peggyellis

[peggyellis]

a body at rest: denver

I will hereby attempt to go back to blogging about our trip in something resembling chronological order. Please don’t hold your breath.

We’ve covered Kansas City (the hippie commune) and Wyoming, but not the city that fell between them: Denver.  I rolled into the Mile High City on Sunday, August 2, which seems like approximately 13 lifetimes ago.  The drive from Milo Farm in KC to our Airbnb in Denver was basically 9 hours of straight corn fields and boring playlists, and I was so happy when I saw the Front Ridge of the Rockies that I cried big fat crocodile tears while Luna looked at me like I was an idiot.  If you’re ever considering driving the 8 hours across Kansas to get to Denver, let me give you a tip: don’t.

I had big expectations for Denver.  We were going to hike ALL THE THINGS.  I was going to meet cute boys (more on that later). I was going to sit with friends at breweries, take long walks around the city, write about a dozen blog posts, and figure out my life.  I was excited to socialize with friends and get some serious exercise conquering the many 14ers (mountains over 14,000 ft) around Denver.

As with so many places on this trip, Colorado taught me the frivolity of expectations.  I got into town on Sunday night and promptly drowned myself in tacos and margaritas with my friend Eric.  I planned to go for a long hike Monday morning, but then realized I had about 20 loads of crap in my car, at least as may loads of dirty laundry, and a desperate need to clean and re-organize all of my camping gear.  I spent basically the entire day alternating between the car, the laundry room, and the couch, and then it was time for dinner.  A dear friend from high school and his lovely girlfriend joined Eric and I for Greek food that I threw together, and we laughed and drank late into the night.

Josh & I enjoying our reunion

Tuesday would totally be better, right?  Errrrrm. I basically slept until noon, made a little progress on my camping gear, and spent hours in bed texting aforementioned cute boy(s), the principal of whom had moved on during his own cross-country road trip.  I did a very brief “hike” en route to Fort Collins, but mostly I was focused on reaching our next spot: my amazing friend Nikki suggested I check out the New Belgium brewery, and her company hooked me up with free beer and lots of swag. Beer makes me hungry, so naturally I had to join my friend Sara for enchiladas and margaritas, and then a former coworker stopped by for even more beer.  All that drinking and eating wears you out, and I passed out for yet another evening.

Scenes from the one “hike” we managed

Here’s what I learned in Denver: that despite Newton’s law to the contrary, a body in motion can only stay in motion for so long before it comes to a screeching halt to rest.  I loved every minute of the time in one of my favorite cities, even if it didn’t look much of anything like I had planned. I saw friends and enjoyed Denver’s thriving beer scene and looked longingly at the mountains, even if I didn’t climb too many (okay, any) of them.  I hit the reset button on my trip, preparing for upcoming weeks and further journeys. I left feeling like a new person, and with a clean and organized car, ready to tackle the next step.

Luna did not seem to mind resting on the patio at New Belgium.

A body in motion may wish to stay in motion, but Denver taught me one thing: the value (and beauty) of staying at rest.

I’ll have to save this one for next time: the flatirons outside Boulder

[peggyellis]

welcome to holland.

I have accepted at this point that my posts are all going to be badly out of chronological order in terms of our trip.  We’re now skipping over Denver, Wyoming and Idaho and going straight to Washington. Oops?

Over a year ago, my friend Julia sent me a free audiobook, “Maybe You Should Talk to Someone.”  In short, it’s a story written by a therapist who finds herself needing therapy after a breakup.  I downloaded the book but never got around to listening to it – I’ve never really been the audiobook type.  Obviously the Universe knew what it was doing – when I set out on this trip, I fired up my audible app and found the book sitting there ready to be listened to. Somewhere on that long miserable drive from Kansas to Denver, I started listening.

The author touches on a number of topics: relationships, grief, loss and change.  I have about 20 different posts I’ve started stemming from this one book, but the one that is freshest in my mind today is “Welcome to Holland.”  In the book, Lori (the author) is counseling a woman who learns she has terminal cancer. Lori explains that "Welcome to Holland" is a prominent essay, written in 1987 by American author and social activist Emily Perl Kingsley, about having a child with a disability. Yes, I stole that last bit from Wikipedia.  The idea is this: parenthood is like planning a trip to Italy.  You’ve always dreamed of going there; cruising the canals in Venice, eating pasta in Naples, being awed by the roof of the Sistine Chapel in Rome. You buy books on the best places to eat and tour, and spend hours learning basic Italian phrases.  You dream of your experience; the wonderful things you’ll see, the people you will meet, and falling in love over and over again with Italy.

You board your flight and fall fast asleep, and when you awake, you’ve just touched down.  You look out and see tulip fields and Dutch architecture, and your flight attendant welcomes you and your fellow passengers to Holland.  Wait…what?!? But I boarded a flight to Italy!, you exclaim.  I’ve made so many preparations!  But try as you might, no amount of begging, pleading or cajoling will get you to Italy. You’re in Holland, and Holland is where you must stay.

See, Lori explains, “Welcome to Holland” isn’t just about parenthood; it’s about life.  We all make plans and visions of what our lives will look like.  We will be married.  We will have a great job.  We’ll be parents to beautiful and healthy children.  We’ll travel the world.  Inevitably, no matter how hard we try, one day we board a plane to Italy and wake up in Holland.  We spend so much time preparing and planning for our lives to look one way, but sooner or later, no matter how hard we try, we all end up with our metaphorical planes touching down in Holland.

It is in Holland that we are all faced with a choice.  We can spend our time missing Italy, trying desperately to get back there, and dreaming of our trip that we originally planned.  We can gnash our teeth and cry and wail at the fact that this stupid plane was supposed to go to Italy, and instead we’re stuck in this dumb place that is anything but Italy.  Or – we can take a look around us and start to experience the beauty of Holland.  It doesn’t have Michelangelo or the Vatican or pasta, but Holland has tulip fields, the Hague, legal marijuana and the best Brazillian steakhouses inside or outside of Brazil.  (Take the last one or two from personal experience). Holland has beautiful architecture, bikable cities and a great airport.  When life lands us unexpectedly in Holland, we are given the choice – nay, the opportunity – to fall in love with Holland, even if it’s not the reality we expected.

Sounds nice, huh? Well, my first reaction was to scoff and say something to the effect of “yeah, sure, whatever lady.”  Holland sounds nice when we’re talking about an unexpected move or a job loss, not when we’re talking about terminal cancer or a divorce or a disabled child.  Did this woman really expect me to be like “oh man, I am just SO HAPPY that the man I wanted to marry broke up with me two days after I lost my job and now I am homeless, jobless and single with no prospects on any of these 3, Holland is SO GREAT”?!?!  No thanks.

I hated Holland all through Kansas, most of Colorado, parts of Wyoming and DEFINITELY in Idaho.  Holland was the pit in my stomach when I thought about returning home.  Holland was the familiar text ding, only to find it was someone else.  Holland was grief and loss.  If you’d asked me to paint a picture of Holland, it would probably look a lot like Newark, the city I am convinced is the worst place on earth. Grey, smoggy, dirty and sad, I wanted nothing to do with Holland.  I wanted to go back to Italy.

When I showed up to our home outside Seattle on Saturday night, I had cried the entire way through Oregon, decided to throw my phone into the Pacific Ocean when I reached Seattle, and vowed to hate Holland for time and all eternity.  In what had become a theme on this trip, our host Renee took one look at my red swollen face, and immediately knew just what to say. She’d ended up at this farm in an unexpected turn of events when a divorce left her lost and homeless.  In the 50+ acres of cattle, vegetables, horses and lakes, she’d found beauty even in the unexpected.  I looked around, and the sprinkler mist created a rainbow in the weeping willows.  The lake glistened in the setting sun, and the open fields stretched on for miles. Even Luna made a friend in Shadow, the friendly German Shepherd, and they romped in the front yard for hours. Our home was a little in-ground greenhouse that had been converted to a studio, and the hanging lanterns and wide windows made it cozy.  Holland suddenly didn’t look so bad.

Scenes from the farm

It was there that I decided I wasn’t ready to go home, that I was going to open myself up to more adventures, and that it was okay to be not okay.  That night was the eve of the infamous chicken alfredo, and Luna and I took a long walk into the cattle pasture while I contemplated my new life. Holland suddenly wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t what I expected, and I missed Italy, but Holland started to show its beauty there in Yakima, Washington. I would need to learn a new language, and maybe buy some new tour books, but perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad here. Welcome to Holland.  I’m here to stay.

Our home in “Holland”

Wisdom from the universe and our little greenhouse

[peggyellis]

brave

I am now going to take a break from talking about my feelings, and instead talk about the fun and incredible adventures we’ve had on our journey.

Man, if only I’d mastered this skill earlier in life, I might not be single.  Anyway, I digress...

Refreshed, clean, and the tiniest bit hungover, Luna and I said our goodbyes to Mike and Emily and set out on the road again. Now, every time I’ve reached out to my mom on this trip, she’s asked the same question: have I had any epiphanies yet?  Every time, I respond with a sarcastic list (yes: I’ve realized my next house should have a pool or I’ve realized that I am terrible at building fires).  The truth is that I have seen a lot on this trip, and met a lot of people, and experienced a lot of things, but the Universe hasn’t shown up with a brightly-lit neon sign telling me exactly where to go next and what to do with my life.

On Friday the 31st of July, Luna and I arrived on the Milo Farm Sacred Land, a commune of sorts outside of Kansas City. We were booked into the “hippie trailer” campsite, a converted trailer that is now home to a cozy bed and small counter space, with a grill and fire pit outside, off a fantastic porch.  What I did not anticipate or realize is that the trailer was a bit far from the rest of the farm – tucked away in the woods, it’s supposed to provide solidarity and peace.  As the sun set on the first night to the accompanying howls of coyotes, I found myself jumping at every noise and looking over my shoulder every time I trekked a few hundred feet to the outhouse.  This whole camping trip *seemed* like a great idea, right up until I was alone in the wilderness with nothing but a guard dog and my wits.  Mom? Are you there?

Our home for two nights

Uh, hey lady? I see you have stroganoff.  I too would like stroganoff...

As we fell asleep that first night, with the bed in the far back of the trailer, Luna uncharacteristically laid right up next to me, her body cemented against my legs and head facing out down the length of the trailer.  I realized that she was protecting me, her back against me and eyes constantly surveilling the length of our little home.  No surprise that I was slumbering peacefully in a few minutes, and despite a few brief noises during the night, I slept solidly for the most part and awoke refreshed.

Head of Security on high alert

I suppose this was the first non-sarcastic epiphany that I’d had on the trip: that I am brave, that I can do hard things, and that fear - like so many other things - is just a feeling.  My therapist regularly says “don’t believe everything you think,” and eventually I realized that I didn’t have to believe there was anything to be afraid of, even if I was afraid.  Oh man, am I talking about my feelings again?  Shit...

Like so many places on this trip, Milo Farm was exactly what we needed.  Our two days passed with long walks through meditation gardens, hikes in the forest, and swimming in the pool.  Both nights, I attempted (unsuccessfully) to start a fire, cooked dinner on the charcoal grill, and sat out on the porch as coyotes and crickets came out for the evening.

A shameless hammock selfie while relaxing near our campsite

On the day of our departure, our host, Loni, offered me a guided meditation walk through the property.  I’m never one to say no to spiritual guidance, so of course I enthusiastically agreed!  She told me the history of the property, from the original settlers to the Mormon families that briefly spent time there.  We touched the water from the healing well, explored the varying terrain, and marveled at the fact that within a relatively small property - about 40 acres - the forests were all so different, the atmosphere so varied, and the flora and fauna so diverse.  Her theory about portals to other worlds may well be right.

“Zen? WTF is Zen?” Luna, unlike her mom, preferred to bark at the Buddha statue rather than meditating by it.

Loni also read my aura and used her dousing rods to show me my future.  Apparently I’ll be settled and in love in a year and a half - more on that later - so I set myself a calendar reminder to “find life partner” around early 2022.  Loni is an incredible person with stories, a big heart, and energy that I found so captivating.  Her vision for the property is extraordinary, and I found myself reveling in the spirituality of the place.  Luna even seemed to connect with the land, befriending the goats and chasing off the alpha-male donkey, Plato, who regularly bullied them.  As would later become a theme of the trip, Milo Farm gave us the adventure, growth and healing we were both looking for.  I can’t wait to go back. 

Get you someone who looks at you the way Luna looks at Plato the donkey.

Living her best life on the farm.

Luna relaxes inside the hippie trailer

[peggyellis]

chicken alfredo

If you’re here for funny or exciting travel stories, or to hear about what Luna and I have been seeing and doing, or if you’re uncomfortable with excessive displays of emotion, please check back on Monday - by which point I promise to regale you with stories of waterfall hikes, teepee fires, late-night karaoke on the rez, aura readings, tumbleweeds, herds of antelope, and much more.

Earlier today, while catching up with my friend Corinna, I joked about the estimated ten pounds I’d lost on this trip.  My shorts are scarily loose and I’ve tightened my wristbands twice already, which, I reported amusingly, seemed impossible given the amount of gas station ice cream and pork rinds I’ve consumed so far.  What I realized much later is that this is probably *all* I’ve been eating.  My two-ish meals a day reduced down to one, and half the time that consisted of a piece of chicken sausage or a small cup of soup.  Much of the food I’ve brought is still in my cooler, and I’ve found myself satiated after a small snack or something I would barely consider a meal.  Strange, given that anyone who knows me knows that I can out-eat even the most voracious of appetites.

So, I started thinking back on the last few days.  As I’d neared closer and closer to Idaho - the furthest planned stop on my trip - the pit in my stomach only grew.  I realized that I was full of trepidation, fear and sadness about the journey home, and I dreaded the day I pointed my car back towards the Southeast.  So, in typical Peggy fashion, I decided to deal with the problem by running even further and putting it off a few more days, heading out towards Seattle.  Why deal with a problem today when you can deal with it tomorrow, right?

Welp, that all came crashing down today.  I couldn’t put off signing my lease any longer, requiring me to pick a move-in date.  As I neared Seattle, a quick scan of the map reminded me that there is - quite literally - nowhere further to run away. (In case you’re curious, the Canada border is closed - believe me, I checked).  I had to start booking airbnbs for the journey home and pick an end date for our time in Seattle.  I had to reach out to my former partner to discuss the logistics of getting my stuff from his house, and I had to start thinking about what life looks like when this trip is over.

Now, I’ve had some tough days before.  I can hysterically sob with the best of ‘em, and I have dealt with some loss and pain and struggle.  But hooooo boy, this put me on my ass.  When a friend back home asked me what I had been doing today, I reported to him that I cried the entire way through Oregon.  Yikes.  At one point, while sitting at a rest stop, Luna climbed into my lap in the front seat, unable to ignore my hyperventilating.  I was out of runway, and I had to accept that if I was going to continue my life as I’d planned it, it was going to involve going home in the very near future.

As I started unloading all of this on him, a dear new friend asked me simply, why do you *need* to come home?  My mom, usually the ever-pragmatic type, advised me not to sign a lease if I wasn’t sold on a life in Atlanta.  And in an unexpected twist of fate, a partner who shaped most of my adult life (and who I called somehow knowing he’d have the answer) reminded me that it’s okay NOT to have the answers, and it’s okay to just take it day by day for awhile.

I arrived at our home for the night, shed some heavy tears, and canceled all of my bookings for the rest of the trip.  I sent an email explaining that my housing situation had changed and asking to delay my lease indefinitely.  I called my Burning Man family, many of whom are here in Seattle, and they immediately rallied with dinners, plans to go sailing, and a schedule of housing for Luna and I that extends well into the fall. I suddenly have a place to stay - for as long as I need - and no one forcing me towards home.

The sun set, and it was dinner time, so I set a cast iron skillet on the fire pit adjacent to our greenhouse home, and set about making dinner.  I’d picked up one of those frozen meals in a bag at the grocery store - you know, the kind that feeds at least two people or a very small family of four.  Everything cooked as I updated friends and family about my plans and threw the ball for Luna.  And then, I’ll be damned if I did not eat the entire thing.  The whole bag.  When I was done with that, I needed dessert, and had half a sleeve of Milano cookies.  After 10 days of barely having an appetite, I was ravenous.  It hit me: the pit in my stomach was gone.  I no longer had to do anything, be anywhere, or be anyone.  I had time, and friends, and the flexibility to figure out what the hell is next and where.

So, friends, looks like this little road trip might have turned into something a little bigger. I don’t have answers, or plans, or an idea of what is next.  And for the first time in possibly my entire life, that is just fine with me.

[peggyellis]

lucky.

While in Kansas City, I wrote and began formatting a post titled “brave” - for there, I spent two nights in a trailer tucked into the woods, far from the rest of the commune and any sort of civilization.  The bumps in the night had me jumping the first night - by the second, I was slumbering peacefully and walking to the outhouse barefoot in the dark. I found my brave, and I was happy.

In Denver, I started a post called “rest.”  My expectations of hiking all day quickly turned into reality: that between the altitude, my 5 loads of dirty laundry, and the friends I wanted to see, the best thing I could do was rest. We barely left our house, and I couldn’t be happier.

In the midst of it all, somewhere along the route, I started writing “grief.”  When Loni, our host in Kansas, asked why a single girl was traveling alone and far from home, my answer was simply to start weeping uncontrollably.  Grief, along with Luna, has been my constant companion on this trip.  Like a bad bug bite, it pops up at the least convenient moments, irritating me to no end when I should be enjoying the scenery or communing with nature or “finding myself” or whatever dumb shit people do on these trips.  In case you’re curious, grief brought his BFF “anger” on this trip, and there’s been more than a few moments of that too.

Tomorrow was supposed to be the point where my trip begins to turn towards home.  From our spot in Idaho I would head south to Salt Lake, and then onwards to Texas and home.  I wasn’t planning to share this for a few more days, but the growing pit in my stomach and the wisdom of a few friends (hi Sara, Brian, Patrick and Robert!) reminded me that I have nothing to lose and a lot to gain by continuing onward.  It was somewhere between Denver and Wyoming today that I decided my journey isn’t quite ready to come home.

Today’s word is “lucky,” because we arrived at our spot for tonight, and I have not stopped being in awe of this place.  I pulled up and our host, Mikel, told me to take Luna out of the car.  I stammered an explanation about how she is aggressive and not good with dogs, and Mikel nodded and said “yep, okay, so let her out of the car anyway.”  Her two dogs and Luna briefly wrestled and established a hierarchy - with some scary growls and minor nips -  and then suddenly everything was fine.  She encouraged me to run Luna the length of her 40-acre property, and I watched my dog bound off with uncontrollable joy towards the horses (her favorite!) and the wide open space of the farm.  I wept openly as we watched the sun set from the edge of the fence line, the truly most beautiful bit of scenery I have ever seen.  I took in the rolling hills and the sheer openness and emptiness of the scenery and watched Luna kangaroo jump through the grass and wag uncontrollably as she approached the horses.

Nothing really hit me until we settled into our home for the night, from where I am writing this post.  We’re staying on a trailer from the 70s that is parked on the property, with the cutest vintage curtains and upholstery and windows everywhere to gaze out onto the property.  A cool breeze is blowing through the open windows, and Luna is snuggled up beside me on the built-in bed.  And it was like a ton of bricks: I am so fortunate.  I have friends all over the country who are willing to see me, host me, and spend time with me on this journey.  I have the most adorable, patient, and loving travel companion.  I have seen parts of this big wide world that many people never experience, and I have met incredible human after incredible human, each with their own stories and wisdom to share.  Curled up tonight in this adorable little home, on this slice of heaven in the middle of Wyoming that I randomly found on the internet, I am nothing if not completely and utterly lucky.

home

[peggyellis]

from Iceland to Illinois

There are two things I love the most about travel: food, and the people you meet.  Every great adventure I’ve had includes one of those two things, and some of the best ones involve both.  Cue my trip to Iceland last summer, when Robert and I decided to go explore this wild new country for 10 days. (Doesn’t everyone go on big international trips with their ex-boyfriend from their early 20s? No? Just me?). With our shared fondness for food and booze, Robert booked us a culinary tour during lunchtime on our first day. Delta had other ideas – a two-hour delay out of JFK and a missing suitcase meant we had absolutely no chance of making the tour on time.  In case there was any doubt that everything happens for a reason, we were rebooked on the evening tour, and I’m so glad we were. Our other companions on the tour were a Russian mother and son, and a cool couple about our age.  We quickly bonded over shared stories with Mike and Emily, and they agreed to continue the fun after the tour ended, popping from bar to bar as the sun set (HA! Fooled you, the sun never sets in Iceland).  Our host even joined us for a drink and introduced us to a bar where her friend worked!  I’m not entirely sure of all of the stops we made, but I remember playing a spin-the-wheel game and winning free beer, drinking aperol spritzes on a roof, and refusing to share a blanket with anyone when it got chilly.  (And don’t worry, Delta was happy to comp this Diamond Medallion for the hiking boots, pants and clothes that we found Robert in downtown Reykjavik, so he basically got a cool free outfit in addition to his cool new friends).  

We had a great night, finished off with Icelandic hot dogs and Multi Foxes, and we promised to keep in touch throughout our travels.  Never did I expect, though, that Mike and Emily would enthusiastically offer to host Luna and I as the second stop on our journey.  I warned them excessively about my aggressive and shy pup, the fact that I was camping, and the general stench emanating from me, my car and my stuff after 3 days on the road without a real shower.  Mike and Emily were brave and undeterred, so I set off for rural Illinois and their brand new home. 

aforementioned hot dogs

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at this point that the Universe sent me their way for a reason. Most notably, Luna took quickly to them, never once barking or being the slightest bit mean.  Mike, Emily and their son Max were so patient, staying still and ignoring Luna (as is her preference) while she sniffed around and became acquainted with them.  After a great dinner together and Max heading off to bed, Luna came downstairs to hang with the “grown ups” for a bit, and it took barely any time before she was shamelessly snuggled up with Emily and dead asleep.  Anyone who knows Luna knows how this is huge progress for her, and I was so proud as she cuddled with her new best friend, accepted booty scratches, and didn’t even look up when I’d leave the room for more Busch Lite.  She didn’t even mind tall Mike, wiggling her tail at him when he’d come in the room.  A proud mom moment for sure.  Much like Iceland, I’m not sure I remember all of the evening, but fun games, trivia and long chats led us well into the night.  Or maybe that was the bourbon I brought from Kentucky? I don’t know.

I am so grateful that these two kind and generous strangers were totally cool with a random girl they’d met once in Iceland, and her terror dog, coming to stay in their house.  We laughed, we cried (okay, I cried), and we talked about everything from LARPing to loss.  We might have been strangers in Iceland, but I can say for sure that we are now friends.  Whatever faith I’d lost in the world was renewed knowing that people like Mike and Emily will find their way into my life when I need them the most.  Also, I might have taken three showers in their house. It’s fine.

Our stay was brief but wonderful, and after chugging water on the couch for awhile, I finally gathered myself up and hit the road again.  Our next destination is a hippie commune outside of Kansas City, and if the trip so far has been any indication, I have no doubt this will be equally as much of an adventure.

aforementioned snuggle pup 

[peggyellis]

soul y luna

When the pre-trip nerves hit, I texted my favorite group thread: Fur Baby Photo Op, a group of girlfriends who swap life wisdom, dating advice, and pupper/kitter photos on a daily basis.  In the midst of a ton of great encouragement, my friend (hi Emily!) told me my tagline for the trip should be “Soul Y Luna” – like sun and moon, but with a nod to the soul-searching I’d be doing.  Since Spanish is one of my fave languages and I’m always down for a clever pun that involves my dog, it stuck.

If there’s one terrific place to “find yourself,” it’s on a farm in rural Kentucky.  A lucky Airbnb search led me to Laura’s home in Paducah, and it was the perfect first stop on our trip.  There is a beautiful barn onsite that is in the process of being converted to an event space, with pool tables, a kitchen, and plenty of space to sprawl out.  In the meantime, they’ve turned the tack room into a cozy studio, and it was our home for two great nights.  Laura and her partner are the sweetest hosts, constantly fussing over us, and I just loved staying in a room with a rainbow curtain and a Black Lives Matter sign out front, in a neighborhood full of Trump banners and rural Kentuckians. Maybe there’s hope for this country after all.

Home for two nights

I don’t really know how two days flew by so quickly, when it seems we did so little.  Luna and I wandered the property multiple times a day, traipsing through corn fields, crossing a small stream, and visiting all of the animals onsite.  Luna, to no one’s surprise, was constantly terrorizing the chickens and cats, but shocked us all when she absolutely fell in love with Montana the horse.  Montana was so patient with her, trotting over to see us every time we walked by, and she and Luna would “race” along the fence line and sniff noses multiple times a day.  I’m pretty sure my dog would have slept in the paddock with her if I’d allowed it.  Hot hazy days passed quickly with farm chores, strolling around, and drinking wine on the back porch every night to the sound of crickets.  I even got to dip in the pool and relax in the outdoor shower. A brief jaunt into town for ice and supplies also lead to a stop at the liquor store for my dear Illinois and Colorado buddies in search of good bourbon – don’t worry y’all, the delivery train is on its way! I journaled a lot, writing cheesy poems, essays on grief, and musings on the political state of the world. I also burned my hand on a can of clam chowder and spilled an entire container of water on the floor, so clearly my survival skills are going to need some improvement between here and Moab.

Relaxing on the porch, probably in search of Montana

Thursday morning, we said a sad goodbye to Laura and company, with Luna pulling me towards Montana’s paddock the whole way to the car.  Luckily a bright spot is on the road ahead – dear friends in Illinois who offered to host us, and a lakeside hike en route!

If this friendship isn’t the cutest thing you’ve ever seen, I don’t know what is

Soul (and sol) searching on the farm at sunset

[peggyellis]

the road less traveled.

My very excited co-pilot

My entire life, I’ve had free (or mostly free) access to airplanes of all types – both private and commercial.  (If you’re rolling your eyes at how much of a first world “problem” this is, I don’t blame you).  As a result, driving never really appealed to me. Why go to something as blasé as the Grand Canyon when I could be canyon-diving in Iceland?!  I always preferred the exotic and foreign over the domestic, and all of my vacation days were used up traveling to non-US locations.  As a result - years went by, and while my country count crept up, there was still much of the US I’d never seen.

In a way, this trip reminds me of Robert Frost’s infamous poem, where he’s faced with two roads: the oft-trodden and the road less traveled.  For me, in all of the privilege I’ve experienced, a road trip is very much “the road less traveled.”  I will be seeing and experiencing things entirely new to me - the last time I spent this much time in a car domestically was a trip across the Pacific Northwest when I was 8. Between coronavirus, a job loss, other forms of loss, and the opportunity to take some time away, a road trip materialized before I really had a chance to contemplate what I was doing.

Today, Luna and I set off on what (I hope) will be a grand adventure.  I am trying not to place too many expectations on myself or the destinations – rather, hoping to experience what the Universe has to offer me, and try to be receptive as I go. No matter what, this will be a learning experience, and an opportunity to experience a road very new to me.

Some have asked about our itinerary – I am writing this to you from our first stop in Paducah, KY. Here is a rough approximation of where we’ll be, with the caveat that I am leaving myself open to lots of change, based on where the road takes us.

July 28-30: A horse farm outside Paducah, KY

July 30-31: Staying with friends in Illinois

July 31-August 2: A converted trailer in a commune/campground in Missouri (yes, really!)

August 2-4: Denver, CO with friends

August 4-5: A canvas tent outside Loveland, CO

August 5-6: A teepee on Native American riverland in Inkom, ID

August 6-7: A teepee on a Native American preserve outside Moab, UT

August 7-8: Somewhere in middle Texas

August 8-??? Austin, TX with friends

I’ve tentatively committed to return home by the 15th, if for no other reason than to move into my new home, but I make no concrete promises.

If you’re interested in what I’ve seen and learned along the way, along with some really cringeworthy poetry that I’ll be writing as part of my journaling process, watch this space. :)

“ I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. “ - Robert Frost

The road less traveled. (Taken outside of Chattanooga, TN)

[peggyellis]

When I told my parents I wanted to go to TTITD (That Thing In The Desert, aka Burning Man*) their reaction was incredulous laughter, followed by a period of stunned silence when they realized I was serious.  “Why?!?!” was their first - and primary - question, followed by my mom’s favorite - “What will you do when you hate it and want to come home?”, asked no less than 3 dozen times from the moment I told them until the moment they dropped me off at the airport.  I guess they simply couldn’t fathom that their city-dwelling, somewhat prissy daughter wanted to spend over a week camping in the desert in the middle of August.  Bud I did.

So with their hesitations (and many of my own), I packed bags and coolers, flew across the country, and set off for 10 days in the desert with 80,000 of my closest friends.  I won’t say it was perfect, but it was definitely life-changing.  I did want to come home at times, but I also spent a lot of time contemplating becoming a permanent resident of Black Rock City.  I learned so much: about others, about myself, about my ability to survive, and what life can be like free of rules and constraints.

At aforementioned TTITD, where eating french toast on top of a giant pile of teddy bears is both normal and encouraged.

Fast forward to quarantine, where rules and constraints are all that seem to be holding society together.  Wear a mask!  Don’t touch others!  Six feet apart!  Stay home!  Everything we do is under a microscope, and Black Rock City seems like a lifetime ago.

So, as I felt the walls close in on me, I defaulted to my standard MO in these scenarios: to run.  We can debate at a later time whether this is an effective coping mechanism.  But as lost jobs, ending relationships and the general malaise of 2020 set in, I just knew I needed to do something different.

So, I’m throwing off rules and constraints for a bit, packing my bags, and heading across the country.  i won’t be flying this time, and there will probably be fewer 3AM Diplo concerts, but I have companionship in my sweet pup Luna and a long open road with many friends along the way.  We head out on Tuesday for a roughly 2 week trek cross-country, with plans to stay in yurts, on farms, in a hippie commune, in tents, and with many dear friends who have agreed to host us.  It will probably be a bit like TTITD - a test of survival, a growth experience, and a time where things may not be perfect, but memories are fond regardless.

Me & my trusty companion on a prior adventure.

More than a few friends asked for me to keep a blog while I’m gone, so if you’d like some run-on sentences and maybe a few photos detailing our travel, watch this space.  Also, if you know anyone with any sort of formatting skills....help a sister out.

A rough plotting of our adventure

*I was informed by one herrmanno that I am “obsessed” with Burning Man and talk about it at least once a day, so I am committed to making at least one Burning Man reference in every post. You’re welcome.

[peggyellis]

it will not be boring.

9 years, 3 continents, countless countries and what seems like a lifetime later, I find myself itching to start this page up again.  Maybe it’s the global pandemic, maybe it’s my escapism rearing its ugly head yet again, as I deal with uncertainty the way I always have - by wandering.  

I don’t even know that I can truly summarize where I’ve been since January 2011, what I’ve learned, or the people I’ve met along the way.  It has been a long road: challenging at times, steep in places, but above all else, beautiful.  I have seen so much of the world and met so many wonderful people along the way.

Now, I embark again on a journey - this time with a new companion, my pup Luna, and with a lot of hard-earned wisdom and experience.  I am setting off on a trip around the US, during which I’ll visit many of the aforementioned wonderful people.  We will camp, hike, swim in streams, think and grow.  I don’t know what this trip will hold, how long we will be gone, or what I may learn along the way.  I don’t know what will happen when we return home, or what my life will look like in the future.  I don’t know much of anything, but I can say this for certain: it will not be boring.

Somewhere along the way, I added “glacier climbing” to my list of skills.

[peggyellis]

I would break my back just to carry you back home to my arms again.

Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson (via tylerknott)

[peggyellis]

My latest obsession, especially after hearing it on the plane when Dave and I were coming back from DC.  I love the Jason Mraz version, but I think glee's rendition is precious!

[peggyellis]

You know that saying, "when God closes a door, he opens a window"?? Well sometimes, he'll do you one better, and kick a whole wall down.

Glee

[peggyellis]

You only know what I want you to I know everything you don't want me to Oh your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine Oh you think your dreams are the same as mine Oh I don't love you but I always will Oh I don't love you but I always will Oh I don't love you but I always will I always will I wish you'd hold me when I turn my back The less I give the more I get back Oh your hands can heal, your hands can bruise I don't have a choice but I still choose you Oh I don't love you but I always will Oh I don't love you but I always will Oh I don't love you but I always will Oh I don't love you but I always will Oh I don't love you but I always will Oh I don't love you but I always will Oh I don't love you but I always will I always will I always will I always will I always will I always will

[peggyellis]

You saw my locked doors and instead of a key, you burned the whole house down.

Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson (via tylerknott)

[peggyellis]

These days, US foreign policy is all about MAS - Mutually Assured Surveillance. We monitor every other country in some sense, and they all know we're watching them. We keep tabs on phone conversations, wiretap, read their newspapers. Well, except for one - what's the one country we don't monitor? That's right, Great Britian. Oh, yeah, technically we don't monitor Australia, either. They're not much of a security threat. We figure those heathens won't figure out how to use the phone for another hundred years or so.

Professor Wiarda (why do I put up with his droning 8AM class every day? because he comes out with gems like this.)

[peggyellis]

Dad's sunday morning impromptu piano concert reminded me how much I love this song.  I move in and out of phases with elton john, in varying degrees of obsession depending on how much his songs fit the current events in my life.  This one, though, says everything I want to say right now.  Plus, the man's a genius, and his piano playing kind of makes me want to laugh and cry all at the same time.

Don't wish it away Don't look at it like it's forever Between you and me I could honestly say That things can only get better And while I'm away Dust out the demons inside And it won't be long Before you and me run To the place in our hearts Where we hide And I guess that's why They call it the blues Time on my hands Could be time spent with you Laughing like children Living like lovers Rolling like thunder under the covers And I guess that's why They call it the blues Just stare into space Picture my face in your hands Live for each second Without hesitation And never forget I'm your man Without me girl Cry in the night if it helps But more than ever I simply love you More than I love life itself And I guess that's why They call it the blues Time on my hands Could be time spent with you Laughing like children Living like lovers Rolling like thunder under the covers And I guess that's why They call it the blues Wait on me girl Cry in the night if it helps But more than ever I simply love you More than I love life itself And I guess that's why They call it the blues Time on my hands Could be time spent with you Laughing like children Living like lovers Rolling like thunder under the covers And I guess that's why They call it the blues