the longest day

So I’ve been thirty for a few days now, and let me tell you, if these last four days have been any indication of the year (or decade) to come, I am in for a ride.

[I need to also thank all my friends and family, and especially my wife, for my birthday gift. Carly requested and compiled well wishes, encouragement, thoughts, blessings and memories from thirty friends/family. It is indescribable to know that you are loved. She is great. You all are great. Life is great…]

And to that end, I have been filled with such joy these last days. After our stormy start, and enough detours to last a lifetime, let me tell you that things have fallen into place, and The Road, in all its romantic beauty, has proven again to be a old friend, with new mysteries and adventures, revealing even more God-hewn-wild-country than before.

Carly and I have found a wonderful rhythm as road trip companions, mixed with memory-filled-music, mapping routes, morning sunshine snoozing (by her mostly…), telling and re-telling old stories, and sometimes just staring out into the big sky, marveling.

As I’m writing, I’m remembering that a lot has happened since I last wrote. We had planned to stay Sunday night at the Badlands, a refuge for the outlaws of old, and a place with an untold and other-worldly beauty. But it wasn’t in the cards. Storms move fast and hit hard out on the prairie, and having had our share of thunderstorms, we thought we’d pass. We headed on.

Having taken the time to see Rushmore and Crazy Horse, we stumbled, not upon a mountain hotel which had been the plan, but a quaint camping spot nestled in granite boulders and pine trees overlooking a small lake. It poured all night on us, except when we needed to break camp the next morn. How kind.

Next stop was in Billings, for a shower, a warm bed, a few sweet moments with friends, and to buy some bear spray. That’s right. Bear spray. Can’t go to Glacier without bear spray. Come on.

Which now brings us to a tent on the longest day of the year, at the base of a snow capped mountain range, overlooking a glacial melt lake, thousands of miles from home, at the top of the world, it would seem. I feel like I’d need fifty June 21’s to take in and appreciate all that we've seen.

…and it may come as no surprise to you, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now. It’s been a good day…

rough start

[i was supposed to have posted this yesterday]

I had the best intentions to steal a few minutes yesterday, in the midst of packing, to write. But as is most often, the war for more time, is lost to the details of packing & preparation.

I had spent the morning considering what would be an appropriate topic to write about as a 'going away' post. and had nearly given up on good ideas when i saw something that sparked something. I saw a guy mowing his lawn. shocker. but it struck me, this action/mentality of mowing (and keeping) a lawn. (especially in TN, where it grows plentifully in the summer.) i suppose it boils down to an essentially civilized desire: to tame the land.

a friend recently shared a great quote with me, on how our forefathers lived amongst the wild and dreamed of civilization, whereas we now live in unabashed civilization, and we (some of at least) dream of the wild. my caveat in all of this, i think, is that many still want to tame their piece of the land, while happily relegating 'the wild' to sequestered parks and the history books.

not i.

i'm learning more (now that we're on the trip) about how important this particular road trip is to me. but at least in a small part, we're heading back out into the wild country, heading to one of the wildest and most untamed portions of our country: Glacier NP, and this fact excites me with that wonderful mix of wonder, adventure and healthy respect.

last night was definitely one of those times where the idealized venture "back into the wild" loses all it's excitement and adventure and quickly becomes a lesson in healthy respect for the natural world. last night we spent the night in Babler State Park just outside St. Louis, MO. the darkened campground at 11pm last night seemed innocuous enough, but as the light pattering of rain and tornado sires woke us up at 5am, simple instinct kicked in.

A thunderous, lightning-cracking storm opened up on us and our little tent. We stuffed as much of the gear into the car, and Carly furiously leapt into the front seat. By that point, there was no point in running around, as I had been drenched to the bone. I proceeded to breakdown the tent in the pouring rain as Carly looked on, with mixed emotions of laughter at my pitful, wet plight, and fear for my safety in a clearly dangerous storm. A short while later, with wet gear and clothes in garbage bags, we drove on and headed west to escape the storm.

And we did.

And as we drive on, I consider, “isn’t that just how it is?” Life is full of a mixture of fear and laughter in the midst of storms, and if you keep driving, there’s blue just beyond…