Random=Better (Part 3)

Sunday morning.

Time to make the return trip.

Usually by this time, we have completely worn ourselves out doing whatever it was that occupied us during the weekend, and we sleepily make our way back along fairly conventional routes.

But not this time.

This time, we had things to see, and the energy to seek it out.

We first backtracked along the path from the night before, passing the huge entrance for Natural Bridge Caverns, and crossing over the Guadalupe until we were just northwest of San Antonio. Then the fun began, as I dug out the Roads of Texas and started plotting a course through the county roads that are merely unlabeled red quiggles in the regular Texas gazetteer.

Deep into the hills, passing deer fences and ranch houses, carefully navigating gravel roads, many twists and turns. We passed a guy on a motorcycle that seemed a bit lost, but before we could pull over to ask if he needed directions (since we had a good map), he revved up and was gone.

A brief look down a tunnel of shade, but it looked like it crossed a gully and the planks weren't in the best condition, so we went around.

I think we actually passed a local small winery -- not that it had a sign....but at the least, we saw fields of grapes going off into the distance -- we were probably following their back fence.

We explored for hours, then rounded a bend and found ourselves crossing the bridge at the edge of Blanco State Park. Good thing too, as we weren't sure when the last time was we'd stopped for a bathroom, and we hadn't yet grabbed anything to eat! So with a quick stop in a gas station, we opted to just follow 281 north for a while.

Well, not due north.

Brandy had asked about good barbecue places in the Hill Country on a forum she frequents, and she was enthusiastically directed to a place in Llano. Well, hell, it was only an hour out of our way! Let's go get lunch!

Cut west a bit, passing much granite, and only briefly got twisted in our directions coming in over the Llano River bridge (I think we ended up crossing it 5 times by the time we left town), and we found ourselves at Coopers BBQ.

This, folks, is not just a barbecue joint. This is an experience!

We seemed to have gotten lucky by coming in just behind the lunch crowd, as the line only went across the front of the building, rather than wrapping around it. The whole time, we were teased by the delicious aromas wafting over from the group of huge brick smokers. When we got up to the smokers, not even into the building yet, the guy opened the lid, revealing masses of meat, and asked us what we'd have.

"Um, brisket?"

He spears this 15-pound brisket and carves off a giant hunk. "About this much?"

"Uh...yeah, okay..."

"Sauce?"

"Sure."

He dunks it into this vat of the stuff and tosses it onto the tray. "Okay, what else?"

We continue like this for a few minutes, with ribs, sausage (jalapeno or regular?), sirloin (carved off a slab of meat as large as a brisket), chicken (I think he gave us half the bird).....By the time we actually went in the door, we must have had 20 pounds of meat on our tray. We handed it off once inside, and everything was weighed, priced, and covered in aluminum foil before being handed back to us.

Come to think of it, I don't think we even bothered with sides. We just got some sweet tea, made our way to the tin building that served as a dining area, sat down at a long bench table, where there was a roll of paper towels (no plates!), a loaf of bread, and a big jar of whole pickled jalapenos. Some onion and pickles from the side bar (we skipped the barbecued beans), and we were ready to dig in.

Oh, that food was incredible! We ate considerably more than was wise, seeing as how we were barely halfway home, and we still had a ton of leftovers to take back with us. We may have spent way too much on lunch (cause we got a bit carried away with our selections), but it was definitely worth it....so worth it.....*thinking back*....gotta go to Llano again soon....

Fighting afternoon and post-gorging sleepies, we got back on the road and worked our way back toward our normal route up 281. We stopped at the Hidden Dutchman, as has become habit, when I talked the girls into going off the paved road once more.

Wandering a maze of gravel, crossing briefly over pavement just to reach the next road -- it was so underused that Brandy felt compelled to point out that at points we were driving over grass that barely had tire tracks to follow.

Even better was when we discovered that the numbers on the signs didn't match the numbers on the map. Rather than let this stop me, I simply followed the orientation of the road's lines, figuring we'd still end up in the right spot.

"Um, Jacob? That's a riverbed down there."

"Yeah, we're supposed to cross it -- the road should continue on the other side."

"Jacob, that's a river BED down there."

"Yeah, but the road continues on the other side."

"There's no bridge, Jacob."

"Okay, I'll go scout it."

So we stop the car -- the girls already think I'm nuts -- remember when I said earlier that we were driving a luxury car? I walk out, and whatever river it is, it seems to be dry. I walk across, and sure enough, there's a road leading off on the other side. I kick a few of the bigger river rocks out of the way, and it's a flat surface -- sort of. I walk back up, Brandy takes the wheel, shaking her head, as I walk ahead of the car, guiding it along the safe path across.

That's right, folks, we forded the Bosque River in our Chrysler.

Once we finally got to the paved roads again (miraculously, right where the map showed we would end up), there was much rejoicing, and a resoundingly voiced opinion that we'd had enough adventure for one day. We made our way on up to Glen Rose, and finally back to home.

It had been a long and winding road this trip -- the first time in too long that we had just sort of wandered in whatever direction seemed interesting at the time. We got a bit caugt up in destinations for a while -- sure, it was along the lines of "Hey, we haven't been there before, let's go check it out!" and then plot the most interesting course we could. But this time, we didn't know where we were going, aside from "south"...that felt good to do again.

While not practical all the time (sometimes you can get screwed pretty badly when finding lodging at the last minute), it's nice to do now and then....a bit of adventure, a bit of wanderlust sated, just seeing what there is to see.

Yup, once in a while, random is better.

Autumn nights.

The weather has been cooling off, and for the past three weekends, I just haven't been able to stay indoors. The road just keeps on calling. Moonlight and soft cool breezes beckoning to come and explore. Friday I had to come home with a stomach bug that made its way around the office, and got home to crash.

Then it got dark. 9pm and I've rested, feeling good.... and the moon is up. Sitting on the back porch, moon over the trees, smelling the moisture in the air. The hell with it. South is calling. Well, I've heard there's a monument to some guys who died while fighting for Texan independance down near La Grange..... and there's Bastrop and Buecher down there too. The Lost Pines. Toss some clothes in a bag, a book to read in case I might get bored, and on the road. 11pm.

Miles and miles of moonlit vistas. Fog creeping into the creeks and rivers... rising from the lowlands. Deer grazing along the road. Cool night air smelling so sweet... of the end of summer. Of the changing of the season. Moonlight and stars reflecting off the water from the ponds and lakes that are silently passed by. Flying through the night.

The plan was to stop in Giddings for sleep.... but that just wasn't meant to be. Silver pools and streams appearing through the banks of fog.... reflecting the starlight, sending up the tendrils that fill the meadows. Deer appearing in the darkness, gently stepping through the tall grass to disappear into the night a moment later.

Around 4:30, pulling into La Grange, spotting a very small family run motel and being overcome with exaustion. Clean room, soft bed, ... Tomorrow is calling.


*ping*
For no good reason that I can fathom, my eyes open and I'm awake. Lying there in a far too soft to be a cheap hotel bed, surrounded by my favourite lumpy pillows, and realizing the sun is coming up. Fresh air and the lightening sky showing through the teeny bathroom window. Stepping outside for an early morning smoke, noticing that the "office" of this cheap motel is a huge old victorian mansion of a home, with fully mixed gardens with her pepper plants and tomatoes growing in with her roses and easter lilies and phlox and 4-o-clocks.

On my way into town I'd spotted a taqueria and made a mental note of its location, but while driving the same path, I totally missed it. Thinking I might have seen it in Giddings - it WAS 4am when I was driving through here - We headed in that direction. When we got to Giddings, I did spot one on the route I took the night before, but it was officially forever closed, but I did spot a back up plan. A whole bunch of trucks and a sign reading "Fine food" just off 77. Always a good sign. Getting closer, its "Mel's Diner" and the place is PACKED. Locals sitting and drinking their morning coffee, chattering about who isn't there yet, whose cows did what, and all other sorts of the small town gossip that this transplanted country girl misses dearly.

Totally stuffed on sausage, eggs, hashbrowns, homemade yeast biscuits, gravy, and coffee, its time to go check out that monument.... but driving through small towns on a saturday morning there's another thing that must not be missed... Garage sales! 1$ for a pair of pink depression glass candleholders, 5$ for a leather bomber jacket... 100 year old jail that looked like a castle.. and then that drive. Up steep twisties overlooking the Colorado River. I see a gentleman on a motorcycle with a huge grin on his face and wave. Someday.


Monument Hill.

I've been wanting to visit this place for a while... but it was usually passed in the middle of the night, or on the way to somewhere else. warm gentle breezes through the old live oaks carrying the scent of barbecue. Sounds of birds and children playing. The view of the Colorado far below the bluffs, winding around a bend. You can easily imagine what this country looked like 100 years ago... and more. Sitting there, listening to the echoes of the past. The story has been told, made larger than life, their decendants coming later paid homage, but did they know? Men who sacrificed everything so that those who came after could live free. Who saw the right thing, even if it wasn't the easy thing, and did it... because it needed done. Men who loved their land, loved their wives, loved their children... and did what needed done. The story is found again and again in this great land we live in, but each time it takes my breath away... brings tears to my eyes.. that there are some who will stand when everyone else falls. The monument that was built to these men is a nice sentiment, but it really does not do them justice. I can think of nothing that really could.

The Kreische house was a monument all by itself to what a creative active mind can do with time. A beautiful limestone home built on a high bluff overlooking the river and town below. To know that one man, one family, created this... through hard work, sweat, and passion for their home. Whenever I see homes this old, I listen.... what were the folks like. Who built it. What stories could these walls tell. Listen for the laughter... the music... the children playing.. listen to the years pass... of thanksgivings and christmases... of birthday celebrations a hundred years ago. Echoes of the past... of our past... that make this life so precious. We are continuations of those hardy souls who fought and scratched out an existance. Who came to this country with almost nothing, and made it something. Who gave us a world filled to the brim with splendor they only dreamed of.

Too soon it was time to go. There were other things on the agenda, and we only had one day to play. I could spend a lifetime listening to those stories.. listening to the echoes of days gone by. I will be back. Soon.

On our way out of La Grange, headed north on 77 to 71, something is noticed that makes the car erupt in laughter. That taqueria place I'd spotted on the way in last night. Apparently we had missed it. TWICE! Laughingly, it is commented that we meant to do that! Really! We're just saving it for the next time!

I had been to Bastrop briefly twice. Once just driving through, and another in the middle of the night.. so I had never gotten to enjoy the lost pines. If you have ever read my stories before, you know I have a deep love of pine forests... and on my times through this place, I had fallen in love with it. The smell is right. The look and feel are almost right. And I wanted to go play in this forest. To dip my toes, if only briefly, in the deep pine thickets. Pulling into Buescher State Park to take the 12 mile drive into Bastrop State Park... and rolling down the windows. The scent of the forest filling the car. Some very narrow, steep, TIGHT twisties.... and some damn suicidal squirrels that dart out in front of you. It doesn't induce exactly the same feeling of deep East Texas, but its close. Very close. I do believe I need more time to investigate.

There was also some fishing planned out here, and a quick stop off at the walmart for bait and munchies.... and there's some purple embroidered silk that's calling to be made into ..... something. ..Still working on that design. Pulling out of Bastrop on the way back to Buescher so we can fish while there's some daylight left and there's a sign on the side of the road. I can only remember one word. Chocolates. Stop, turn around, circle back.... beautiful wood home set up on a hill set into the pines. I HAD set the limit "Only two each!" .... Yeah. Right. Uh.... well, at least I kept sorta to that! ... I think I only got 5 or 6 truffles... oh and the Rose filled thing... yes, rose flavored chocolates. I think that poor lady behind the counter learned a little more about me than she ever wanted to know with that first bite. Oh well, at least I made her laugh!

Caught up in the rapture of chocolate heaven, we were absorbed by this boutique shop that belonged in some exclusive mall in North Dallas...we finally managed to tear ourselves away, open the door, and stepped out into the glory of a Texas autumn afternoon. Sunlight filtering through the trees, soft breezes, and Oh Yeah! We were on our way to fishing! Heading back to Buescher - I'd spotted a lovely little spot, we pulled in, grabbed our stuff out of the back.... and discovered that the sun was Directly in our eyes in our exclusive little spot! Well I think I see one on the other side of the little pond, so we head back up to the car and I look down.... and there is a broken rock.... glassy yellowish brownish center, chalky white outer coating. I haven't seen flint in YEARS. Point it out to Jacob and he's instantly curious and takes out his steel knife. And doesn't realize how many irregular sparks he's throwing in a very dry area. We're taking that home to mess with LATER. Drive around to the other side of the lake, and setting up... there's a family out there teaching their kids to fish. They're having a whole lot of fun, and being kids.... and chasing frogs. Can't blame 'em. They were fun to send a little ribbiting squealing wave in front of you as you walked along the lake! Jacob went off chasing frogs with the excuse of "I'm taking pictures!" Mmm hmm. Sure you are. And Angela and I just sit and relax. Enjoy the scenery. Listening to the music of the countryside, and being the fish grabber, hook baiter, and general ookystuff dealer-with..er. And a teenage boy appears walking around the lake. Strikes up a conversation, and sits down to chatter.

Between the stories of the day's events, a certian story of a squirrel, and various other writings, I believe his world view got just a little broader. New friends are always good to find.

Eventually it gets too dark to fish, bellies are demanding food, and we pack up. As usual, I still want more time to explore this park. There's game trails leading off into the forest that are calling to me. Scents and sounds that are just so enticing, but its getting dark and the last thing we had was breakfast! Jacob remembers a beautiful catfish joint in Bastrop overlooking the Colorado River and we spend at least an hour... possibly two, driving up and down main street in "downtown" looking for it. Finally pulling over and asking a cop (hey, the cops always know where the best food is, right?) and they're permanently closed.

Denny's in Austin, listening to stories of the folks around us. Getting back in the car and turning back north. My loves passing out around me as I bring us home again. Flying through the night... the echoes of the day calling me. Old songs my mother used to sing coming to my mind, and being sung softly under my breath. Folks will say I'm crazy for doing something like this. For tearing out in the middle of the night to just wander through a couple small towns.. but this is the stuff of life. To listen to the song of the stars... to listen to the music of our past.... and to dream. Expand our souls to become something greater. Hope is there in spades... not just hope that came before us, but our own hope. Dreams for the future, dreams of our past. Memories and wishes in crumbling barns and old oaks.
Come... see.

Random = Better (Part 2)

A little bit further up the interstate, and we took the exit for Cascade Caverns road. Turned onto a tiny side street with the right name, but after a few minutes of following it, I started to wonder if we were going the right way. This didn't look like the route to a major tourist attraction -- it was a two-lane road (one each way), kinda under-traveled, passing the occasional ranch home, and no signs about the caverns. About the time I made this observation, Brandy finally saw a simple wooden sign on the side of the road telling us that it was straight ahead.

Eventually, we were pulling into the Cascade Caverns RV park...seemed a little strange, but as we got closer to the end of the road, we finally saw signs about cave tours. We parked, and read the historical marker about the place (Ooh!, Seven waterfalls!), and went into the office for tickets.

My only experience with cave tours up till now had been very commercialized places with big compounds, or well-maintained state park facilities. This place was definitely something else. The office looked like something from a barely-hanging-on small town, a couple pool tables, some antiques or junk piled up in a corner, a snowy television with rabbit ears, and dust everywhere. You even had to leave the building and go to another one to use the bathroom. Between that, the prickly pear forest (I didn't know they grew trunks), and the big green dinosaur, I had a feeling this would be something unique.

Our tour guide looked in his early 20's, said he knew everything about the cave, except the diameter, and informed us that we were in the lowest point in the county, which explained the "Flood Line" painted on the buildings. There were several brown wood abandoned buildings, and apparently they just kept building in a new spot after the previous ones got flooded and the walls warped. My guess for the age of the buildings would have been from the 50s or 60s, but they were actually from the 80s, just severely aged from the weather.

We began hiking down a simple sidewalk, and after a bit, he pointed out the house that belonged to the man who discovered the cave. Seems he wondered why his home was always a constant temperature, found a hole beneath his floorboards, went down to explore and ended up in his backyard. Being the enterprising type, he apparently decided to start selling tickets. He excavated the cave, put in some basic lighting ( you can even see the electrical cable hanging down through a convenient hole to power everything), built the stairs (which didn't have the best handrails, but oh well). I'm guessing the cave used to enjoy much greater popularity before being overshadowed by Natural Bridge Caverns and others to the north.

Eventually, after going down what we were told was 100 steps, we finally entered the cave -- ah, 65 degrees feels great after being in 100+ degrees outside, although Brandy kept pointing out that it didn't feel like it. This cave was dark, drippy, and apparently got so much water that it needed constant pumping to keep it drained. We saw a mastodon tooth, and some fascinating calcium formations before being led through the short chamber that every cave tour has. This one was sadly beyond Angela's capabilities, so she waited near the entrance, while I squatted and waddled on through....even Brandy had to stoop, and she's only 5-foot!

There was the standard pointing out of different formations and what they got named, thanks to imaginative people -- the guard, the sea turtle, the profile of Lincoln....or was it Washington? Probably the most amusing story was about a simple stalactite on the way out -- our guide had been born with flawed corneas, and he got an experimental surgery done to him when he was an infant that saved his sight...as an unfortunate side-effect, though, he is extraordinarily sensitive to light; he has to wear sunglasses when outdoors. Well, his co-workers didn't believe that he could see in the dark as well as he claimed, so they made him a bet -- they'd shut off all the lights in the cave, and he had to make it all the way to the end (and presumably retrieve something) and back in 30 minutes. Well, he can see....except when there's no light leaks at all, and there are some areas of the cave where no light penetrates from the surface, and during one of these, a spider brushed his arm, and he freaked, running headfirst into the stalactite he was pointing out. A little bloodied and bruised, he nevertheless won the bet.

Eventually, we entered the main chamber, and it was just incredible. Light-colored limestone, a huge pool of water, and above it all, a 100-foot waterfall cascading down to feed the pool. The walkway went in a big U, but remained a distance away from the falls. I tried a dozen times to take a decent picture of the waterfall, but all I could get was a blur. Someday, we'll have to go again, and next time, I will remember the tripod.

All too soon, the time came for the return trip. When we got back past the short chamber, Angela was nowhere to be found. I guessed she had decided to get a head start on the steps, and I was right...it took a while, but we made it back up the 100 steeps...I mean steps. Rest in the car's air conditioning for a few minutes while I plotted out the next leg of our journey, then a stop for road drinks, and we were off again.

We drove briefly through downtown Bourne, then cut north to cruise through the hill country back roads, on our way to Luckenbach. We stopped for a little while to poke around the Post Office/General Store in Kendalia, and were much amused by all the ads on the town bulletin board (people looking for ranch work, someone looking for a roommate, etc), before we continued on through Sisterdale (Fireman's Fish Fry, woo!), and finally up to Luckenbach.

Angela got her picture taken with Shotgun the bull (the owner couldn't talk her into sitting on him, though), while Brandy and I hung out for a little while chatting with some other folks who were wandering the state that day. We spent about an hour and a half just relaxing, browsing the store (yay, we now have t-shirts!), listening to some music, and just being social. Daylight was starting to fade, though, and dinner was planned to be back in San Antonio, so I plotted us an interesting route back, and we were off again.

We had just been on the road for about 10 minutes, when Brandy saw a spot where another road split off and went down a steep little hill to the banks of a river that ran parallel to the highway. Spontaneity grabbed us and we had to turn down and check it out. We found a small one-lane bridge crossing a mostly-dry portion of the Blanco River. I couldn't resist dipping my feet in the water, and we took a while just sort of wandering around the empty road, poking around the riverbank, and feeling like kids just hanging out in a newly-discovered grotto, not really doing anything, just existing and taking it in. I had just finished experimenting with the panoramic shooting function on my camera when Brandy came up and showed me a tiny frog she had caught. I grinned, and got a big kick when she mused, "well, it's not fishing if I don't have a line and don't actually attempt to catch the fish, right?" She pointed out a bass of some breed in a pool just off the bridge, and chunked the frog in its general vicinity. That poor frog...I think it was in the water for about a quarter of a second before it was dinner. Definitely an impressive and amusing thing to see before getting back in the car.

Thanks to our recently acquired Roads of Texas, I plotted a revised course taking advantage of the really back roads -- the CO-roads (County Roads, as Angela keeps correcting us). Thanks to that book, we saw some incredible vistas, and a beautiful house built with the porch and balcony to appreciate the view. We saw a one-lane bridge sign, but no bridge and the road remained two lanes, and we saw a lane ends sign where there was no extra lane....I think the bridge needs to give the lane back to that other road before someone gets confused. We crossed over I don't know how many cattle guards, and sadly, as we crossed the Guadalupe River, it had already gotten dark.

"Tomorrow," we agreed, as we took the straightest path back to San Antonio, where we gorged on seafood at Sea Island. Oooh, good stuff! Chipotle-encrusted flounder, grilled Gulf shrimp, absolutely delicious key-lime pie.....yeah...go there.

We were worn out by the time we got back to my dad's place....pretty much just went in, and passed out. Tomorrow would be the journey home, and I planned to make it a much more memorable one than the simple trip down I-35 that we took Friday night to get down there...

Ahhhh.....random = better!

You know, it's amazing how many of our trips manage to center on food. Driving down to Galveston because we had a craving for Gulf shrimp, stopping time and again at the Hidden Dutchman north of Hamilton, making sure to get pie in Hico, meandering all the way out to Brady for goat barbecue. Some of the trips on our wish list include heading up to Pittsburg (TX), to try out the hot links, and, thanks to Brandy hooking us on Texas Country Reporter, we also want to try a genuine New York hot dog in Big Spring, and chicken fried bacon in Snook.

And that's just to name a few.

I think food is often the highlight of many a person's travels, at least, that of a traveler who actually wants to experience food different from that they can get at home. Unless we're running low on funds or are in a hurry, you don't often find us hitting the chain restaurants.

But, believe it or not, food is not the point of the story I'm about to tell. It was, as I said, a highlight, and it was late in the trip, so it'll be a bit till we get there.

Of course, with our travels, isn't that normally the case?

---

"Happy anniversary, girls!"

While technically a few days early, this trip was to be a celebration of our third anniversary. Three years ago, we met Brandy, and our lives have been mutually enriched since then. The original plan had been to head out to Glen Rose, get a hotel for a couple nights, go tubing in the Brazos on Saturday, stargazing in Chalk Mountain on Saturday night, then make our way home from there on Sunday.

This is why we shouldn't bother to plan.

We'd only gotten as far as filling up the tank in the Chrysler Concorde (nice car, comfy for long road trips....believe it or not, this point becomes relevant later), when the plan changed to driving to San Antonio that night, and tubing the Comal River again on Saturday, while getting free lodgings at my dad's place.

Oh yeah, I hadn't told the tubing story!

---

Well, one of the many things Brandy and I did on my birthday weekend was to go tubing in the Comal River. Angela unfortunately wasn't feeling well and couldn't take part. Neither of the girls had ever been tubing before, and I hadn't been since I was a kid. Brandy found an outfitter in New Braunfels, and we paid our money, got our tubes, and set them into the most gorgeous blue-green water. Clear, clean, I think the water in the hill country gets its color from all the limestone it travels over...there's usually not really a lot of mud in there. Algae grows on the rocks, but somehow it doesn't choke the water. As a result, you get beautiful water, like I said, the kind of color that waterparks try to emulate in their tube and log rides.

Anyway, I set my tube in the water, got in, and then watched Brandy with a confused look try to figure out just how she was supposed to get into hers. It never occurred to me that it might seem a little weird the first time. I helped her in, and in the process, dropped my sunglasses into the water, so I dunked my head under to retrieve them, so I pretty much started out soaking wet. This trip was off to a good start!

We floated past many many people also enjoying the river, gawking at many a well-filled bikini, until we saw signs warning that weak swimmers may want to move toward shore. I perked up. Oh? This trip might have some fun bits after all. A little bit later, brandy playfully waved goodbye to me as she entered the tube flume and vanished.

I followed a second later, and caught sight of her as we both rushed along the water, bumping into the walls as we went, and shooting out into the short length of rapids beyond. I realized I didn't see her, and scanned the crowds looking for her. I was just getting out of the water to follow the sidewalk back to search, when I saw her strolling down...it seems she had got caught in a small whirlpool, and had to get out and walk. We debated going back to just before the chute and going again, but decided to continue down the river. This time, she flopped down in her tube like an old pro, and soon, we were under the bridge and gone.

Have I said yet just how pretty the Comal is? Along the banks when we first started were the city park, some restaurants that catered to toobers, and I'm pretty sure we even passed Schlitterbahn at some point. But we also saw well, manicured lawns, stone steps leading down to the water from people lucky enough to have waterfront property. We saw some condos with a hot tub and a swimming pool, as well as a gate that let out to a picnic area and steps and a little dock on the water for their residents. We imagined what it would be like living right next to the river, hopping in and swimming or tubing anytime we felt like it, right out of our backyard.

And the trees! Reaching out over the water, providing much-needed shade after having been floating in the sun for an hour. Oak and mesquite and willow and probably more that Brandy could name....all I know is that I saw lots of green, and it made the trip downriver that much more pleasant.

After two very relaxing hours (and one more stint with rapids, and yet again getting separated), we finally were approaching the last toobers exit. Unfortunately, we were a little confused, as we'd seen another exit for a different outfitter a little earlier, and since we didn't see the name of the one we'd used on this exit either, we almost passed it.

When we realized, we quickly paddled over there, and I got my tube out of the water, and looked over to see that Brandy was having some trouble. She'd gone too far, and the water was moving a little quickly for her to paddle against. Worse, she couldn't touch bottom to walk. Worse, she was out of her tube and looking like she was about to lose both it and her cap. I jumped back in the water, and grabbed her tube, telling her to hang on. While I couldn't touch either, I had fortunately been in a similar situation before (one day, I really should post the Brushy Creek story from my childhood), so I could swim well enough one-handed to get us back to the stairs. I got her tube out of the water, and wondered why Brandy took so long to come ashore. She confessed to me afterwards that her shorts had slipped and were caught around her knees, which is why she'd been having trouble swimming herself.

While it would only have cost us a dollar to go again, we'd gotten a late start the first time, so we'd have to try again another time, when we'd have all day. And next time, we hoped to bring Angela along, to initiate her in this meditative, yet fun activity.

---

This was to be our time, although as we awoke Saturday morning, we found that sadly, another river had begun to flow, and as such, there would be no playing in the water this weekend.

So, as an alternate plan (we're full of those!), I remembered that there was a cavern system I'd been curious about, and Angela had wanted for us to stop at the local Outdoor World for fudge, and they were also talking about running up to Luckenbach for t-shirts. Since it was all roughly the same direction, it sounded like it might work. Besides, when I pulled up the website and found out that Cascade Caverns was so named because they had a 100-foot waterfall inside the cave, I knew this was something we HAD to see.

So, we loaded up, and started out for the day. First stop, a Jim's restaurant. I haven't seen these anywhere but San Antonio....basically the same type of food as a Denny's or an IHOP, but with a very Western theme. I originally wasn't too hungry, but when Brandy decided on a chicken-fried steak breakfast, and then Angela followed suit, I had to do the same, so our lucky waitress had three basically identical orders....although she gave me hash browns instead of grits. I ate way too much...shoulda listened to my stomach to begin with. On the way out, a bit of humor -- a young woman had gone out to her car, and on the way back into the restaurant, she was looking at me, and I swear she put a lot more bounce into her step, cause at least one part of her was bouncing quite a bit more.

Sorry, ma'am...I'm happily taken, twice over.

Next stop was Outdoor World, where they have I think a 50-foot waterfall inside, and they must have kept some lucky taxidermist busy for months with all the exotic mounts in there. If it's an outdoors sport, or if you're just decorating your rustic cabin, they have you covered. We browsed the boats, the fishing supplies, watched them feed their fish (including a 60-pound catfish), and looked a bit at their furniture, but the girls were mostly there for the fudge, while I gravitated up to the camping supplies.

I think I am capable of spending a full day just gawking at camping supplies....whether it's something small and lightweight, a multifunctional tool, something collapsible, or just a neat idea, I love looking at it. I must have added two dozen items to my wish list for gear....a tiny propane lantern with a single mantle design...fits in your pocket - just screw onto a standard 2# propane bottle, match-light, and you're set for 12 hours. I saw a small cot with a tent built onto it, perfect if you don't want to carry bedding separately - pitch the tent, toss in your sleeping bag, and you're good...unless you also want a place inside the tent to store the rest of your gear. I saw a $100 cooking system that included 2 pots, 1 frying pan, 4 bowls, 4 insulated mugs, 4 plates, and a rigid carrying that can be used as a wash basin -- now that shows some thought. I saw hammocks, battery power sources, cast-iron cookbooks, and so many other goodies....the girls had to drag me back downstairs to get me to remember that we had other things planned for the day -- it was already coming up on 2:30.

Foreword

Wow...you know you haven't written for your blog in way too long when you get to the login screen and realize you have no idea what to type. I had to go through the password help, which sent the link to a gmail account I also hadn't logged into in a while, the password help for which sent a link to yet another email address I haven't used in months. Thankfully, the login recovery for that one went to an address I at least check occasionally, so after following link after link after link and setting new passwords I've already forgotten, I'm finally here again. Makes me wonder how I still manage to get spam, with all those unused email addresses to fill out forms. Ah well. I'm returned, and it is time to take the stage again.

An afterword.

I'm sorry that took so long to finish up. As any author knows, sometimes you have times when you sit down and a story just flows off your fingertips.... and sometimes there are dry spells. I have so many other things to write about. The trip tubing down the Comal River in New Braunfels, last weekend's jaunt through the hill country and back to Lukenbach. Fording a river in the chrysler. I could sit here and go on and on, just mentioning the things I've done, the places I've been... and still never do it justice. I'm going to leave the next post to Jacob to describe.
I still want to hear his interpretation of my "Hey fellers! Watch this!" moment, or running into a little trouble attempting to get out of the Comal, when I found out that I really have lost that much weight, and trying to swim against the current in water well above my head with my innertube in one hand, my cap in the other, and my shorts having fallen around my knees. ... Yes, even at the time it was funny.

So, Jacob. Its your turn to take the floor.

The Call. Part 3.

Warm salt air, a gentle breeze, and the slowly brightening sky ... along with the racous cry of gulls who could possibly wake the dead, rouse me early Sunday morning. Stepping out of the tent and the sunrise has lit a glorious panorama of clouds.... and my can of Jolt is tolerably cold, so I sit there and watch the sunrise and listen to the slowly waking city and all the life around me.
I'm in no mood to argue with what was seen last night, and would much rather forget it all ever happened to begin with. My demons are my own... but a realization struck. Yes, while they are my own, they are to be dealt with on my own terms. Not theirs. I've faced them... every single one.. and overcome them. Each time I have been told that I CAN'T do something, each time I came to the point where I could bend no more, I have won.
Yes. I am a changeling. A wanderer. Years of wandering on my own, a childhood of roaming the back hills of Oklahoma and the back woods of deep East Texas. Years of before I met my first husband and would wander with friends, taking them to places they had never seen before... or just wandering on my own. The call to wander is deeper in me than people know. Finding myself in Arkansas, once of spending a day wandering those back roads in SW Oklahoma, to pull into a town and find myself in Amarillo. My passion is in the new, the unexplored. My heart sings at the thought of something new to learn... no matter what it may be. As such, my education in life has not been without knocks and bruises... and a few things broken... but they will always mend. Life is all those things put together. All the pleasures, the passion, the rage, the pain. Driving all night to rescue a friend from a bad situation.. being in that same situation myself years before and knowing nobody WOULD rescue me... and knowing how much it means.
Time after time, we come across people who choose to be negative. They choose their outlook on life, and never grow from it. Never grow past the pain and the hurt to enjoy the simple fact of being alive. We have a choice. We can allow ourselves to be wrapped up in the negativity, in the need to be a victim, to be angry or afraid, or to live. To simply enjoy what we have in front of us now. To enjoy the simple pleasure in a cool glass of water.
When we add the book that was our life to the great library, what will it say? What was your experience? When you're sitting there in that rocking chair in the old folks home, what stories will you tell to the young people who visit?

As for myself, I will say I lived a full life. I saw. I did. And I ENJOYED IT!

Life is for living. Come, See!

The Call. Part Two.

Dreams.... of flying through the treetops, of the woods behind my aunt's house. The old fig tree in her back yard that me and two of my cousins could not wrap our arms around the trunk. Of the little crook in that fig tree where I used to climb with a book and eat figs and read... and would throughly irritate my parents because I could walk out the back door and vanish.

Dreams of seeing a woman who I recognize as my mother, but much younger than I can remember holding a tiny red haired baby... and thinking to myself she is so beautiful.. so much potential. I want to BE her. Late late at night, stealing into the house through an open window and slipping in through those innocent blue eyes. I open my... OUR .. mouth for a gasp....

..... and am startled into consciousness by loud, high pitched beeping next to my head. Fahk.

Wait... I seem to remember other things happening last night. What happened??? How did I get back?? And where are my pants! Growling, I reach for the offending technological "wonder" and after fumbling for a bit, I finally get enough brain cells functioning to silence the irritating object and start dragging myself back towards consciousness.

Dragging on some clothes, I make my way to the ranger station to check in and apologetically explain my unannounced arrival to the park rangers. They're fine with it, and the system shows I was here before, so after paying the fee for my campsite, I start asking for some of that sweetest nectar of the gods.. the only thing that makes mornings tolerable... coffee.. and find they have none. After asking around, I am directed to a cafe in town, where I can find coffee... and, glories of all glories, breakfast tacos.

Pulling up to the cafe around 10ish, I'm delighted by yet another find. Well, it sure looks authentic! Old building, many many things hanging from the ceiling.. anything from pinatas, dollar bills, sparkly bits of stuff, an indescribable collection of various bits and pieces. A jungle of plant life all over the front of the store giving the light a greenish tint, and making the inside even more humid than the outside. I make my way to the counter, find the lady there BARELY speaks any english, but together with my broken spanish, her broken english, two barbacoa breakast tacos and coffee are aquired and I settle down at a table next to the window to eat my breakfast and contemplate the night's events.

Did anything really happen? How did I get back to the tent?

Just be you. You know your own soul. Remember me. Remember your own skin.

My rational mind wants to explain it all away. It was a dream. Nothing more.... and yet. I don't know. I've dreamed for so long. My life has been spent trying to discount the things I've seen. I slept for years. Watched others, when I did finally open up and start talking about what I had seen, either say I'm crazy, or ... worse yet.. start wrapping it into some stupid fantasy... of elves, and being a "princess of the fae". Bullshit. My life, my beliefs, my very being are not some child's fantasy... an escape from reality to be played with. I've hidden for so long. Can it be real? Is there even the slightest chance that it could be? Images from the night before flash through my mind... of an endless sea of stars overhead, of a crystal clear pool, of a curtain of deepest green with motes of reflected starlight from night jasmine.... and of golden eyes out of an inky black face.

Maybe. Just maybe. But tell no one.



Flying down the road again, this time I'm headed for Galveston. The gulf. Salt spray on the wind. The land of proper seafood! Oh I love seafood... and I grabbed an empty cooler to bring back some of the good stuff. Dallas is great, and there's glorious variety, but there's a difference between the good stuff down here and what you get at home. I remember when I was a child, and we would come down to visit my aunt in League City, that there were places in Kemah where you could stop and get a 5 gallon bucket of shrimp right off the boat for 20$... bring your own bucket. Last time I was in Kemah, I discovered "The Boardwalk" where the boats used to be. The shrimpers are gone, and this loud, garish, crowded tourist trap is in its place. Progress... Bah. After poking around for some time, I heard that there's a place in Galveston where the shrimpers park now, and I will be stopping there to check it out.

Calling ahead, and Lady Luck has definately smiled on me, and there is a campsite available in the state park. No water or electric, but I don't need any. Its just me and I'm not going to be cooking... although I may grab a bag of marshmallows and some grahan crackers and chocolate. ;) You've gotta forgive a lady her indulgences sometimes. On the bay side... away from the strongest winds off the gulf. Those have always bothered me, and I can't sleep well with them buffeting the tent. Something to do with growing up in tornado alley and hearing the gale outside and wanting to dive for the storm cellar. Eventually I make my way to the park, set up my sleeping quarters during the daylight... one of the few times I've done that. I'm usually pulling in well after dark and have become quite adept at setting things up with no light. , and head off in search of supper.

Cheap or exquisite. That is the biggest question on my mind. I have heard of a place that serves excellent, authentic shrimp poboys, and while I'm in the mood for seafood, I'm also in the mood for lots of it. My fish craving has kicked into overdrive and I head to a rather expensive, but awe inspiring place that I know I can get all I want.

Sitting at a window seat, overlooking the bay, the Elissa parked next door, I curl up with a book written by a fellow traveller. His journeys and exploits what kept that hope alive during those dark years. Hearing of how he had always been free, how he was taking off to hither and yon, seeing... feeling... experiencing. Actively writing the book that was his life.. and it was a page turner indeed.

Making my way back to the park.. its still early, but the lack of sleep and a full belly of fish is catching up with me. I decide the hell with it, its my vacation, and I can nap if I want to... and turn in before the sun has set.

Wind.
Angry. Violent. Caving in the side of the tent. The sun had set long ago and its late enough, there is no sound from other people... at least none that I can hear over the wind.

... and then I smell it.

The scent of salt and metals on the air. Blood. Sickeningly sweet rotten meat.

Oh god. Not here. There's noplace to run to. No place to hide. No one to protect me. To hide behind.

I've spoken to a couple people who know that scent... and the thing that reeks of it. I always wait for them to talk, but all who have admitted to it, have that fear. That haunted, hunted look in their eyes, only whisper of their existance, and always while watching over their shoulder. I knew it well in Oklahoma... and I refuse to set my foot in that place again because of it. I remember as a child, watching them reveling in the moonlight on the far side of the garden outside my window... and cowering in abject fear. Praying for god, jesus, or whatever was out there, to protect me. I knew better than to run to my parents, as they had already gotten to my father, and my mother did not believe in them.

Not here. I am alone. Oh god... please.

SNAP OUT OF IT. YOU ARE NEVER ALONE!

A memory of golden eyes in the starlight. Of the scent of pine and jasmine. Of the taste of pure, cold, sweet water.

But I'm small, squishy, and helpless! I can't do anything! I can't stop them!

BULLSHIT. Stop listening to them, to the people who tried to tame you. To break you and mold you into some mindless creature. You're better than that. You're STRONGER than that. Stop cowering and FIGHT!

Howls in the wind... not of earthly voices. Evil laughter echoing in that wind. They can smell me... and others. I grab my hiking staff from beside me and step outside... quaking in fear. The wind almost blowing me back inside the tent, I struggle to zip up the door.. and strain my eyes along the beachfront.

Three humanoid shapes stand out against the cloudy night sky... reflecting the sickly yellow of the city lights. About child height, with thin arms and legs, but bloated bodies.... and teeth. Rows and rows of gleaming, pointed teeth.

Okay, now what? Every time I've ever been in a fight, I've always gotten my ass handed to me. I'm no fighter.

You know your own soul. Remember your own skin.

Closing my eyes, I remember wings. Covering me when I was afraid as a child. A strong hand in the darkness, cradling me in saftey. I remember music... an ancient gypsy tune.. older than time... spiraling to the stars. And then the stars themselves. Vast beyond measure. I remember laughter in the light of two moons. I remember the floating trees of a poision planet.. above the noxious layer of gases, with giant mosquito like sap suckers flitting from tree to tree for the next life giving sip. I remember fields of black and purple flowers, trees taller than any I've ever seen... and laughter. Looking over by my side, running at full speed, long black locks... dark eyes... thin frame.

Not every time does shaking mean fear... and just because I am showing my teeth doesn't mean I'm smiling.

Come and get some... if you dare.

The howls change tone and retreat. The forms vanish... the scent fades... the wind calms

.. and I crawl back into the tent for more much needed rest. Knowing that I am safe.. for now.

Tomorrow a full day awaits, and then the drive home.

The Call

**** FICTION****

Thursday after work I was too tired to cook. Not in the mood, LONG frazzling day at work, and just grabbed a pizza on the commute home. It normally takes me about 45 minutes to get home from my work in downtown Dallas and after grabbing pizza, I was about 10 minutes out. Delicious pepperoni and cheezy greasy goodness smells filling the car... and I "zoned". I really don't know how I ended up passing the side street into our neighborhood, going all the way through Cedar Hill, and well on my way south on 67 headed southwest. I called my husband and apologetically told him I was going to be late, where I was, and that I had pizza. Hung up....

...and almost missed the turn on 287 to come back north.

Took the back road home through a little ghost town called Britton with a wonderful falling down Citizen's bank. I needed to be out. To feel the wind.

Fine. I can't go tonight. I have obligations. I promise... tomorrow.

Friday.. I love my job. Really and truly. I get to problem solve, firefight, and screw around more than any place I've ever been before. I'd already thrown a couple changes of clothes in a bag the night before.. so at 6, I don't think they realized I'd gone until after the smoke trails cleared from my tires. This one was for me.

South on 45. Traffic doesn't bother me that much, and I wanted to get out of the metromess before I started playing. I knew I wouldn't start really feeling things until I got into the pines anyway. I'm headed for Galveston, but as 287 looms into view in Corsicana, I swing that way. Southeast. My home. Again and again, I'm called to one area. Out in the Angelina national forest. Deep woods. As the miles speed past the smell changes. First, prairies and grasslands. Warm, rich, but dry. I can smell the dust. Oh, its still got a lot of green... it is May after all, but its a hot May. As the terrain changes, the smell changes. The feel of the air. The feel of the heat itself is lessened. Entering the edge of the forests around Palestine and my soul sings. Finally. Rest. Now it truly begins. Take a small break at a gas station cafe in Palestine, and start talking to the lady at the counter as I drink my sweet tea and relax. She seems a bit amazed I'm out here "all by my little lonesome", so far out of the way from Dallas to Galveston, and going to go camping??? Me? All by myself??

Why not?

But aren't you afraid? So many things can happen on the road, and I've heard bad things happening to single women.

Then, I'll deal with them. Bad things can happen to you at home, just getting to work every day there are a thousand things that could happen. You can't spend your life in fear of what Might happen, or you'll miss the reason for life itself.

She laughed and tossed her hair back, leaning across the counter.. "So, sage of Dallas, what is the reason for life?"

The experience of being alive.

Tea finished, it was time to go. The forest, and eventually the gulf calling... beckoning.. Come. See. I pulled out into the cooling evening air, hopefully leaving her with something to think about. I don't know if she'll ever follow, but maybe... just maybe... I have liberated another mind.

Trees. I can't stay still for long out here. I need speed in these woods. When I was a child and we would pull in from Oklahoma, the first thing I would do would be get a few deep breaths.. to smell the forest, to smell home. Then the shoes would come off, and I would run. Until I could run no more. The thrill of running through the forest, through the trees. Eventually, I would stop, then just sit and listen. It was very hard to get me inside when we were down here.

Night time in deep east Texas. Well, I meant to go to Galveston.. really! But I'm having far too much fun out here. I guess it will have to wait until tomorrow... but wait.

Over on the edge of the light.. a shape. Keeping pace with me. I've felt and seen this before. When I was a child, I would welcome them. Audibly. Mom always knew I was a bit... strange. I hadn't done that since I'd grown up, and certainly not with my ex-husband in the car the few times he deigned to come out here. But I had never been out here alone. Free to do as I would. Nobody with me to say I'm weird, strange, "cracked", or what have you. I smiled.

Hello old friend. It is good to see you again. Come and talk a spell if you like.

I feel a smile.. a warmth.. the smell of night jasmine and fresh crushed pine needles fills the car... but its not time yet. Its time to run. To fly. Speed increses, Twisty, windy, curvy roads.. The joy of flight. The closest I can come. My machine and I are one... smiling as we speed through the night, until exaustion overtakes.

Livingston state park. Suitably deep woods. Proper smells. I pull in around 2 in the morning... setting the alarm on my phone to go check in with the ranger station / park office at 9 when they open. Pull out my tent and sleeping bag ... and air mattress.... sorry folks, if you were there that night, I didn't mean to wake you... and settle in.

...and start listening. Wind. high above me in the treetops. Skittering a few wisps of high thin clouds across the stars. Starlight. So bright, so beautiful. Hearing the wind as it travels through the treetops, rolls, dips into the underbrush. As it plays with the leaves. So many scents on the wind here... and as I lay there, listening to the wind... watching it around me, the scent of jasmine again. Very faint, but it is there. Footfalls.. slow and light, lighter than a human would make... especially with the thick carpet of pine needles all around my site. I am tired, but I know.. it is time. I pull on some clothes and step outside the tent.

I've never understood why some people need a flashlight out here. Yes, it is dim, but unless its raining, the starlight is plenty bright enough to see by. Sitting on the edge of the campsite is a feline form, with its head about level with my waist. Golden eyes reflecting the starlight, and watching my every move. I take a deep breath and decide if I'm wrong about this, no mere tent is going to hamper those claws or teeth, zip up the tent behind me, and go sit on the ground with my back against a tree.

Slowly, she pads up to me. Purring deeply. Watching me still. Letting me know I have seen her before. Over a year ago, deep in these woods, in a way that I could not dismiss. Forcing me to see, and to believe that she was there. Then, as now, when I saw her, I knew.. she was a part of me... she was me. Without the constraints of work, of family, of bills. I smile and reach out my hand ... as she squarely headbutts me in the chest. As with any housecat, it is a sign of affection, but I am grateful I had the tree behind me, or she would have bowled me over. Gently now, she places her nose to my forehead and purrs even deeper. Turning, she looks over her shoulder and starts walking away. I see a faint trail, leading off into the forest in the starlight.. the nighttime music calling. Just the tip of her tail flicking, she pauses for me to follow, then starts off down that trail. All exaustion banished from my mind, I get up and start walking. Twists and turns of the path, sometimes down to the lake's edge, sometimes you can barely hear the frogs piping from the the cool black water.

Further and further we go, turning off the main trails, through a barb wire fence, and down what must have been a rabbit trail... until we stop at a clearing.

Immediately I know this place. I've dreamt of it since I was a child. I had thought I might have been here, on a fishing trip with my uncle, as that would have been the only rational way to explain the memory, but my uncle would have never fished here. It is a small pool. Clean, clear water. As clear as the best kept swimming pool.... and much much cleaner. Bubbling up from below, it is ice cold. Jasmine and wisteria climbing the pines around the clearing... creating a living curtain from the outside world. Night jasmine in full bloom, filling the area with the scent and looking like little white stars in a curtain of deepest green. She stops and drinks from the pool, and I do the same, feeling complete refreshment from the cool, sweet liquid.

Why did you turn your back on me?

I stammer and sigh. Obligations. Responsibilities. Real life. I had no choice. I was with those who could not understand. Years I spent doing what was expected of me. What others wished for me. I did it well, and I made those people I loved most, happy.

I have always been here. Do your needs matter so little, you would sacrifice me to those who would betray you for a thrill? Who could not know, could not understand, and refused to see you for you?

I had no choice. To be accepted, to be loved, I had to lock you away from me. I had to slip on those chains. I eventually broke free, but even now, I hide most of what I am. Those who would love me and accept me do not need to see everything.

Love is complete or not at all. You know this. You live by this. Acceptance is total or it is worthless. You judge people by double standards, allowing them faults and lies you could never live with in yourself. You lie to yourself and to those you love most by hiding who you are... who I am.

What should I do then? Speak my mind? Attack those who irritate me, or have wronged me? I, WE, are shapechangers.. chamelions.. wandering through time.. I know this.. I've always known. I change myself for those around me to be most comfortable. I've been changed for so long, I don't know who I am. What in god's name should I do?

Just be you. You know your own soul. You ignore your own needs for the needs of everyone else. Trying so desperately to be accepted, you lose yourself in others. Be the shapeshifter, but remember me. Remember your own skin.

Running my fingers through her luxurious pelt, I smile. I'm nowhere near as tame as someone tried to make me. Leaning back, I find I can keep my eyes open no longer, and with a parting worry that I need to check into the ranger station in the morning and that my cell phone is still back in the campsite, I drift off into slumber.

*******

Hill country musings

Curves.
Sensual, alluring, compelling, calling for a gentle nudge here, a strong swift stroke there, up, down.

Moonlight.
Soft, creating mystery, cool light, speaking - calling to the inner wanderer.

Night wind.
Cool, fresh, all the smells of the day, the drying grains and grasses in the field, water over the next ridge, skunk a half mile back, playing with the moon and clouds. The smell of the gulf a hundred miles away, the pine forests, the prairies, all wrapped into one being. Feel the joy of the wind... of being free. To toss the wisps of clouds skittering across the moon. Calling to come play... to tell you the stories of the places its been.

All of these things together creates magic. A late spring evening finding me lost way out on some back road.... well, not exactly lost.. I was somewhere on a red squiggly line on a map, roughly between Hye and Blanco. The song of the wanderer filling my ears as the pavement sped beneath me. Stars filling the night sky, with moonlight so bright you could go on forever. Why do some of us have this need? Need to be free, to fly, to see the unknown. Its so rare... so many look at us with this wayward glance when they ask me what I did all weekend. How, in god's green earth, did it take you 12 hours to get to Dallas from San Antonio???

I wanted to see what was between here and there.

Oh, I've made the trip many times. I've gone the "conventional" way, the back way, the round about way, but they're all the old way. Lets find the new way. Plot a new course. Something with lots of curves, some really neat terrain, a lot of water, and open sky. Reflections of the weekend flashing through my mind. Tubing down the Comal river, an old fiddler in Kerrville sending up the most beautiful piece to the stars above... and a luscious little blonde with a glorious Texan twang walking up to my husband in Lukenbach and without hesitation or asking for a name, "Are you wearing a thong?" to which his prompt reply was "Are you?" which led to a rather interesting and amusing conversation.

Why do we do it? Why do we need it. When so many are comfortable in this digital age to sit at home and see the world from the comfort of their couch or computer chair. It would be cheaper and safer to just stay home. With the prayer that was the old fiddler's song still ringing in my ears, I knew the answer.

Life.

But what is the meaning of life? Why are we here? What purpose is it?

Simply to be alive. We are creatures born of pleasure and pain. Strife, passion, blood, sweat, rage, jubilation. A creature of pure energy, made of flesh from star stuff, here to wander.

But why do look at me so askance when they hear my answer? Why, even among those special people in my life, are those who cannot understand? Who cannot share that same passion... that same drive?

Not all are the same. No, there are no better or worse, but there is a difference of spirit. Some are here here to teach others, or to learn themselves.. others here to fight, to heal, to mend... And then there are some here to watch. Oh, we've been around this world a time or two.. played all the roles. Each of us has that special role we love playing, that one that feels so comfortable, but with one key difference. There is that passion... that lust for knowledge, for the new, for the unexplored. Not a thirst for danger, exactly. We are the pioneers that settled this great country. We are the adventurers who find what was lost. The records of our lives are kept not as a record of one person who tilled his fields, kept his sheep, and died old and happy... but as the one who brought back knowledge of what was beyond the great waters.

Speeding on through the night, the wind speaking of cactus blossoms, cool springs, and hidden glens.

Life is short.

Time is fleeting.

Change is forever.

Come see.

Time to Go

Sunday morning, I stepped outside, and do you know what I smelled?

Spring.

The scent of growing things: green grass, the leaves on the trees returning, even the weeds quickly trying to take over my lawn.  I smelled freshly-turned dirt, from the garden that we began planting the day before.  The chill wasn't in the wind anymore - it was nice to be outside.

Oh, we were tempted to take off right then and there, but we knew that we still had more planting to do if we wanted to enjoy lots of fruits and vegetables over the summer, so we remained at home and dug in the dirt some more.

This week, we've been working, depriving ourselves of sleep because we can't seem to stop thinking about what we want to do now that the long winter is finally going away.

With spring comes good fishing weather, as it's time to spawn as the water temperature rises.  We already know of one lake where we'd seen the fish getting into the really shallow water right next to the shoreline, practically beaching themselves among the reeds.  Last year, when we discovered this, we tried to catch them with our bare hands, and when that failed, we wasted the whole day tossing baited hooks in that direction, but with no luck.  This year, we simply have a net -- we're looking forward to seeing if we can actually catch the limit on anything, even if it's simply carp.  We looked it up, by the way -- it's one of the most-consumed freshwater fish, some 100+ thousand tons eaten each year around the world.  We figure we'll try it -- why not, if it's free?

Another plan for this weekend is to dig the tents out of storage, set them up in the backyard to air out, and sweep the inside and out thoroughly.  There's also the travel bag, packed with many of the small items we don't want to forget when we're out camping (firestarters, cooking utensils, cards & dominoes, MAX DEET, sunscreen, spare bandannas, stuff like that).  We had bought a couple ponchos for our big canoemping trip last year, and I think we still need to rinse the sand out of those...  We have utility shelves in the garage, where we try to keep all the camping gear together, but it gradually migrates to wherever we set it down when we last unpacked the car, usually at about 2am while feeling like a zombie from the drive home.  So that needs to be sorted back out.

We're gradually putting together a wishlist of travelling/camping/fishing gear we'd like to acquire or upgrade -- a nicer digital camera to take high-quality, poster-size-printable pictures of the places we've been and things we've seen, so that we can put them up around the house; a two-burner camp stove for the occasions that there's a burn ban where we end up; a canoe with a hookup for a small outboard motor, good for paddling in the shallows or fishing in the deep water; more lures and books as we continue educating ourselves in fishing, and so much more.

Spring is a time of new beginnings, when the world reawakens, and the spirit of adventure can take hold of you, telling you it's time to explore those dreams you've been having while hibernating through the winter.

And I, for one, can't wait to go.

Don't look back
A new day is breaking
It's been too long since I felt this way.
I don't mind where I get taken
The road is calling
Today is the day.
-- Boston, "Don't Look Back"