My elbows started aching from the hard plastic arms of the otherwise wonderful folding rocking chair I’ve had for quite some time.
Went to the local hardware store (it’s amazing how just about every little town has ’em!) and bought a short length of foam pipe insulation. Cut a couple arm’s length pieces out of it and popped it onto the chair’s arms.
Presto, instant comfort! Seems to work well so far.
#
I’ve wondered if being disconnected from the world meant I was escaping from it. I don’t think so… Because I’m from an era of land-line phones and letters sent in the mail.
It’s more of a going back to my roots of a slower, less insane paced world.
Moments of solitude are welcomed, invited, and easier without being constantly tethered to a world always clamoring for attention.
#
It might be a good idea for visitor center’s bathrooms to supply good quality toilet paper.
This one (which shall remain nameless) offered the cheapest kind with absolutely no traction to it so all it really does is push one’s shit around rather than actually wiping it off.
And it ends up being wasteful due to the need to use copious yardages of it to get “it” all off.
Not a great impression to make when welcoming visitors to one’s town, hmm?
#
It’s supposed to hit 100F degrees today and indeed the early day is already sweltering, pelting me with ceaseless heat wrapped tight in a thick cellophane of sticky ass humidity.
Normally I’d be long gone from here (the make yer own weather thing) but my momentarily ailing back requires me to sit tight a bit longer and let it heal up.
As I’ve mentioned before most of the time it’s a matter of acclimating to whatever weather there is but in extremes like the past few days it’s insanity to stay when you one can easily move elsewhere.
Cranky, anyone? ; )
#
With a couple hours before dark I drove over to this “Land Between the Lakes” national recreation area for a short hike into the sunset.
I somehow (it’s always somehow, right?) miss the trailhead and was about to make a u-turn back only to see a sign saying the road I’m on is one-way only. Pulled up the map to find it’s an eight mile roundtrip back to here.
Well, sheet.
May as well roll with it so I mosey onwards.
After a few miles I see a small pull-off with a trail snaking into the forest. Hmm, gonna pull over and try this one instead.
And what an unexpected delight this detour was!
The trail hugged a cliff-like coast off the lake; it brought back memories of Costa Rica’s sheer drop offs and vast waters below with sun rays shafting through tall trees.
A couple miles in the trail descended to a beachhead tucked at the edge of the forest complete with old fire rings and waves lapping at the edge. Perfect place to pause and soak in the shimmering glory of all that is.
A waning sun leads the way back, fading rays throwing marvelous patterns of orange across tree trunks and leaves.
This is what happens when perfect, beautiful synchronicity throws plans out the window and gives you something altogether better.
Arrived at my new campsite at Eureka in the southwest corner of Kentucky only to find trees are missing so it was boiling under a heat-wave sun. Turns out the photo of the campsite when I made a reservation for it was quite old — where the photo showed trees there are now stumps.
Ooof (and another reason I dislike having to reserve campsites). At least I was able to switch to a different site further back where it’s shrouded by my beloved trees.
#
I love taking the less beaten road to wherever I’m going. Out here it’s akin to hopping on a lazy rollercoaster that meanders through countrysides and valleys and creeks, rivers, etc.
Those journeys induce a state of bliss as I take my sweet time rolling through green heaven.
#
Stopped by another Amish market. They’re always a delish delight to stumble upon. Bought some ground tumeric to try in my evening tea to sooth travel weary bones. Also had one of the best coffees I’ve had made by an Amish girl manning an old fashioned coffee machine.
#
Saw a solitary white Pelican floating by the water in front of camp, gulping dinner on the way. I haven’t seen one since I was last in Sarasota, Florida visiting mom.
#
Walking by the water I’m hit with a strong whiff of what smells like red-tide, bringing me back to Florida.
Looking around, there’s dead fish and jellyfish rotting on shore.
I ask the campground host about it. Her nose wrinkles and says its from all the dead fish dying from the extreme heat cooking the lake.
Wow. I certainly didn’t expect such a thing up here far from Florida.
#
This part of Kentucky (Grand Rivers, Lake City, etc) confuses me.
I can’t tell what it wants to be.
I see a mish-mash of industrial (quarries, coal trains, dams), vacation destination (a sprawling western themed restaurant that wants to be a mini-Dollywood, fancy resort state park), knock-off of Key West with a lighthouse, farms mixed in and lots of abandoned buildings/businesses with overgrown and neglected land scattered in between.
I’ve never seen such a bewildering mix of so many things in just a few miles. It’s as if the area is trying to find its identity and ends up being a jack of all trades.
#
Now that I’m writing more often, I find my fountain pen hand starting to ache and cramp a bit.
What an ancient-to-me dilemma to be in and one that I welcome.
There’s also the matter of typing all these notes in so it goes up on this here blog and I can’t seem to keep up with my furiously flowing pen.
8-22 Coconut heels, heat wave, bye flies, coffee closed and sitting in dark
Applying coconut oil each morning and evening to cracked heels under my feet has been remarkably effective after a few days. Putting socks on for a bit gives the oil time to soak into your heel.
#
I find myself caught in a heat wave rolling through the area. Clouds hang low in the sky, forming a convection oven of sorts that holds the heat in. So we bake in the mid 90’s for a few days. Compared to my Florida, it’s not that bad, it just feels oppressive.
I had a strong mind to skip camp and move further north. “We can change the weather” as us nomads like to say.
According to the heat maps, in this case it would be a ways to where it’s slightly cooler so it’s not worth the long, mad dash.
The heat wave will pass in a few days anyway. A key part of the wandering life is also to learn to acclimate to where you are and get used to it.
I have a few trees to shade in, a light breeze, and a very cool river to dunk in a couple times a day. I’ll manage.
#
There’s a murder of ravens who like to hang out in a tall tree across the river from my campsite. The adventure continues!
#
Flies have arrived in force. After swatting at a few I remembered the old country folk method of filling a small clear plastic bag with water and plopping a few pennies in it.
Thought I’d give it a try and hang it on my awning. It seems to work for the most part — way less flies now save for a brave soul or two that breech my watery defense.
I’m not sure of the “science” behind it so it’s strange such a thing works. I’ll take that woo-woo!
#
Took an excursion to nearby Scottsville (KY) for a light lunch followed by a favorite activity of mine: Reading at a coffee cafe.
Made it to the lunch cafe only to find the interior dark and a closed sign despite posted hours saying otherwise.
Owell. I’ll mosey on over to the coffee joint across the street and grab a crossiant or sandwich along with my ritual afternoon coffee.
Nope. Closed. Handwritten sign says, “Sorry! See you tomorrow!” Again despite their posted hours. Ugh. This time I’m a tad annoyed — it’s a damper to drive into town only to have caffeinated expectations rebuffed.
Undaunted - dammit I’m gonna get me coffee! - I jet over to nearby Bowling Green. They’ve gotta have an open cafe that honors their hours.
Bingo. There is one and they do not lie. I let out a long sigh of relief and settle in for a couple hours of reading and imbibing java.
#
One of my favorite things to do while camping is to sit outside as the sun falls and darkness slowly descends.
It’s when another world comes to life.
The river turns into a sheet of mist and pale moon inches out of hiding. Acrobatic bats dance through the sky gobbling mosquitos as they go. Deer ’n such emerge from dark trees to chow down for their evening meal on the fringes. And fireflies - what’s left of ’em - slowly blooping their way around me.
Mother Nature is such an incredibly wondrous manifestation of all life. She is life, indeed.
8-21 My body exhales, Amish farmer, wrench in machine
A couple days later of no connectivity I’m finding my body truly appreciates it. It’s far more relaxed and less tense, esp. in my neck, back, and eyes from the strain of being online.
Internally I sense more inner peace. There are just my thoughts alone without the entire world inside my head.
I’ve long been aware of the stress being online puts on my body but I didn’t feel the palpable exhale of relief from it until after being off-line for an extended period of time.
What a difference it makes!
I sometimes reflect to the days when there were no cell phones and I remember how more vibrant life was - maybe because I was more in touch with it.
#
Rather than catch up with news of the world on my phone each morning since there is no connectivity I’m going to try jotting down thoughts in a paper journal and see where it takes me.
#
Just saw a raven swoop through. Whenever I see one it’s a good sign that I’m on the right path.
When I first started this very nomadic journey by going up the east coast in to Nova Scotia, there were ravens all along the way, guiding and accompanying this newbie.
Much later, the day when I resumed my travels after a long battle with Mr. Lyme a pair of ravens perched above my camper to see me off.
#
Today I move from Defeated Creek in Tennessee to Tailwater further north. I had plans to stay here longer but my spot has no shade and it’s too hot to sit outside like I usually do. And I don’t want to sit inside my camper all day, A/C or no.
Waterfront spots are nice but shade is a must to enjoy it.
#
Took a long detour through the Kentucky Highlands countryside to stop at an Amish farm shop. It was like stepping back in time via rolling hills sprinkled with farms and old homes. As I got closer I began to see tell-tale signs of skinny ruts and dried horse poop on top of the asphalt road — a sure sign of Amish horse drawn wagons.
The farmer’s market was a delight, complete with ancient cash registers. Varieties of veggies ’n such were spread throughout mixed with assortments of homemade breads, jams, granola, baked goods and more.
I asked the Amish farmer if I could just buy a couple of potatoes rather than the bundle he sells.
He waved me into the back and said to pick whatever I liked. I choose a couple small potatoes and he gestured to bigger ones, encouraging me to upsize.
I pointed out the back door to my tiny camper. Small camper, small space for food.
He got it and grinned, long white beard dancing.
As we walked back to the front, he asked where I was from.
“Florida… but that camper is my home.”
Eyes wide, he confirms, “You live in it??”
“Yes. It’s my home wherever I go!”
He laughs and waves his arms around, “Your home is everywhere!”
I nod and smile.
Curious, he asks if I’m alone.
“Yes.”
What about a wife?
“I divorced a long time ago.”
His gentle blue eyes dig into mine.
“It’s all good,” I affirm.
He gestures again, “Your home is wherever you are!”
“Home is where the heart is!” I reply jovially.
I ask where he is from. Pennsylvania.
Why did he move to Kentucky? Everything was getting expensive and land prices getting too costly for farming he says, shrugging.
And the kids, he adds, we don’t use electricity, cars, or cell phones — they’re fading away from our way of life.
It was a somber moment.
Then he says I’m here now and happy and our farm is expanding!
We grin again in unison.
How old are you, he asks? 55 I say. 77! he reciprocates.
Another customer walks in. It was time for me to get back on the road.
He rings me up, I fork over bills, proffer thanks and wish him the best.
You too! he says with a twinkle in eyes as he whimsically looks over at my camper.
#
I arrive at Tailwater COE campground a day early thinking it wouldn’t be a big deal to shift my reservation back having left my prior reservation at Defeated Creek a day early too.
The campground host was clearly unnerved I brought chaos by showing up early and she was unsure what to do.
Is it really a big deal with the campground being mostly empty and my spot available, I ask?
Stammering and stalling out, her brain sputtered to a stop.
I ended up running over to the COE management office (luckily they were close by) where a kindly ranger banged around on her computer for awhile and got things sorted out.
I asked why it was such a big deal. She shrugged it is what it is, we have to make sure everyone is checked in properly and with a proper reservation.
I forgot COE (Corps of Engineers) is actually part of the US Military. And being engineer-run, they got rules and they gotta be followed!
My mistake for throwing a wrench into the machine.
8-19 Salt Lick creek, peace without cellular and writing
A quick note: I’ve been off-line for a good while thanks to camping in areas with little to no cellular signal. One of the benefits? More writing in my notebook journal.
I have a pile of notes to catch up on and type into the computer for this here blog so you’ll likely see ’em spilling through soon (as long as I have a good connection and desire to be on a computer).
These notes will be backdated to when they were written to stay with the flow.
#
I’m at this sprawling campground far larger than what I’m used to. It’s beautiful in some kind of way like a perfectly maintained subdivision of campsites with wide, sweeping lawns and hulking big rigs everywhere. Like any Americana neighborhood — there’s people milling out ’n about, tending to their BBQ grills (one prodigious camper hauled his own huge grill behind his rig) and parties plopped into circled lawn chairs and beers in hands. Kids darting here and there, tiny dogs yapping and gnawing (and pooping all over).
It’s so strange to be ensconced in all this in the middle of nowhere where there’s no cell signal to be had.
Suburbia implanted in a pocket of wilderness.
Each time I walk around the campground I feel like an alien out of place in my tiny camper and wild, rustic spirit.
It is what it is — I’m glad to at least see people experiencing nature even if sanitized and mowed over. Often in these areas it’s the only camping to be had.
I lucked out snagging one of the last waterfront campsites left here and I can see why — it’s one of the few scraggly, untamed parts of the campground with rambling trees and vines yarned all over. To get to the water I had to machete my way through — just how I like it.
It’s like being in a womb of green with smatterings of life — a box turtle who stopped by for a visit, squirrels flaying themselves from tree to tree and all sorts of birds that visit my little oasis tucked away from civilization.
As the sun sets over the river I’m able to witness its pink and orange beauty over the valley beyond through a hole in the greenery.
And so it is.
#
Being in an area with no cellular coverage brings remarkable peace. The noise in and out of my head is gone, no more constant chitter and chatter. Just blessed silence.
Deep, deep silence — the kind that sinks into my bones akin to a spiritual moment.
Smart phones and civilization seem to disconnect us from ourselves. It’s been awhile since I’ve felt this kind of silence and it’s a balm for the soul.
It’s ironic that to reconnect to ourselves we must disconnect from the world.
#
I keep looking for something creative to do with sustained effort (and possibly make a living at) - painting, drawing/sketching, photography, etc. etc. Yet deep down I know my strongest talent is in writing.
And yet I always seem to run from it. Maybe it’’s because it takes the most effort yet it’s the easiest for me to do.
Writing does require a shifting of consciousness and a slowing down and often I don’t think I have (more like want) the time or energy to slip into that mode.
There could be other more subtle reasons such as facing myself and my mind and whatever lies within.
Maybe it’s simply sheer laziness?
Nonetheless I shall take the plunge yet again and see where it goes.
