- Published on
Custer State Park
My ex-sister-in-law was a serious runner, and talked about the rattlers she’d see when up in the hills of Arizona. I kept this knowledge close while driving the Badlands loop road to the Notch Trail, where I intended to hike. The terrain was similar, and sure enough, as soon as I got out of the car, was met with this.
Ayup
Not wanting this once-in-a-lifetime experience to be deterred by what is a mostly irrational fear, I walked to a well-traveled spot not too far away and heard a couple talking about a rattle snake, so asked if they had just seen one, to which they described the one they had almost tripped over the night before, offering to show me a video. I thanked them but said it wasn't necessary, I believed them. To reassure me, they explained that these are Prairie Rattlers, or perhaps you’re more familiar with them as Crotalis Viridis Viridis, which are not aggressive Apparently there are over 100,000 visitors to the Badlands every year and only 1 person gets poisoned and half of that (never did figure that math out) is some guy saying “hold my beer” and then showing off. Other reassurances are that they rattle to let you know they’re there and aren't interested in you if you give them a wide berth.
I really did want to do this 3 hour hike which would allow for a more visceral experience of the landscape, and knew that being deterred by this fear would be a bummer and on my way to having a mental health issue, which I'd rather not have. So I told myself I’d just walk out there a few feet, which I did, and then kept going incrementally. I’d by lying if I told you the landscape was beautiful, as it was high alert the whole time, scanning for threats on the ground. But things were going well and I kept hiking in. For a while. But then, laying across the path in front of me was a big fatty. It would be a better story ending if i leapt over it and made it to the peak, but the reality was that I turned and ran back to the parking lot faster than I used to hustle to make the C Line.
Sitting in my car, disappointed and unsated, I doubled back to the visitor center, refreshed my water bottle, sad that I had become a person who just drives through a national park and takes a few photographs. At least I didn't buy a Badlands bookmark or fake coonskin hat.
Not wanting this once-in-a-lifetime experience to be deterred by what is a mostly irrational fear, I walked to a well-traveled spot not too far away and heard a couple talking about a rattle snake, so asked if they had just seen one, to which they described the one they had almost tripped over the night before, offering to show me a video. I thanked them but said it wasn't necessary, I believed them. To reassure me, they explained that these are Prairie Rattlers, or perhaps you’re more familiar with them as Crotalis Viridis Viridis, which are not aggressive Apparently there are over 100,000 visitors to the Badlands every year and only 1 person gets poisoned and half of that (never did figure that math out) is some guy saying “hold my beer” and then showing off. Other reassurances are that they rattle to let you know they’re there and aren't interested in you if you give them a wide berth.
I really did want to do this 3 hour hike which would allow for a more visceral experience of the landscape, and knew that being deterred by this fear would be a bummer and on my way to having a mental health issue, which I'd rather not have. So I told myself I’d just walk out there a few feet, which I did, and then kept going incrementally. I’d by lying if I told you the landscape was beautiful, as it was high alert the whole time, scanning for threats on the ground. But things were going well and I kept hiking in. For a while. But then, laying across the path in front of me was a big fatty. It would be a better story ending if i leapt over it and made it to the peak, but the reality was that I turned and ran back to the parking lot faster than I used to hustle to make the C Line.
Sitting in my car, disappointed and unsated, I doubled back to the visitor center, refreshed my water bottle, sad that I had become a person who just drives through a national park and takes a few photographs. At least I didn't buy a Badlands bookmark or fake coonskin hat.
Loop road through the rocky part of the Badlands
Snake Alley
So I decided to head south to Custer in the Black Hills, a totally different landscape that quite a few had remarked upon, though I found not nearly as pretty as the White or Green Mountains of New England. We are spoiled. The road to Custer passes both Rushmore and Crazy Horse, which I can only think of as strong representations of man’s hubris, so no stops. Instead, a walk around Sylvan Lake in Custer National Park. There were families walking around, kids very excited about a dead fish, swimmers, kayakers and people fishing. Much more my speed, I guess.
So I decided to head south to Custer in the Black Hills, a totally different landscape that quite a few had remarked upon, though I found not nearly as pretty as the White or Green Mountains of New England. We are spoiled. The road to Custer passes both Rushmore and Crazy Horse, which I can only think of as strong representations of man’s hubris, so no stops. Instead, a walk around Sylvan Lake in Custer National Park. There were families walking around, kids very excited about a dead fish, swimmers, kayakers and people fishing. Much more my speed, I guess.
Sylvan Lake, Custer National Park
Sylvan Lake
Sylvan Lake
When arriving at the Eagles Landing Guest House, guests are welcomed by a young woman, the daughter of a man who loved Custer but died before he could enjoy the house, so she, her sister and their mom carry on the legacy. She took significant trouble to show me around, offering up all manner of generous things that would never be available at chain hotels. Before leaving, she age-profiled me and mentioned that I might like the rocking chair on the porch, with which I had already made secret plans. She put on a Frank Sinatra playlist and left me with my decrepitude. There was nothing to do but take a bath and contemplate it all. When I got back to the porch with Jhumpa Lahiri, I thought to myself, is this where I am? Driving around parks and sitting on porches listening to Frank Sinatra? And is there some kind of delicate balance between accepting aging gracefully and staying somewhat vigilant? Time to get back to me Chris Traeger from Parks and Rec alter ego...
The air smelled of fox as I sat rocking on the porch, and soon three black turkey vultures came into view, congregating on the other side of the road. After watching them for a few minutes, because that’s what people who rock on chairs on porches while listening to Sinatra do, it became clear that one had scored some carrion and was feasting, and the other two wanted in, but every time one of them made a move, primo bird would raise its wings in a threatening way. This went on for at least 20 minutes, maybe half an hour, which got me thinking about being the vulture that was waiting on carrion, a sort of scavenger of scavengers. Where are they in the, pardon the pun, pecking order of vultures? Eventually one of the segundo birds got bored of waiting deferentially and flew off, but the other patiently waited until finally, head vulture had had enough and stopped scaring off the moocher. Moocher had only had a few pecks when a white hunting dog appeared, wondering what the fuss was and why he hadn't been invited. The vultures flew off as the dog rolled on his back in the animal carcass. And that was the end of that show.
When arriving at the Eagles Landing Guest House, guests are welcomed by a young woman, the daughter of a man who loved Custer but died before he could enjoy the house, so she, her sister and their mom carry on the legacy. She took significant trouble to show me around, offering up all manner of generous things that would never be available at chain hotels. Before leaving, she age-profiled me and mentioned that I might like the rocking chair on the porch, with which I had already made secret plans. She put on a Frank Sinatra playlist and left me with my decrepitude. There was nothing to do but take a bath and contemplate it all. When I got back to the porch with Jhumpa Lahiri, I thought to myself, is this where I am? Driving around parks and sitting on porches listening to Frank Sinatra? And is there some kind of delicate balance between accepting aging gracefully and staying somewhat vigilant? Time to get back to me Chris Traeger from Parks and Rec alter ego...
The air smelled of fox as I sat rocking on the porch, and soon three black turkey vultures came into view, congregating on the other side of the road. After watching them for a few minutes, because that’s what people who rock on chairs on porches while listening to Sinatra do, it became clear that one had scored some carrion and was feasting, and the other two wanted in, but every time one of them made a move, primo bird would raise its wings in a threatening way. This went on for at least 20 minutes, maybe half an hour, which got me thinking about being the vulture that was waiting on carrion, a sort of scavenger of scavengers. Where are they in the, pardon the pun, pecking order of vultures? Eventually one of the segundo birds got bored of waiting deferentially and flew off, but the other patiently waited until finally, head vulture had had enough and stopped scaring off the moocher. Moocher had only had a few pecks when a white hunting dog appeared, wondering what the fuss was and why he hadn't been invited. The vultures flew off as the dog rolled on his back in the animal carcass. And that was the end of that show.
View from the porch of the Old Age Home
Custer National Park is a combination of rocky peaks with pine trees in some areas, and then prairie land and pastures in others. Choosing a hike through the latter, I wandered up and down, nary another soul, taking in breathtaking views of soft hills where bison had grazed, seeing much evidence of them, as well as some tiny wildflowers and all sorts of bird and cricket sounds. There were also many rattles, but I didn’t see any so tunnel visioned and continued on, doing my best not to think about them. Later, driving out of the park, the road was littered with them, coiled up alive on the side, and dead on the road. Ugh.
Custer National Park is a combination of rocky peaks with pine trees in some areas, and then prairie land and pastures in others. Choosing a hike through the latter, I wandered up and down, nary another soul, taking in breathtaking views of soft hills where bison had grazed, seeing much evidence of them, as well as some tiny wildflowers and all sorts of bird and cricket sounds. There were also many rattles, but I didn’t see any so tunnel visioned and continued on, doing my best not to think about them. Later, driving out of the park, the road was littered with them, coiled up alive on the side, and dead on the road. Ugh.
View from the prairie hike, Custer National Park
Wildflower, maybe orchids? prairie hike
But also on the road were some sweet and cheeky mules that we weren’t supposed to feed but people were, giving them the appearance of parking lot attendants who were reaching in to drivers side windows to collect fares. They were shedding, with patches of winter coat still on, but the smooth one often showing, making them appear as though they'd just been woken up and had picked up the first wrinkled clothes on the ground. A few miles later, a herd of buffalo stopped a few of our cars as they crossed the road, big ass angry looking animals were some of them, and then plenty of babies too. In the souvenir shops in Custer, many of the T shirts said “Don’t pet the fluffy cows” and there had been warnings on my trail to stay at least 100 yards away from them. In fact a woman had been gored by one and died the day prior. She was trying to get a selfie with the bison. Worth it?
But also on the road were some sweet and cheeky mules that we weren’t supposed to feed but people were, giving them the appearance of parking lot attendants who were reaching in to drivers side windows to collect fares. They were shedding, with patches of winter coat still on, but the smooth one often showing, making them appear as though they'd just been woken up and had picked up the first wrinkled clothes on the ground. A few miles later, a herd of buffalo stopped a few of our cars as they crossed the road, big ass angry looking animals were some of them, and then plenty of babies too. In the souvenir shops in Custer, many of the T shirts said “Don’t pet the fluffy cows” and there had been warnings on my trail to stay at least 100 yards away from them. In fact a woman had been gored by one and died the day prior. She was trying to get a selfie with the bison. Worth it?
This one was my favorite, he or she looked sleepy, Custer National Park
That'll be $25
Another old person thing, a driving safari, Custer National Park
Taken from the car window
After that, it was a bad burrito and a good banana chocolate chip ice cream in downtown Custer and then back on the road, final leg. I found it mind boggling going from the most serene and unspoiled pasture lands to miles of road rash eyesore and wondered how it sits with locals, it's probably just the way it is. There is a nice downtown to Rapid City, with an excellent coffee place and a restaurant called Kathmandu that uses frozen vegetables and has alligator curry options. There are also statues of every president. If you’re wondering why it’s called Rapid City, I’m sorry to disappoint you but it’s not because residents hurry around (as I had unconsciously imagined), rather because it’s on the Rapid River.
Downtown Custer, SD
Door of the cafe in the prior photograph
Ice cream shop, Custer
My over and out hotel room on road rash highway, Box Elder, SD
Following up on my download, part of this kind of journey is exhausting, my limbic system needs a rest. But there’s something about the lack of distractions and surfeit of sky and unadulterated land that calms the soul and allows for a clarity not apparent when going about the day to day.
Next trip? Vancouver to Alaska. But not for a while...
Following up on my download, part of this kind of journey is exhausting, my limbic system needs a rest. But there’s something about the lack of distractions and surfeit of sky and unadulterated land that calms the soul and allows for a clarity not apparent when going about the day to day.
Next trip? Vancouver to Alaska. But not for a while...
- Published on
A painted train car, Fargo, ND
The drive from Minneapolis to Fargo was flat and filled with fields. It's very early spring, as in fields just tilled with not a sign of green. Their color was an eerie mix of black mulch, which I believe is what's called Black Dirt, and the actual dirt, which is something closer to playground sand color. There was something lifeless about it, with not much promise of anything good or interesting growing out of it.
Technical challenges seem to follow me, a nice way of admitting I'm useless at them. Having not used a real camera for a year or so, testing was done prior, batteries were charged and photos taken, no problem. And so in Fargo, a delightful city, I guess it's a city, a 5:30 wakeup to catch morning light produced a rush of hopeful images that the app won't let me transfer from my camera to iCloud. So, there are nary a photo of this sweet place that was welcoming and had a wonderful feel to it. No surprise, but it's easy to tell which towns and cities have universities and which don't. When I explained to the hotel check-in woman that North Dakota was one of the last states on my list of ones to visit, her reply, with a sigh and not looking up was "we get that a lot". It seemed not a good idea to tell her I was surprised how much I liked it.... .But it really is charming and dear with a nice personality. I was grateful for the middle eastern restaurant that was full of Ethiopian people having what looked like some kind of traditional meal.
The drive from Minneapolis to Fargo was flat and filled with fields. It's very early spring, as in fields just tilled with not a sign of green. Their color was an eerie mix of black mulch, which I believe is what's called Black Dirt, and the actual dirt, which is something closer to playground sand color. There was something lifeless about it, with not much promise of anything good or interesting growing out of it.
Technical challenges seem to follow me, a nice way of admitting I'm useless at them. Having not used a real camera for a year or so, testing was done prior, batteries were charged and photos taken, no problem. And so in Fargo, a delightful city, I guess it's a city, a 5:30 wakeup to catch morning light produced a rush of hopeful images that the app won't let me transfer from my camera to iCloud. So, there are nary a photo of this sweet place that was welcoming and had a wonderful feel to it. No surprise, but it's easy to tell which towns and cities have universities and which don't. When I explained to the hotel check-in woman that North Dakota was one of the last states on my list of ones to visit, her reply, with a sigh and not looking up was "we get that a lot". It seemed not a good idea to tell her I was surprised how much I liked it.... .But it really is charming and dear with a nice personality. I was grateful for the middle eastern restaurant that was full of Ethiopian people having what looked like some kind of traditional meal.
My traditional falafel sandwich, grilled is an inspiration.
Not the kind of pictures I thought I'd see in a restaurant wall in Fargo, but grateful for them
Prairie grasses in my room. It was a room where it would have been nice to stay for a week, to write every day.
The famous wood chipper from Fargo
The drive on a southbound road to Sioux Falls, SD was empty, and there was little on the way, proving exciting when a billboard advertising truck parts or choosing life appeared. There were only a few gas stations on this appx 3 hour drive, one had to be mindful. I started thinking about pioneers a lot, and Thomas Jefferson, and his laying out towns with north/south roads equally distant from each other, as with east/west. According to one of my subjects from picturelife books days, a church and bank was planned every so many miles and then a church, bank, store and hmmm, maybe saloon? every so many miles x 2. The good news is, it's hard to get lost in this part of the world, I'm not sure what the bad news is. Laura Ingalls Wilder came to mind when I saw a brown sign saying that next exit was her house in De Smet, South Dakota. I got off, excited to move some cherished memories from imagination to reality, but it was 50 miles from the exit, so I bailed and got back on the freeway, instantly mad at myself that I didn't have the patience. But in fairness to me, my butt was taking on the shape of the car seat. So, instead I stopped in Brookings, which was a nice little town with a big grain storage facility (all towns seem to have them, I believe someone told me they're usually bought and maintained by a cooperative of farmers) and very pretty and tidy streets, a nice downtown. When ordering an iced coffee, the woman who served me asked if I was from there, I replied in the emphatic negative. She went on anyway, saying she wasn't "from around here" and asking a question about all the flags that had been put out for Memorial Day weekend. I told her I didn't know, and when I asked her where she was from, she told me Watertown, which was the only other "town" I'd passed before Brookings. Funny. how frameworks vary. I thought about that for a long time.
I also thought about a Louise Erdrich book I'd recently read called The Mighty Red. It wasn't so great, I'm not sure I'm a fan of her writing, but I pictured all the things that happened in the book taking place in the places I was passing in South Dakota. I also thought a lot about what a losing battle it is for these farmers who are buying seeds from agribusiness that don't allow them to grow anything else, and require they advertise them at their fields. The farmers also have to pitch in for the grain silos and super-expensive machinery, then be dependent on the vagaries of our changing climate. That's an awful lot of risk they have to carry with not so much reward. It's too bad it isn't shared with those who make the profit.
The drive on a southbound road to Sioux Falls, SD was empty, and there was little on the way, proving exciting when a billboard advertising truck parts or choosing life appeared. There were only a few gas stations on this appx 3 hour drive, one had to be mindful. I started thinking about pioneers a lot, and Thomas Jefferson, and his laying out towns with north/south roads equally distant from each other, as with east/west. According to one of my subjects from picturelife books days, a church and bank was planned every so many miles and then a church, bank, store and hmmm, maybe saloon? every so many miles x 2. The good news is, it's hard to get lost in this part of the world, I'm not sure what the bad news is. Laura Ingalls Wilder came to mind when I saw a brown sign saying that next exit was her house in De Smet, South Dakota. I got off, excited to move some cherished memories from imagination to reality, but it was 50 miles from the exit, so I bailed and got back on the freeway, instantly mad at myself that I didn't have the patience. But in fairness to me, my butt was taking on the shape of the car seat. So, instead I stopped in Brookings, which was a nice little town with a big grain storage facility (all towns seem to have them, I believe someone told me they're usually bought and maintained by a cooperative of farmers) and very pretty and tidy streets, a nice downtown. When ordering an iced coffee, the woman who served me asked if I was from there, I replied in the emphatic negative. She went on anyway, saying she wasn't "from around here" and asking a question about all the flags that had been put out for Memorial Day weekend. I told her I didn't know, and when I asked her where she was from, she told me Watertown, which was the only other "town" I'd passed before Brookings. Funny. how frameworks vary. I thought about that for a long time.
I also thought about a Louise Erdrich book I'd recently read called The Mighty Red. It wasn't so great, I'm not sure I'm a fan of her writing, but I pictured all the things that happened in the book taking place in the places I was passing in South Dakota. I also thought a lot about what a losing battle it is for these farmers who are buying seeds from agribusiness that don't allow them to grow anything else, and require they advertise them at their fields. The farmers also have to pitch in for the grain silos and super-expensive machinery, then be dependent on the vagaries of our changing climate. That's an awful lot of risk they have to carry with not so much reward. It's too bad it isn't shared with those who make the profit.
Brookings, SD
Sioux Falls does have falls, and while being mesmerized by them, I was surprised to see a fish about a foot and a half long try to jump up them, I mean, there was just no way. So of course I stayed to see if it would try again and it did, but then that was the end of that. Taps for the fish, or at the very least a serious concussion.
The town of Sioux Falls is trying, but there's an air of despair hanging over it. The Main Street is struggling but OK, but I always like to get away from the Main Street to get a better feeling of the town. On my evening walk, I passed mini casinos, bars, liquor stores, really nothing much positive going on. The church had a broken window. I passed the AA group outside smoking and looking none too happy, and then a homeless camp, people fighting with each other and a few drunks wandering around. Sious Falls could maybe had take a Camus' The Stranger defense, it was so hot.
A good thing that came out of stopping there is that I retired early and watched a show with Stanley Tucci in Naples talking to food people about food. One chef had no money when he was young and would make pasta a la vongole running away (I've forgotten how you say it in Italian). He had a wonderfully big pan, about 16 inches across and sides 3 inches high. He threw some olive oil in there, garlic, a hot pepper and some parsley stems, cooked them for a minute. He then added some cherry tomatoes, which he put in a bowl of water and pierced, then squeezed, threw them in and most excitingly, fished out of a nearby bucket, four rather large rocks he'd taken out of the ocean, chosen because they had more seaweed on them. He plopped them in the pan let it cook for a bit, put in some angel hair, then some sea water and did his thing. How clever!
Sioux Falls does have falls, and while being mesmerized by them, I was surprised to see a fish about a foot and a half long try to jump up them, I mean, there was just no way. So of course I stayed to see if it would try again and it did, but then that was the end of that. Taps for the fish, or at the very least a serious concussion.
The town of Sioux Falls is trying, but there's an air of despair hanging over it. The Main Street is struggling but OK, but I always like to get away from the Main Street to get a better feeling of the town. On my evening walk, I passed mini casinos, bars, liquor stores, really nothing much positive going on. The church had a broken window. I passed the AA group outside smoking and looking none too happy, and then a homeless camp, people fighting with each other and a few drunks wandering around. Sious Falls could maybe had take a Camus' The Stranger defense, it was so hot.
A good thing that came out of stopping there is that I retired early and watched a show with Stanley Tucci in Naples talking to food people about food. One chef had no money when he was young and would make pasta a la vongole running away (I've forgotten how you say it in Italian). He had a wonderfully big pan, about 16 inches across and sides 3 inches high. He threw some olive oil in there, garlic, a hot pepper and some parsley stems, cooked them for a minute. He then added some cherry tomatoes, which he put in a bowl of water and pierced, then squeezed, threw them in and most excitingly, fished out of a nearby bucket, four rather large rocks he'd taken out of the ocean, chosen because they had more seaweed on them. He plopped them in the pan let it cook for a bit, put in some angel hair, then some sea water and did his thing. How clever!
Sioux Falls
There's always this internal battle between choosing to stop and getting to wherever you're going, which in my case was undefined. This time around, if I chose not to stop, it was because I didn't want to be in the car anymore, versus before, feeling as though I needed to get somewhere. So, after regretting not having gone to De Smet, the following day was filled with good stops (and a lot of driving) but was perfect. Prairie Village is located about 45 minutes north of I-90, and was a beautiful drive through some cultivated fields, but also some prairie, with the beginning hint of hills. There were trees here and there which made it more interesting. The grass was a combination of green or the light brown or white from last season. I was the only one at the village and there was zero supervision, it would have been easy to make off with an anvil or tooth extractor. Over time, these wee buildings have been donated by people within the community, most of Junius, where they were located. There were many "little houses on the prairie" and the books came back to life. What a hard life! While I appreciated being unsupervised and not having an audio tour pushed on me, the buildings are in a state of disrepair, which was sad. In any case, I felt lucky to be able to enjoy it for an hour or so.
There's always this internal battle between choosing to stop and getting to wherever you're going, which in my case was undefined. This time around, if I chose not to stop, it was because I didn't want to be in the car anymore, versus before, feeling as though I needed to get somewhere. So, after regretting not having gone to De Smet, the following day was filled with good stops (and a lot of driving) but was perfect. Prairie Village is located about 45 minutes north of I-90, and was a beautiful drive through some cultivated fields, but also some prairie, with the beginning hint of hills. There were trees here and there which made it more interesting. The grass was a combination of green or the light brown or white from last season. I was the only one at the village and there was zero supervision, it would have been easy to make off with an anvil or tooth extractor. Over time, these wee buildings have been donated by people within the community, most of Junius, where they were located. There were many "little houses on the prairie" and the books came back to life. What a hard life! While I appreciated being unsupervised and not having an audio tour pushed on me, the buildings are in a state of disrepair, which was sad. In any case, I felt lucky to be able to enjoy it for an hour or so.
I'll spare you a look at the implements
One room cottage, four people lived here
Log cabin built by some Norwegian brothers
This was a church in a train, that went around from place to place, baptizing, marrying and converting all the wild men out here
Next stop was on the way back to I-90, America's only Corn Palace, which actually is decorated with different color ears of corn, used similarly to broken shards of pottery in a mosaic. There's an auditorium and there were many events that happen there. Yes, I bought a T Shirt.
Next stop was on the way back to I-90, America's only Corn Palace, which actually is decorated with different color ears of corn, used similarly to broken shards of pottery in a mosaic. There's an auditorium and there were many events that happen there. Yes, I bought a T Shirt.
Exterior, they were replacing the sheaths on the right. We The People is all corn! It actually is pretty impressive.
More ears of corn
I've been reading Roman Stories by Jhumpa Lahiri, and in one of them, a character talks about how quickly moments of happiness pass. It made me think of an observation I may have shared, about the inverse relationship between how long it takes/painful it is to get or achieve something, and then how quickly the victory goes away, no matter how hard I try to keep it in my head and heart. That was the case with reaching Oacama, a destination I've been dreaming of for almost 40 years. Not really the destination itself, more the state of mind of just getting in a car and saying the hell with it and going to this random place. While it wasn't the straight drive down I-90 from Boston which I'd always imagined, t is the same road which was somehow exciting and joyful for a few minutes. I almost didn't stop in Oacama, and really, it's nothing, but I did, and took a bad photograph. I guess someone else might say I checked something off my bucket list. Doesn't really capture it though.
Oacama, SD
That part of I-90 was starting to get really beautiful. It's a white road and the land was beginning to have soft hills, undulating, sometimes cultivated but more often prairie, occasionally spotted with trees. As I drove west, the undulations got bigger and the clouds came in, making a beautiful patchwork of colors with the brown of fields, sand colored grasses from last season, winter green, spring green and every now and then some Celtics green. I actually exclaimed out loud to myself. To me, this is some of the most beautiful land anywhere. I can't say enough about the part of South Dakota west of Sioux Falls to Wall. Sadly, it's really hard to take photographs that give an idea of what it's like, especially on an iphone. The next post will be about the Badlands and Custer State Park and there will be some there, but really, they don't do justice.
Wall Drugs is obnoxious, with so many signs littering the otherwise pristine landscape, and upon arriving in Wall, it was clear that really they are the only game in town. Otherwise, it's only little houses with big trucks parked in the driveways. And of course grain silos. But Wall is HQ for the Badlands and so, that''s where you stay. And steak and pancakes are what you eat.
That part of I-90 was starting to get really beautiful. It's a white road and the land was beginning to have soft hills, undulating, sometimes cultivated but more often prairie, occasionally spotted with trees. As I drove west, the undulations got bigger and the clouds came in, making a beautiful patchwork of colors with the brown of fields, sand colored grasses from last season, winter green, spring green and every now and then some Celtics green. I actually exclaimed out loud to myself. To me, this is some of the most beautiful land anywhere. I can't say enough about the part of South Dakota west of Sioux Falls to Wall. Sadly, it's really hard to take photographs that give an idea of what it's like, especially on an iphone. The next post will be about the Badlands and Custer State Park and there will be some there, but really, they don't do justice.
Wall Drugs is obnoxious, with so many signs littering the otherwise pristine landscape, and upon arriving in Wall, it was clear that really they are the only game in town. Otherwise, it's only little houses with big trucks parked in the driveways. And of course grain silos. But Wall is HQ for the Badlands and so, that''s where you stay. And steak and pancakes are what you eat.
Outside Wall Drug
Jackelope
Proverbial and scenic grain silos, Wall SD
Driving to the Notch Trail in the Badlands, you enter the Federal area and then there's a road that loops through the park. When first entering, it's dramatic prairie, with so many bird sounds, and then all of a sudden, those dramatic and craggy rocks. Imagine those pioneers trotting along the grasslands in their wee wagons, la la la, making progress and then all of a sudden, oh dear, now what? Best guess was they sent the oldest son ahead to sort things out.
Driving to the Notch Trail in the Badlands, you enter the Federal area and then there's a road that loops through the park. When first entering, it's dramatic prairie, with so many bird sounds, and then all of a sudden, those dramatic and craggy rocks. Imagine those pioneers trotting along the grasslands in their wee wagons, la la la, making progress and then all of a sudden, oh dear, now what? Best guess was they sent the oldest son ahead to sort things out.
This is the prairie part. What you can't see in photographs are the gentle hills
Here are the rocks that draw people. I much preferred the prairie
Both together
There's one more post coming, but as I'm off tomorrow at the crack, I'm in a looking back frame of mind. It's been a great trip. It's tiring figuring out sleeping arrangements every afternoon, but I prefer it to being committed to somewhere that shapes the day. It's also dreary carrying everything into the rooms and then packing it up and putting it back in the car. It's also many days not being around anyone to talk with for any significant amount of time. And I've had more peanut butter and marmite sandwiches with bread I bought in Michigan than I might have chosen. My bottom is misshapen, hopefully not forever. But it's been so worth it to see another corner of this endlessly fascinating and interesting world. I love that I'm sitting on my king sized bed at the Courtyard Marriott in Elder Box, SD, situated in some of the ugliest road rash imaginable, yet the smell of cow shit that permeates so much out here, has found its way inside.
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Lake Monona, Madison.
Some whimsical stairs that somehow didn't fit with the city, are we calling it a city? I suppose as it's the state capital, we have to.
Loved this throwback, Madison
I am learning some things about the best way to travel while understanding prior mistakes, at least for me. Last big road trip, the max driving time was 6 hours per day.,this time it's 4. Last time I did research about prime destination, but didn't stop in between, this time I did research but then forgot to heed it, and stopped in between. So while my takeaway of Milwaukee wasn't bad, just not compelling. It was only a day later that I remembered the Bobblehead Museum! Today I forgot to stop and admire the world's largest ball of twine. So be it, logic goes that if I forgot about it, it must not have been that important.
After Milwaukee, I was marginally concerned about Madison, as from my research, the former seemed a better fit for me. Perhaps it was due to easy maneuvering with the car, a nice hotel location and view, it proved a lovely stop. But more likely, it was the lovely vibe that Wisconsonians provided during that 24 hour stretch. The Capitol, which is a sort of nexus, and close to where I was staying, sits nicely at the top of a hill with grass and flower beds all the way around, accessible from all directions. There are a bunch of restaurants and bars nearby, all with an interesting vibe. Everything is clean and tidy, the roads are wide and not full of cars, and yes there's that famous Saturday Farmer's Market. Well, I don't know if it's the best in the world, it wouldn't be a hard argument to put Union Square above it, but it was huge, very well attended, had a lovely midwestern flair with very high quality produce and flowers, along with more sweet rolls, cheese curds and jerky than you could throw a stick at.
I am learning some things about the best way to travel while understanding prior mistakes, at least for me. Last big road trip, the max driving time was 6 hours per day.,this time it's 4. Last time I did research about prime destination, but didn't stop in between, this time I did research but then forgot to heed it, and stopped in between. So while my takeaway of Milwaukee wasn't bad, just not compelling. It was only a day later that I remembered the Bobblehead Museum! Today I forgot to stop and admire the world's largest ball of twine. So be it, logic goes that if I forgot about it, it must not have been that important.
After Milwaukee, I was marginally concerned about Madison, as from my research, the former seemed a better fit for me. Perhaps it was due to easy maneuvering with the car, a nice hotel location and view, it proved a lovely stop. But more likely, it was the lovely vibe that Wisconsonians provided during that 24 hour stretch. The Capitol, which is a sort of nexus, and close to where I was staying, sits nicely at the top of a hill with grass and flower beds all the way around, accessible from all directions. There are a bunch of restaurants and bars nearby, all with an interesting vibe. Everything is clean and tidy, the roads are wide and not full of cars, and yes there's that famous Saturday Farmer's Market. Well, I don't know if it's the best in the world, it wouldn't be a hard argument to put Union Square above it, but it was huge, very well attended, had a lovely midwestern flair with very high quality produce and flowers, along with more sweet rolls, cheese curds and jerky than you could throw a stick at.
The external part of the market, the main event circled the Capitol, all the way around.
Always enjoying the morning hunt for coffee, I went out at 8 (the market starts at 6:45!) after a workout, intending to go back and shower and then return for the market later, but got immediately sucked in, and was glad I did because later, it was so crowded that everyone had to move as a group, patiently waiting in line to just look at each stall. Most were in groups and so good natured and patient, the vendors were chatty and free with samples, everyone seemed to enjoy the experience. Even impatient I couldn't help but get caught up in the good humor of every kind of person imaginable, including an old man who had a sweatshirt on that said "Eternity is a long time, don't get it wrong"
Asparagus was the vegetable on offer, so I scored a bunch for car snacking, as well as some real baby carrots. The flowers were so beautiful, lupines, iris, daisies, other wild things, everyone had a bouquet, it was hard to keep walking. There were many unfamiliar meat products, either from non-farm animals, or prepared in ways I'd never seen. There were a wide variety of mushrooms, including mushroom coffee, baked cheese in the shape of a pizza crust and beautiful multi-colored eggs. By 11;30, I was ready for lunch and had scoped out a small cart that was selling my sorts of things. He made me a knock your socks of "Moroccan" vegetable medley, it really was one of the best things I've had in a long time. With my to go container, I saw on a Jersey barrier, watching the world go by, when a rather rag tag and ostentatiously dressed band began playing some Midwestern polkas with their brass, along with chants about how bad it was to bust unions.
The University of Wisconsin Madison is nearby, and so I had a quick walk around and was so feeling the Madison vibe that I came close to buying a really nice Champion 80/20 Wisconsin Badgers hoodie, then remembered it had to be carted across the ocean.
Always enjoying the morning hunt for coffee, I went out at 8 (the market starts at 6:45!) after a workout, intending to go back and shower and then return for the market later, but got immediately sucked in, and was glad I did because later, it was so crowded that everyone had to move as a group, patiently waiting in line to just look at each stall. Most were in groups and so good natured and patient, the vendors were chatty and free with samples, everyone seemed to enjoy the experience. Even impatient I couldn't help but get caught up in the good humor of every kind of person imaginable, including an old man who had a sweatshirt on that said "Eternity is a long time, don't get it wrong"
Asparagus was the vegetable on offer, so I scored a bunch for car snacking, as well as some real baby carrots. The flowers were so beautiful, lupines, iris, daisies, other wild things, everyone had a bouquet, it was hard to keep walking. There were many unfamiliar meat products, either from non-farm animals, or prepared in ways I'd never seen. There were a wide variety of mushrooms, including mushroom coffee, baked cheese in the shape of a pizza crust and beautiful multi-colored eggs. By 11;30, I was ready for lunch and had scoped out a small cart that was selling my sorts of things. He made me a knock your socks of "Moroccan" vegetable medley, it really was one of the best things I've had in a long time. With my to go container, I saw on a Jersey barrier, watching the world go by, when a rather rag tag and ostentatiously dressed band began playing some Midwestern polkas with their brass, along with chants about how bad it was to bust unions.
The University of Wisconsin Madison is nearby, and so I had a quick walk around and was so feeling the Madison vibe that I came close to buying a really nice Champion 80/20 Wisconsin Badgers hoodie, then remembered it had to be carted across the ocean.
they were so sweet
Different varieties of these at almost every stall
There were elk horns for sale, all different sizes
Such pretty shapes
Makes me wish I liked eggs
My favorite was the man on the left with legs whiter than his shorts were short
Then it was time to be reunited with my enduring friend, I-94, towards Minneapolis. The land in Wisconsin on the east side seemed beaten up to me, I wondered if it was from all the winter weather as Eastern Canada has the same look. But as the car went Northwestwards, the rolling green hills with barns and trees appeared, beautiful, that image that perhaps most of us have of farms in the midwest. Along the way, there was a sign for Cascade Ski Mountain, but when looking around, there was nowhere it could be, flat as the eye can see. There was also an advertisement for bank loans for "leisure and hunting expenses". Within the last 200 miles or so, there were many billboards informing us that babies have a heart beat after 3 weeks and eyes after I've forgotten how long. Strangely, more dead animals on the side of the road than I've never seen. Granted, there are likely lots more wildish animals in Wisconsin and Minnesota, but I must have seen 10 rotting deer carcasses, a small black bear, and multitude of raccoons and a couple of dogs.
When I pulled into Minneapolis, it was big and skyscrapery and dirty and deserted, depressing. My hotel was next to the Target baseball field, which is perplexingly and entertainingly right in the middle of everything, but wasn't in action and isn't the prettiest. Hungry for something, I begrudgingly went out and took a guess on a direction, ending up in the Warehouse district which was clean with those beautiful wide roads, nicely renovated buildings that had become places where wine is served in crystal, scents are made to order and dresses are by Akris. It was great fun wandering around, there was one store called Combine that was like a museum, taking over a vast amount of space, breaking up rooms with different men's and women's collections, along with books, chocolate, jewelry, perfume and in the back, a bar and a barber shop. It was truly beautifully renovated and everything in it was expensive and perfect, reminding me of ABC Carpet in the good old days, After a very long time, I left content, with Aesop grapefruit lotioned hands.
Then it was time to be reunited with my enduring friend, I-94, towards Minneapolis. The land in Wisconsin on the east side seemed beaten up to me, I wondered if it was from all the winter weather as Eastern Canada has the same look. But as the car went Northwestwards, the rolling green hills with barns and trees appeared, beautiful, that image that perhaps most of us have of farms in the midwest. Along the way, there was a sign for Cascade Ski Mountain, but when looking around, there was nowhere it could be, flat as the eye can see. There was also an advertisement for bank loans for "leisure and hunting expenses". Within the last 200 miles or so, there were many billboards informing us that babies have a heart beat after 3 weeks and eyes after I've forgotten how long. Strangely, more dead animals on the side of the road than I've never seen. Granted, there are likely lots more wildish animals in Wisconsin and Minnesota, but I must have seen 10 rotting deer carcasses, a small black bear, and multitude of raccoons and a couple of dogs.
When I pulled into Minneapolis, it was big and skyscrapery and dirty and deserted, depressing. My hotel was next to the Target baseball field, which is perplexingly and entertainingly right in the middle of everything, but wasn't in action and isn't the prettiest. Hungry for something, I begrudgingly went out and took a guess on a direction, ending up in the Warehouse district which was clean with those beautiful wide roads, nicely renovated buildings that had become places where wine is served in crystal, scents are made to order and dresses are by Akris. It was great fun wandering around, there was one store called Combine that was like a museum, taking over a vast amount of space, breaking up rooms with different men's and women's collections, along with books, chocolate, jewelry, perfume and in the back, a bar and a barber shop. It was truly beautifully renovated and everything in it was expensive and perfect, reminding me of ABC Carpet in the good old days, After a very long time, I left content, with Aesop grapefruit lotioned hands.
Barber shop in the back,Combine in Minneapolis
Wedding dresses hanging in a window, Minneapolis
This morning, I again went out to forage for coffee and ended up walking for 20 minutes through a deserted downtown, only to find my destination inside the convention center. So I powered on to a place near Loring Park, an overgrown green space in the middle of some part of the city that I couldn't explain to you. While sipping a cappuccino, I read about significant historical occurrences in Minneapolis. While George Floyd's death wasn't mentioned, the raccoon who climbed 23 floors of the exterior of a downtown building was.
It was a beautiful sunny day as I walked along a path that follows the Mississippi River. There was a feeling, with the very few others around, of owning the city on a holiday weekend, all other residents presumably on a motor boat in one of the 10,000 lakes. My destination was the Mill City Museum, about Minneapolis' flour production, but it was too beautiful to spend much time inside, so I took a few photographs and had more of a wander, seeing every style of building, again, wide streets and the reassurance of midwestern solidity.
This morning, I again went out to forage for coffee and ended up walking for 20 minutes through a deserted downtown, only to find my destination inside the convention center. So I powered on to a place near Loring Park, an overgrown green space in the middle of some part of the city that I couldn't explain to you. While sipping a cappuccino, I read about significant historical occurrences in Minneapolis. While George Floyd's death wasn't mentioned, the raccoon who climbed 23 floors of the exterior of a downtown building was.
It was a beautiful sunny day as I walked along a path that follows the Mississippi River. There was a feeling, with the very few others around, of owning the city on a holiday weekend, all other residents presumably on a motor boat in one of the 10,000 lakes. My destination was the Mill City Museum, about Minneapolis' flour production, but it was too beautiful to spend much time inside, so I took a few photographs and had more of a wander, seeing every style of building, again, wide streets and the reassurance of midwestern solidity.
Along the Mississippi River footpath, Minneapolis
A building on Fourth Street, Minneapolis
Mill City Museum and old flour mill, Minneapolis
I'm skeptical, downtown Minneapolis
On the way to Fargo today, I stopped in St. Cloud, which I'm going to guess is a very religious town because it was as closed down on a Sunday as France. When I got out of my car, the Bible ladies were there, you know, the two people you see with the sandwich board and a black wheelie at pretty much any city in the world. I had my response prepared "Thank you for asking. I'm spiritual but not religious and wouldn't dream of imposing my beliefs on you", The things I think up! They were nothing but warm and friendly, never mentioning the Holy Book. One of my goals for this year is to try to not assume the worst...So far, not doing too well.
On the way in to St. Cloud, I had noticed that there were a lot of Somalis walking about. Wanting some caffeine but not at Starbucks, I ended up at a place called Fabiola Coffee, a very small shop in a strip mall. When I asked about a bathroom, she said it was next door in the mall, which didn't make sense based on how small the building was. But I followed her directions and went in, and there was an alley with small stalls similar to those I'd seen in Morocco, each selling something different. Children were playing ball in the hallway and there was a call to prayer by someone who didn't sound as though he had much energy. I was clearly an interloper and did what I needed to do quickly. throwing the ball to a boy about 10 who lost control of it.
St. Cloud Main Street. Not a soul.
Over and out from the Jasper Hotel in Fargo
Over and out from the Jasper Hotel in Fargo
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Erica asked why? A fair question. When I saw a Japanese couple gushing over a squirrel in the Public Garden, I realized that medieval villages have become my squirrels. Not that they're rodents or I don't like them, but I've been exposed to them enough that they've got me wanting to see other things. For the last three months or so, wide roads with lots of sky. This trip will mean I've completed visiting all 48 contiguous states. And finally, there's that sign on the Mass Pike, the one that says Second Highest Elevation after Oacama, SD, where I've always wanted to go.
Soo I found myself, after having spilled my miserly guarded fresh French almonds all over my seat neighbor on the plane, chatting her up and learning more about what I should and shouldn't do upon arrival at Cherry Capital Airport in Traverse City, MI. That luxury of time proved to be a blessing, allowing me to instead of blasting through Traverse City, stop and have a walk around, chat with a few people and eavesdrop a bit too. Seems like a nice place, right on the lake. It had that feeling of mad primping before the summer hordes arrive.
They drive large and they drive fast on the UP. A country of Suburbans and Dodge Rams pulling all kinds of machinery and adult toys.I wondered if humans feel compelled to fill a vast space with vast cars and houses and plates of food. The roads were all cherry farms, all in bloom, looking much like I envisioned in Tom Lake by Ann Patchett.
Soo I found myself, after having spilled my miserly guarded fresh French almonds all over my seat neighbor on the plane, chatting her up and learning more about what I should and shouldn't do upon arrival at Cherry Capital Airport in Traverse City, MI. That luxury of time proved to be a blessing, allowing me to instead of blasting through Traverse City, stop and have a walk around, chat with a few people and eavesdrop a bit too. Seems like a nice place, right on the lake. It had that feeling of mad primping before the summer hordes arrive.
They drive large and they drive fast on the UP. A country of Suburbans and Dodge Rams pulling all kinds of machinery and adult toys.I wondered if humans feel compelled to fill a vast space with vast cars and houses and plates of food. The roads were all cherry farms, all in bloom, looking much like I envisioned in Tom Lake by Ann Patchett.
They drive em' big.Lots of Impalas too.
Old movie theater, Traverse City
Cherry blossoms on Front Street, Traverse City
Ludington, MI, probably 8pm
A photo Liz sent me last evening of Lake Michigan from her house. We exchanged numbers and almost had dinner together.
Instead of committing to dinner with Liz, I roamed around to a few different places on the lake and took in the vibe. One place, Leland, seemed exactly the same as Falmouth, but on a lake instead of near Buzzards Bay. There was even a T shirt store with the word grape in it. I had meant to also go to Mackinaw Island and Soo Locks, but wasn't feeling it, so headed south to Ludington. I stopped at the kind of hotel that I have now promised myself I won't stay at anymore. It was fine. But.... If you know me, you know that I am far from squeamish, but even I wouldn't take off my socks. It smelled of carpet deodorizer, giving me the Sophie's choice of airing out the room and listening to Harleys driving by, or sleeping in a smelly room Suffice it to say that tonight I'm on the 10th floor of a nice hotel with a king bed and a view of Lake Monoma.
Instead of committing to dinner with Liz, I roamed around to a few different places on the lake and took in the vibe. One place, Leland, seemed exactly the same as Falmouth, but on a lake instead of near Buzzards Bay. There was even a T shirt store with the word grape in it. I had meant to also go to Mackinaw Island and Soo Locks, but wasn't feeling it, so headed south to Ludington. I stopped at the kind of hotel that I have now promised myself I won't stay at anymore. It was fine. But.... If you know me, you know that I am far from squeamish, but even I wouldn't take off my socks. It smelled of carpet deodorizer, giving me the Sophie's choice of airing out the room and listening to Harleys driving by, or sleeping in a smelly room Suffice it to say that tonight I'm on the 10th floor of a nice hotel with a king bed and a view of Lake Monoma.
These forget-me-nots took my breath away, Leland MI
Leland, MI
Fishtown, or Leland, MI
The SS Badger is a National Historic Monument, which sounded cool, but it turns out that the fuel is historic, still running on coal, it was awful to see all that black smoke spewing out and knowing I was supporting it. Inside the ship, there is a museum, a documentary film, oodles of cafes, a gift shop and the biggest hit, Badger Bingo. It's 4 hours across with an hour before as they put the cars in, so people were resourceful and brought games and books, coloring, crosswords. The weather app had told me the crossing would be rough, and remembering that hellish trip from Brindisi to Corfu in the 80s when everyone got drunk first, then sea sick, I popped two dramamine, but then couldn't keep my eyes open, fell asleep drooling on my book, snorted myself awake. Oh well, they're an understanding people.
There was one woman with not a hair out of place who was watching a movie on her iPad while making some kind of paper decorations, she had brought all manner of tools and materials. And then there was the family of four, parents of an adult male and his wife, who sat together and played rumikub right next to me, it was impossible not to listen. They were so very kind to each other and had such a nice time together, as it seems most midwesterners are, comfortable in each other's presence. I wondered if it's only in the major metropolitan areas of the US that people are so stressed and disconnected.
The SS Badger is a National Historic Monument, which sounded cool, but it turns out that the fuel is historic, still running on coal, it was awful to see all that black smoke spewing out and knowing I was supporting it. Inside the ship, there is a museum, a documentary film, oodles of cafes, a gift shop and the biggest hit, Badger Bingo. It's 4 hours across with an hour before as they put the cars in, so people were resourceful and brought games and books, coloring, crosswords. The weather app had told me the crossing would be rough, and remembering that hellish trip from Brindisi to Corfu in the 80s when everyone got drunk first, then sea sick, I popped two dramamine, but then couldn't keep my eyes open, fell asleep drooling on my book, snorted myself awake. Oh well, they're an understanding people.
There was one woman with not a hair out of place who was watching a movie on her iPad while making some kind of paper decorations, she had brought all manner of tools and materials. And then there was the family of four, parents of an adult male and his wife, who sat together and played rumikub right next to me, it was impossible not to listen. They were so very kind to each other and had such a nice time together, as it seems most midwesterners are, comfortable in each other's presence. I wondered if it's only in the major metropolitan areas of the US that people are so stressed and disconnected.
I lied when I said I'd never sneak a photo again. Check those pretty things out
The Rumikub family. And yes, another one I snuck. Mother and son are the spitting image of each other.
Lakeside Rothko
The S. S. Badger spewing
Floating on the state line and the time zone line
Alway like to slip in a little Wes Anderson
The ferry arrived in Manitowoc WI, and from there it was a coffee stop in Sheboygan, which was sweet. And then not a long drive to Milwaukee, where I intended to spend the night, but felt no compulsion to stay after roaming around the Historic Third Ward and getting the vibe. So it was on to Madison, where there will be what has been called one of the best farmer's markets in the world (hmm, says this skeptical Aix citizen, let's see about that...) tomorrow morning. I love the roads here, they're concrete or cement instead of asphalt. The lighter color is really nice to look at.
I have to learn not to make food assumptions. I ordered yogurt with blueberries and bananas this morning and it was sweetened, and then tonight I ordered black beans, and they were refried, like liquid. Good thing I've got a loaf of sprouted whole wheat, a jar of peanut butter AND a jar of marmite!
Over and out.
The ferry arrived in Manitowoc WI, and from there it was a coffee stop in Sheboygan, which was sweet. And then not a long drive to Milwaukee, where I intended to spend the night, but felt no compulsion to stay after roaming around the Historic Third Ward and getting the vibe. So it was on to Madison, where there will be what has been called one of the best farmer's markets in the world (hmm, says this skeptical Aix citizen, let's see about that...) tomorrow morning. I love the roads here, they're concrete or cement instead of asphalt. The lighter color is really nice to look at.
I have to learn not to make food assumptions. I ordered yogurt with blueberries and bananas this morning and it was sweetened, and then tonight I ordered black beans, and they were refried, like liquid. Good thing I've got a loaf of sprouted whole wheat, a jar of peanut butter AND a jar of marmite!
Over and out.
Manitowoc, WI
Sheboygan, which I really liked, it wasn't all old and broken down like this photograph, but this is the one I took
Silly T shirt at the Milwaukee food (hmm, and I guess t-shirt) market
Milwaukee
- Published on
Hiking Crew at Les Calanques, back in April
Back there in my other life, on a Tuesday hike, I'm pretty sure it was the one above, Amanda from Wales brought up the subject of past lives, something that has always made me fascinated and a little bit scared, remembering when a ghost kicked Jenn and me out of the upstairs Do Not Enter part of an old mansion. Amanda mentioned a book, Many Masters, Many Lives, which was apparently big in the 90s.
Now Aix has an English language bookstore, which was initially a relief and a delight, but it turns out the books are pink and yellow and teal and have long titles that engender profound feelings of despair. I'm a product of COVID little libraries and the wonders of Brookline Booksmith, both of which put previously unknown books in front of me for me to read. So while Book in Bar (still don't understand that name) will order any book I want, I'd walk in, look around fretfully, be put off by novels that have ice cream or cinnamon toast in the title, and leave unfulfilled only to become dejected on Sundays when the French book market happened and there they were, all these old and interesting looking books that I can't yet quite comprehend.
All this to say that when I heard about Many Masters, Many Lives, instead of trying to find it, I went online and listened to a podcast interviewing the author. A Columbia and Yale educated MD who ran the psychiatry department at a major US hospital, and nonbeliever in anything supernatural, he was the perfect person for me to learn from. Through work with a patient who had many serious problems in her life that he found incurable with traditional psychiatric methods, he fell upon hypnotherapy as a last resort, finding it effective, and a portal to the past lives of his patient. He disabused me of the notion that karma is a sort of just desserts, rather his our souls having a particular thing that needs resolution in each life, the burden of which is carried over to the next if it's not solved in the current.
At the end of the podcast, he mentioned a YouTube video he had posted that allows the listener to do a past life regression meditation. With nary a book around to read and a rainy afternoon, I was all in. I'll tell you that among other things, I went back to being a powerful, cruel Egyptian beatch. The image below is actually of a goddess, which I certainly was not, but she looks the most like the picture I saw. I know, we're all over the map on belief of things like this, as am I, but I went through it and I saw this, clear as day. Doing this gave me a clear understanding of what I need to resolve in this particular life, dovetailing perfectly with the EMDR I had done with a therapist a few years back. Turns out they're not so very different, only the EMDR didn't go back quite as far.
Back there in my other life, on a Tuesday hike, I'm pretty sure it was the one above, Amanda from Wales brought up the subject of past lives, something that has always made me fascinated and a little bit scared, remembering when a ghost kicked Jenn and me out of the upstairs Do Not Enter part of an old mansion. Amanda mentioned a book, Many Masters, Many Lives, which was apparently big in the 90s.
Now Aix has an English language bookstore, which was initially a relief and a delight, but it turns out the books are pink and yellow and teal and have long titles that engender profound feelings of despair. I'm a product of COVID little libraries and the wonders of Brookline Booksmith, both of which put previously unknown books in front of me for me to read. So while Book in Bar (still don't understand that name) will order any book I want, I'd walk in, look around fretfully, be put off by novels that have ice cream or cinnamon toast in the title, and leave unfulfilled only to become dejected on Sundays when the French book market happened and there they were, all these old and interesting looking books that I can't yet quite comprehend.
All this to say that when I heard about Many Masters, Many Lives, instead of trying to find it, I went online and listened to a podcast interviewing the author. A Columbia and Yale educated MD who ran the psychiatry department at a major US hospital, and nonbeliever in anything supernatural, he was the perfect person for me to learn from. Through work with a patient who had many serious problems in her life that he found incurable with traditional psychiatric methods, he fell upon hypnotherapy as a last resort, finding it effective, and a portal to the past lives of his patient. He disabused me of the notion that karma is a sort of just desserts, rather his our souls having a particular thing that needs resolution in each life, the burden of which is carried over to the next if it's not solved in the current.
At the end of the podcast, he mentioned a YouTube video he had posted that allows the listener to do a past life regression meditation. With nary a book around to read and a rainy afternoon, I was all in. I'll tell you that among other things, I went back to being a powerful, cruel Egyptian beatch. The image below is actually of a goddess, which I certainly was not, but she looks the most like the picture I saw. I know, we're all over the map on belief of things like this, as am I, but I went through it and I saw this, clear as day. Doing this gave me a clear understanding of what I need to resolve in this particular life, dovetailing perfectly with the EMDR I had done with a therapist a few years back. Turns out they're not so very different, only the EMDR didn't go back quite as far.
I tried to find a better image, but all the other ancient Egyptian woman faces are too kind. I was really mean.
So, that was the headspace with which I passed through ICE border control (they literally didn't even look at my passport) and traipsed back to Kilsyth Road. As I was also literally moving from one life to another, with the only crossover my phone and silver bracelets, I have been doing a lot of thinking about all of these different lives, and don't see the varied ones in this life as particularly different from those I may have lived already. The Egyptian experience and going to Monorpix to pick up dried Febres are both equally distant and abstract. As some of my friends are on the more skeptical side "I don't want to talk about this", I'm doing my best to separate what's in my head and what comes out of my mouth, a lifelong challenge.
So, that was the headspace with which I passed through ICE border control (they literally didn't even look at my passport) and traipsed back to Kilsyth Road. As I was also literally moving from one life to another, with the only crossover my phone and silver bracelets, I have been doing a lot of thinking about all of these different lives, and don't see the varied ones in this life as particularly different from those I may have lived already. The Egyptian experience and going to Monorpix to pick up dried Febres are both equally distant and abstract. As some of my friends are on the more skeptical side "I don't want to talk about this", I'm doing my best to separate what's in my head and what comes out of my mouth, a lifelong challenge.
Public Gardens were crazy ablaze
Kilsyth Road, did not plant the dogwood blossom
Back in this US life, it turns out I have been lucky enough to experience a second cycle of spring (what a great life plan, to follow springs around the world) . There have been so many things that have been delicious. Real, wonderful, warm and long hugs are by far the best. Good coffee! English, ice, kitchen gadgets, the ballet and unbelievable Chinese food, a shower, lots more space and large jars of kimchee. Sports with racquets! Oh I do love being in the flow while playing tennis so very much and yesterday had something close to a religious experience with Jenn on Court 4.
In the spirit of spirits, I decided to head up to Brattleboro for Mother's Day to visit my mom, who had passed away a few years ago, but was the reason I used to take the Wantasquait trail to the peak with a nice view of Brattleboro and on clear days, the southern Vermont ski mountains. The ritual was to take this hike after visiting my mom at the beige but kind nursing home, in order to get the yayas out before driving 2 hours back. One time, at the top, of all the odd things, there were two others who didn't know each other, both of whom were there because they were exhausted dealing with older parents. We were all speechless.
My mother and I were similar in some ways, she certainly gave me the gift of genuinely feeling grateful more than most, for which I'll be eternally grateful. There was also the stiff upper lip. But there are many ways we were different, and she never quite understood that. If I'd express an opinion different from hers or do something that she wouldn't have done, she'd look at me a bit like a odd zoo animal and get uncharacteristically quiet. So, I spent some time on that peak thinking about this and coming to be at peace with it, at the tender age of 65. I know, when will it be done??
Zohar and Gene were behind the counter at Yalla, wearing cowboy hats and listening to Johnny Cash. Zohar said "it's been a while" and "thanks for remembering us". The prices had gone up significantly, bringing them closer to market rate, Star Trek still plays a prime role, though as I didn't go to the bathroom, can't confirm that Captain Kirk with Elvis glasses s still there. Still the best sandwich pretty much anywhere.
Back in this US life, it turns out I have been lucky enough to experience a second cycle of spring (what a great life plan, to follow springs around the world) . There have been so many things that have been delicious. Real, wonderful, warm and long hugs are by far the best. Good coffee! English, ice, kitchen gadgets, the ballet and unbelievable Chinese food, a shower, lots more space and large jars of kimchee. Sports with racquets! Oh I do love being in the flow while playing tennis so very much and yesterday had something close to a religious experience with Jenn on Court 4.
In the spirit of spirits, I decided to head up to Brattleboro for Mother's Day to visit my mom, who had passed away a few years ago, but was the reason I used to take the Wantasquait trail to the peak with a nice view of Brattleboro and on clear days, the southern Vermont ski mountains. The ritual was to take this hike after visiting my mom at the beige but kind nursing home, in order to get the yayas out before driving 2 hours back. One time, at the top, of all the odd things, there were two others who didn't know each other, both of whom were there because they were exhausted dealing with older parents. We were all speechless.
My mother and I were similar in some ways, she certainly gave me the gift of genuinely feeling grateful more than most, for which I'll be eternally grateful. There was also the stiff upper lip. But there are many ways we were different, and she never quite understood that. If I'd express an opinion different from hers or do something that she wouldn't have done, she'd look at me a bit like a odd zoo animal and get uncharacteristically quiet. So, I spent some time on that peak thinking about this and coming to be at peace with it, at the tender age of 65. I know, when will it be done??
Zohar and Gene were behind the counter at Yalla, wearing cowboy hats and listening to Johnny Cash. Zohar said "it's been a while" and "thanks for remembering us". The prices had gone up significantly, bringing them closer to market rate, Star Trek still plays a prime role, though as I didn't go to the bathroom, can't confirm that Captain Kirk with Elvis glasses s still there. Still the best sandwich pretty much anywhere.
Still a lot of snowmelt on the Wantasquait trail
The number one question I've been asked is not "So, how's your French?" (crawling along would be an apt response), but "So, what do you do all day?" (now that I'm a pensioner on a fixed income) which feels like a trick question. How the heck would I know? For a wandering and curious mind that doesn't appreciate any sort of structure, it's a delicious feeling to wake up, well-rested of course because there are no longer flames of anxiety rising up at 2 am, after realizing that hiring committee meeting was never scheduled. One of my first thoughts lying in bed might be "Hmmm, what do I feel like doing today?"
Here is a typical day from last week: I had a soft plan to go for a walk in the Arboretum with a friend, but when I was ready to do something and we hadn't yet made a plan, toddled off to the gym and quite naturally pushed myself harder than I might have last year, then after asking myself what I wanted to do next, headed over to the MFA on a grey and drizzly day. I fell upon Divine Color: Hindu Prints from Modern Bengal, which was surprising and wonderful, making me think about how clever it is that there are organizations only there to show us art. I also took in Street Photography, which included a photo taken by a woman who had a Leica camera with a 90 degree angle lens, allowing her to zoom in on people without them knowing, which I've decided isn't fair, even though I used to do it. After, I walked out of the museum not knowing what was next, an urge for a good coffee took over, and it was on to Pavement, where the musicians hang. I enjoyed my cappuccino next to a man writing music, his foot tapping the whole time, rocking the table. On the way there, I had seen myself in the glass and was alarmed to see that it appeared I had diapers on, my pants having lost their shape, so headed to Assembly Square Mall to the J Crew outlet and came out with a lighter wallet but better lines. On the Orange line back, I thought about getting out at Haymarket and going up to get 6 cherrystones for $10, but didn't have any cash, so continued on home, and then went out to do I've forgotten what. So, that is retirement life for me, a fair amount of staring into space and aimless wandering.
Here is a typical day from last week: I had a soft plan to go for a walk in the Arboretum with a friend, but when I was ready to do something and we hadn't yet made a plan, toddled off to the gym and quite naturally pushed myself harder than I might have last year, then after asking myself what I wanted to do next, headed over to the MFA on a grey and drizzly day. I fell upon Divine Color: Hindu Prints from Modern Bengal, which was surprising and wonderful, making me think about how clever it is that there are organizations only there to show us art. I also took in Street Photography, which included a photo taken by a woman who had a Leica camera with a 90 degree angle lens, allowing her to zoom in on people without them knowing, which I've decided isn't fair, even though I used to do it. After, I walked out of the museum not knowing what was next, an urge for a good coffee took over, and it was on to Pavement, where the musicians hang. I enjoyed my cappuccino next to a man writing music, his foot tapping the whole time, rocking the table. On the way there, I had seen myself in the glass and was alarmed to see that it appeared I had diapers on, my pants having lost their shape, so headed to Assembly Square Mall to the J Crew outlet and came out with a lighter wallet but better lines. On the Orange line back, I thought about getting out at Haymarket and going up to get 6 cherrystones for $10, but didn't have any cash, so continued on home, and then went out to do I've forgotten what. So, that is retirement life for me, a fair amount of staring into space and aimless wandering.
Current vibe
Bengali print #1
Bengali print #2. There is so much going on here.
Bengali tapestry, knocked my socks off
Just a little Calder, casually displayed
And one more
Got some Sympathy Hall action before the end of the season
So, Kilsyth is going up for rent year round and I'll sort out my next summer living situation at some point in the future If you know anyone who's looking for a very spacious one-bedroom starting September 1st, LMK. And if you or anyone you know is in need of furniture, art books, kitchen equipment, rugs, pictures, linens, pretty much everything that's in my apartment, let me know, I'll need to hold on to most things until the end of summer but am happy to reserve things. I'll be taking nominal donations that will be passed on to Sportsmen's Tennis and Enrichment Center, my favorite charitable mission.
Big adventures later this week, stay tuned.