, at an average of 107 degrees, I feel like some kind of marathon runner.
We had planned to leave at 5 am to skip the heat of the Mojave desert and get to Utah by around 2pm. But V cropped up a 103 temp on Sunday and C was up between 12:30 and 2am for reasons she kept to herself, although she let the whole neighborhood know about it.
Tam got a flat tire and ran around the county trying to find one to replace it at the eleventh hour, when everything was closed.
Better a flat yesterday than today, though.
Also, in a moment that can only be described as vain and hopeful, I went and got a spray tan. The effect on my white, Irish skin, was less attractive than it was orange and fakey looking. Now I'll be a single mom on a road trip with two kids and baby on my hip AND I look cheap and trashy. Excellent. At least Tammy looks put together, although that may just be for show.
My mom made us zucchini nut muffins with notes on the top that said "Extreme Sport Traveler and Mother" - and after today, I think that trekking with kids should qualify as 'extreme sport'. At least pursuits like mountain climbing and scuba diving allow your full attention to be focused on the task at hand. The rigors of watching the road, looking at the map, passing out snacks, negotiating truces with two backseat politicians, and stopping every 20 minutes to let someone out to go to the bathroom leave absolutely no room for anything else. However, Tammy and I think that by the end of this week, we should have our system down, and these kids will be trained to leave their shoes in sight and ready to go at a moments notice, and be filling the gas tanks for us.
It's 11:30 and our intrepid crew just crashed on the floor in a swirl of multi-colored sleeping bags, although it's much to hot to think of covering any of them up. We did pretty much nothing all day but pass eighteen wheelers, color (girls), worry about the temperature gauge (me), and sleep (Clem. - although this may have been the trade off for last night). I was pretty proud of making it to St. George, given late hour that we left Santa Barbara ( almost 9am). The high point was probably the swimming session at our hotel after we got here - it was still over 100 degrees when we pulled in at 8:00 tonight. The low point was the dinner hour just past Las Vegas when we pushed on through without stopping and during which Clemmie screamed for about 40 minutes. In an act of desperation, I began feeding her small bits of chocolate that I had softened in my mouth so she wouldn't choke on them. This was an instant success and resulted in 10 minutes of gooey happy baby and then another 30 of quietly napping baby. She's never had chocolate before so we'll see how tonight goes...but at the last hour of a day like this, I would have fed her caviar and champagne if it would keep her happy.
We saw tons of Joshua trees, about a zillion Alluvial Plains and, sadly, not one single Saguaro cactus. I guess we're not far enough south (or east?) to see them. Next trip.

Getting Ready

We packed the car today. This is the most prepared I've ever been for a trip, with the possible exception of the trip Tam and I took to Russia two summers ago, and which I had to draw up a two week schedule for Jeff, my parents, and the two babysitters who would be watching my two children (3 and 15 months) while we were gone.
This trip is much closer to home, but with a 5, 3 and 10 month old, I'm bound to forget something.

As with all road trips, there is always the risk of over-packing and this is no exception, especially with the addition of our newest friend, the "x-cargo" (yes, I know, someone had fun thinking up that name), which we bought from Sears, and which is full of our camping stuff.
Aside from the usual, we're bringing some pre-school oriented educational material. We're going to collect dirt samples from different stops along the way, noting the change in color and texture. We'll be doing a study on Georgia O'Keefe, Maynard Dixon and Frank Lloyd Wright. We'll be learning how to read maps and tracking our progress through the states while learning about the geography and history of the American West. This may seem like a lot to do with preschoolers, but I'm an optimist, and at the very least, our kids should be able to point out a saguaro cactus by this time on Tuesday night. "Alluvial Plain" is also on the vocabulary list, but we'll see...
Crossing the Mojave Desert is the first thing we'll do and also high up on the list of things I'm concerned about. We'll be leaving early Monday morning to get as far as we can before the heat of the day. Between Tammy and I, and fresh energy for a trip, we should be just fine. But I'm bringing water just in case. More later.