Gypsy Road Trip -- The Itinerary

I thoroughly agree. We can't wait for joy to fall from the sky and hit us on the head. We have to actively seek it.

And with this, I bring you the next installment.

6pm June 8 - 3pm June 12
KIMBERLY'S HOUSE:
Actually it's not her house per se; it's her boyfriend's. And since their relationship has certain problems, she's not sure how long she'll stay, but for now she's there.

Michael (BF) bought this property 10 years ago, and bought the adjacent property maybe 5 years later when it became available, so he would have the right-of-way to all the roads leading in. It's 5 miles past a one-stop sign town called Railroad Flats, at the end of a long dirt road in the mountains. It's about a bazillion acres and borders on U.S. Forestry Land on three sides. The Forestry land is protected so he'll never have any neighbors. There's the upper house, where they both live; the lower house (the second property) which they're renovating; and a small garden. The rest is wild. Kimberly originally lived in the lower house as a renter. When it's renovated, they (assuming Kimberly is still there) will move into the lower house and rent out the upper. He's a contractor and electrician, and Kimberly is an apprentice electrician. They're doing the work themselves. It's Michael's dream.

At night we'd go out on the porch and turn out the lights. There are no other lights for at least a mile, over the hill and not even visible from their house. The night sky was choked with stars against the blackness. I've never seen so many stars, and it was humbling. After my eyes adjusted to the dark I'd see deer and racoons.

I thought, "This is how it was before the land was settled."

Wow! Another exciting episode. I loved the images. It must have been beautiful all over this land before it was settled.
Your trip sounds so wonderful. I think we should crown you the official "Boomer Vagabond."
smile

I love the sound of that place, no lights just stars. I've been camping in places like that. But it makes me feel very vulnerable - I don't think I would have made a pioneer woman. I like to be able to switch on the light.

...did you write a poem about this...??

I second the title of "Boomer Vagabond". That was no ordinary trip. Meredith, you have such interesting friends.

Did they fall in love while she was renting from him?

Meredith, your trip sounds great. I tend to side toward the nomadic life so I am jealous with capital letters.

Also, I never explored northern california.

Dotise you are so funny and predictable. You always wnat to know how people fell in love. I think I was trying to make a point during one post about the boat etc and all you wanted to focus on was how John and I got together. Must be your gift for caring for others coming out.

Tell us more Meredith,

Lynn

FROM THE DESK OF THE OFFICIAL BOOMER VAGABOND

Some specific answers:

Julie, I feel more vulnerable while camping because of bears and mountain lions. We were right near the house and could've run inside if necessary. Except for three specific phobias, I'm not afraid of much. I didn't write anything specifically about this experience but my overall work is laced with connections to nature. Sometimes I don't want to be redundant if I've written similar pieces. I would've made a great pioneer woman -- provided they let me be the scout, and didn't stick me with "women's chores."

Dotsie, after she moved into the lower house as a renter, Kimberly started working as Michael's electrician apprentice because he needed help with his contract work and she needed a job. Two years later she moved in with him. Neither of them loves the other. He is permanently scarred from a bad marriage (dissolved 15 years ago) and she had just left an abusive relationship. It was convenient and less lonely to live together, and from the start there weren't many illusions.

Dear The Divine Ms M and OFFICIAL BOOMER VAGABOND....

okay...we're gonna have to do something bout that title....TDMMAOBV...Nope, it doesn't work as an acronym either...hmmm...

I could picture the stars, the porch, the silence as you sat and had thoughts of the grandness of it all, even the critters roaming the hillsides. Nice. More please.

JJ

Kimberly's House, cont.

We hiked through a lot of the local scenery. We visited a national monument called Black Chasm, a really neat underground cave. We were the only people on the last tour of the afternoon so it was our own private guided tour! There were all these weird spirally and lacey formations hanging down from the cave, crystalline structures and alien-looking growths. Spotlights drew your eyes to the most unusual ones. This cave is supposed to be the best and largest example of these formations in the world. I can't tell you what they're called because I've already filed the touristy brochure someplace where I'll probably never find it. But I have a great filing system.

We caught up on each other's lives, since it's been several years. We played scrabble (which we do regularly online.) Kimberly dehydrates her own fruit, strawberries, cherries and blackberries that grow on their property. It's two hours down the mountain to go shopping, so they go once every 7-10 days depending on need. In the winter they go even less; hence the dried fruit. I thought about how spoiled I am, with a bazillion stores nearby my house.

My last night there I volunteered to cook dinner. I said I would make Meredith Surprise, because no one, including me, had any idea what the hell I was making. Kimberly sauteed fresh-caught salmon (just to be sure Michael would have something to eat. She's such a good friend, she would've eaten my stuff regardless.) The good news is, it turned out pretty well and we ate all of it -- SURPRISE!! Do not, repeat, DO NOT ask for the recipe. I was probably in Zen Cooking Mode so it could've been anything. I do remember using a garlic press so there may have been garlic.

I left Saturday afternoon after much good-byes. Both Kimberly and Michael kept telling me I was welcome back whenever I wanted to stop in. Kimberly wanted to give me a two-year food supply. I said: I already have a two-year food supply, and I only have one more week of vacation. But I took some dried fruit.

Merdith, you have to at least tell us the ingredients in the meal. Please. I'm assuming the salmon was caught on their property.

I said "don't ask for the recipe" because I honestly don't remember. I just started pulling things out of their refrigerator and cabinets, chopping it up and throwing it into a pan. I had no idea what I'd find. But here's what I sort of remember: yellow squash, mushrooms, garlic, onion, sunflower seeds, some green something or another. With rice. I think. And as with everything I cook, seasoning is very important.

Ah, I like the sunflower addition. I never would have thought to add that to a veggie medley.

MORE TRAVEL STORIES

Saturday June 12:
Driving from the mountains, through wine country, across San Francisco Bay and to Point Reyes National Seashore, it again struck me what a physically beautiful land California is. The geography beckons me; I can almost observe the landscape evolving through the eons, as if I could see time. The people and cities are blips on a larger radar. Wherever I go here, I feel at home.

Point Reyes is a peninsula that broke off from the mainland about 1000 years ago in a huge earthquake. Flora and fauna have evolved into species that exist nowhere else. I feel like I'm entering another world. I last visited three years ago, when my husband sulked and refused to speak to me for one day of our 2-day vacation. This time, I'm staying by myself for three days. His past behavior strikes me as an affront to the land itself, and I'm determined to create new memories that honor the spirit of this magical place.

June 13:
I pack a knapsack for a full day at the beach: sunscreen, hat, writing supplies, water and the ubiquitous trail mix. Wind gusts from the north, swirling sand through mid-air. I want to traverse the length of Limantour Beach, to the far end where I'll be alone with the sand, sky, Pacific Ocean and my writing materials. If I choose south the wind will be at my back but I'll be walking straight into it on my return, when I'll be more tired.

I head north. The wind is so strong, I can barely walk. I pull my sweatshirt hood over most of my head, and am thankful for large sunglasses which keep the sand out of my eyes. After an hour, I stop under a scraggly tree on a sand hill to write a poem that's been forming since I embarked.

There is sand in my pockets, in my knapsack, even a little in the trail mix. I click the pen and sand clogs the ball point. I write anyways. In the course of the poem, I swat swarms of annoying beach flies, two of which splatter on the paper. I think: if I ever get famous, this original manuscript with dead fly blood will be worth a lot of money. Collectors always love the macabre.

I continue northwards. Every dozen steps I turn around 180, to rest and breathe deeply with the wind at my back. Several times I contemplate turning around but I'm determined to reach the sand spit crowning the beach. Why am I here, if not to walk and write and be at one with nature? If I wanted comfort, I could've stayed in my car.

Two hours later I stumble up to the estuary at the end of the peninsula. I haven't seen another person for over an hour. The beach is filled with what appears to be 60-70 sand bags, I assume to keep the tide from washing away precious land.

I'm wrong! A school (herd? pride?) of harbor seals basks in the sun at the shoreline, where the ocean turns around and flows into the estuary. They're mink brown in the water, so I didn't recognize the close-knit clumps of beige until I walked closer. The new pups (about four of them) are silver-black. When they see (smell?) me, the entire group waddles ungracefully into the water, where they evolve into sylph-like creatures. They swim out to a safe distance, eyes constantly watching and smiling at me.

Around the corner is a smaller herd, maybe 30, which reacts identically to their cousins.

For all my years of walking miles at the beach, I have never been blessed with the sight of 100 harbor seals sunning themselves and shielding the pups in the middle of the group. If I had turned back -- as I was tempted dozens of times when I could barely place one foot in front of the other in the blowing sand -- I would never have experienced this.

As I skirted the estuary and headed south, the grit in my trail mix didn't seem nearly as bad.

Meredith,
Your writing is so excellent. I was absolutely there. You must write a novel.
smile