Tomorrow, I will fulfill a commitment I made a year ago to prepare my music and play in public, when I perform up to 24 original songs at the church where Pam and I met and married. I didn’t realize at the time, about a month after she died, that following through on a dream of performing publicly while traveling around Iowa and beyond, would become such an important part of my grief journey.
Pam and I loved to drive the back roads to towns and eating establishments. We hoped it would be a significant aspect of our retirement. Fun travels. And I would ask hosts and barkeeps if I might sit in a corner and play. With Pam’s passing, I decided to keep the dream alive.
I’ve been working/playing nearly every day for a year leading up to this point. Tomorrow is my debut. I’m not sure where I go from here, but I’m working on new goals like recording the rest of my current play list, as well as polishing another group of songs that have been on a back burner for years. Playing at open mics will help keep sharp what I have been working so hard to develop.
Attempting to share more of me through my music, I have updated my Songs page to include all of the songs from Catching Up on Life, recorded in 2013. Hopefully, that page will grow significantly over the next few weeks/months as I record more of my current repertoire.
This is a bittersweet occasion. So many memories, hopes, emotions, challenges, and now, fulfilment. My love, Pam, made this all possible. She listened (probably more than she wanted). She encouraged. She dreamed along with me. She allowed me to be me. Even in death Pam’s love for me, and mine for her, helped me get through the roughest times and begin to create a future for me, without her. A future that still includes her through memories and songs. Songs of love and affection about and to her.
I will play on. For Pam. For me. To share with all of you who might listen. I am humbled and hopeful.
Today, July 27th, is the 365th day of reading Healing After Loss by Martha W. Hickman. It is the “last” page for me since one can begin any day and continue for a year. I have been partaking of this ritual faithfully for the past year, even before my first cup of coffee, as I have wanted to get my head and heart around my feelings and the challenges of each day of grief and rebuilding my life.
Before opening the book today, I suggested to myself that it will be interesting to find out if it would contain something profoundly pertinent to this day, or only another encouraging message to help me get through the day, and the year. I am quoting the page in its entirety below:
The quote
Since her grief had brought her fully to birth and wakefulness in this world, an unstinting passion had moved in her, like a live stream flowing deep underground, by which she knew herself and others and the world.
Wendell Berry
The Message
It is a difficult birth – this coming into full wakefulness through grief – and not everyone comes out ennobled. But since the rewards of doing it well are as multitudinous as the stars in the sky, it behooves us to do whatever we can to come through well.
What may it take? Attention to our own needs, our state of mind. Reading. Rest. A willingness to be vulnerable again. Counseling, maybe. Talking with understanding friends. For some, prayer, meditation, participation in a healing community.
What we can be sure of is that we will be different. Whether we will be embittered and sad or compassionate and, in a deep sense, happy is not totally within our power to decide. But the outcome may be more within our power than we think. Like any birth, it has its pains and dangers. But it is new life at stake here – new life!
Marth W. Hickman
The Thought
I will use all the power I possess to come through this well.
Martha W. Hickman
This message encapsulates how I have spent all of my energy this past year (plus). These things I have done, in one form or another. I am confident that I will not be embittered but rather I feel renewed compassion for people, all of whom have their griefs and challenges to bear and come through. And though the pains and dangers still arise, I look forward to my new life, though a life without Pam, knowing she is always with me in my heart and that this is what she would want for me.
Thank you Martha Hickman (now deceased), for grounding me with your daily messages, walking with me along this arduous path through loss and grief. I am putting your book aside for now, knowing that it will be there any day of the year I need it as an anchor for my soul.
Pam’s 72nd Birthday is Tuesday, July 11th (I used to call it lucky 7/11). I am celebrating by playing my first “concert” at our home church in Northern Iowa on Sunday the 9th, a milestone in my commitment to Pam and me. It will be followed by a celebration for Pam’s Birthday with family. A celebration of Pam’s life. A celebration also of survival, of coming through.
(The third in this 3-part series to chronicle my recent trip)
Traveling down the interior west of California was less stressful than expected. My B-I-L and I worked out a route that kept me away from major cities like LA. I whizzed past vineyards and fruit farms, and on through desert, mountains, and hills, though most of the trip was through flatlands.
I eventually arriving for a visit with my niece in Palm Desert. We had a great evening catching up on our lives and drinking wine while watching the sun set over the mountains from her balcony. She enjoys the view every evening. Thank you, Mindy, for being – you, and for sharing your new life and hospitality with me. Too much fun!
On toward my next destination, a visit with Pam’s brother in Chandler, AZ. But not before a side trip to Joshua Tree National Park. This was a scheduled stop I planned when I realized that it was only a short distance out of the way to AZ. Though I hadn’t planned to stop for long, I decided to drive through the park, and am so happy I did.
Pictures don’t adequately convey the vastness of space punctuated by hundreds, even thousands, of Joshua Trees, which are actually more cactus than tree. The rock formations were an added bonus. Rock climbers frequent the craggy uprisings. There is even one called Skull Rock for obvious reasons. I did not stop for a close up as there was a crowd and I wanted to get through the park. But this is well worth the visit if you are in the general area.
Exiting the park, I was at the east end of Twenty-nine Palms, CA. I turned right and immediately came upon a sign saying “No Services Next 108 Miles.” Into the desert I went. I kept thinking about how Hotlanta insisted I bring plenty of water on the trip – just in case. Fortunately, I didn’t need it, as my trusty Honda steed performed faithfully and fluently through the gradual rises and falls across the desert landscape. And what a landscape! Broken up only by distant mountains, the paved road I was on and often could see for many miles ahead, a few named, sandy roads that darted either left or right into the tumbleweed leading to humble trailers and shacks, dwellings of those who dared challenge the harsh desert environment. On to Phoenix. Too much fun!
My brother-in-law, Dave, and I developed a connection last year during the last days of Pam’s time alive on this earth. I’m not sure if it is our artistic affinity, our place in line as third of four siblings, or just our similar natures. Whatever it is, I appreciate him and am happy to have had the opportunity to visit him in his home and hang out for an extra stopover day.
Mexican food was finally on the menu. I’d been in the southwest for nearly a week and had yet to sample this cuisine. Dave took me to a couple places having different atmosphere and menus. Thank you, Dave!
Between eating and sleeping we found time to work on a 1,500 piece jigsaw puzzle (are you done yet, Dave?) and enjoyed a hot, rocky hike up the Telegraph Pass Trail, southwest of the city. Though a bit of a challenge, we enjoyed the outdoors, exercise, and companionship afforded to those who make the journey.
That’s a tall cactus in the distance on the ridge
We started at the level of those buildings, around the mountain to the right. Dave catching a bit of the little available shade
My time with Dave was yet another in a list of highlights I experienced during this cross-country trip. I appreciate just being in good company doing things we enjoy together. What a gift! Too much fun!
Traveling on toward my next layover in Santa Fe included an unexpected side trip to Petrified Forest National Park, a remote exit along I-40 in the middle of the desert. I enjoyed browsing the visitor center and gift shop, viewing (and touching) the exhibits, and adding several shot glasses to my collection. Unfortunately, the most interesting natural displays of petrified trees are near the south end of a 26-mile drive with no way back to the interstate except by backtracking. My daily trek was too long to afford the time, so on I drove. My stay in Santa Fe was short and uneventful.
On to Kearney, Nebraska. Another beautiful, windy, undulating drive through the mountains poured me out to the rolling plains of southeast Colorado. Sadly leaving the mountains behind, I left the interstate, taking state highways through NW Kansas and up into southern Nebraska. Four states in one day.
I could see billowing, cauliflower clouds building far in the distance in the direction I was going. Technology has its place and came in handy as I opened my weather app, flipping back and fourth between it and my route in Google Maps. This led to a series of route changes keeping me west of the storms. Unfortunately, they were directly over the Kearney area. I couldn’t avoid them forever. Fortunately, I went through only a few miles of downpour on I-80 as I approached Kearney from the west. The rain was over by the time I got there and it didn’t rain again until the overnight hours.
The mad dash home with cloudy skies and the final 471 miles ahead. I caught the heavy rain again in Lincoln as, in my mind, I barreled onward toward home. It was time. Unfortunately, traffic from Omaha east was heavy, especially for a Saturday, with the unavoidable road construction and semis passing semis, which actually caused more delay than all of the construction I encountered. I just want to get home!
And, of course, I did. The end of one of the best trips I’ve had in a while. Partly for what I didn’t experience along with the good times I did. I didn’t experience constant sorrow, nor the need to be home, nor the constant pain of missing Pam, she not being able to share the trip with me, nor even the ability to call and tell her about it. Yes, I did feel those things along the way. My thoughts and emotions are still sore, but healing. I am sad that life has to be this way. But I am glad that life goes on. And, so far, with me a part of it.
Thank you, Hotlanta, for taking the initiative to make this happen. I know it was good for all of us. And it was – too much fun!
(The second in this 3-part series to chronicle my recent trip. Just a short post)
Though the drive was mostly enjoyable, the vacation really began upon arrival at California Dreamin’s house. Once I parked the car at the motel, Hotlanta and I didn’t have to do anything the entire time we were there (except me playing music). OMG! A real vacation. What’s up with that?! Snacks, drinks, open air, patio with a view! Ah.
Within a couple hours, travel snacks ingested, we were strolling along Seacliff State Beach in Aptos. The beach and campground sustained significant damage from winter storms, destroying the pier and further sinking the ship which lays prostrate just off the shoreline. But the weather was clear and “warm”, the air hinting of salt, and the sounds of the waves rolling up on the sand. After more food, drink, and live music – me – we retired for the day. Too much fun!
With California Dreamin’ and her husband as travel guides, we ventured into the “country” for a hike in the woods on day two. Another beautiful day in the hills with plenty to gawk at including a redwood stand and a mighty Eucalyptus, both for which I lay in the path to take the shots. I even talked to the trees, thanking them for – being. Too much fun!
More food, drink, and music – the second day.
Happy Birthday, California Dreamin’! With more family joining in, we celebrated with balloons and decorations, gifts, and of course, food, drink, and music. The party continues – the third day.
Our last day with California Dreamin’ was pretty much rinse and repeat with even more family to see and share in the festivities. We had such a great time catching up with everyone.
As you would expect, the time went too fast, much of it just talking, munching, and feeling like family. It is wonderful to have healthy, happy relationships with siblings (all of them!) and their families – the fourth day. Too much fun!
Though this leg of the journey was most important and enjoyable, I won’t go into detail about our family interactions, making this the shortest of the three related posts. I’m sure you understand.
Stay tuned for part three of California – Not a Bust posting on Monday, June 26th
This is the first of three posts for “California – Not a Bust” chronicling my trip to CA for my sister’s birthday. These posts will publish on successive days beginning Saturday, June 24, 2023.
Why Trip Out?!
My California Dreamin’ sister just celebrated a milestone birthday. My Hotlanta sister wanted to be there for the celebration. I chose to go to satisfy birthday wishes for both. Hotlanta’s birthday falls on the anniversary of Pam’s death, May 12th. I wanted to give her a special gift so that she knows that I totally differentiate the two events. Making the trip was a win, win, win for the three of us and we got to see several family members as a bonus!
Getting there was fun – but not even half!
Planning well in advance reduces travel stress. But I was pleasantly surprised when I arrived in Sidney, NE the first evening to find that there were no rooms available anywhere close. Glad I had a reservation! It turns out that a matriarch of the Cabela family died a few days prior. The funeral was scheduled for the next day, but the viewing and Wake began the evening I arrived. I thought it was funny seeing several men in black suits, white shirts, and skinny black ties come out of the motel as I was entering. Lots of hustle and bustle inside.
Mary Cabela was one of Cabela’s’ founders. The Cabela family is from the area and is large. Apparently the motels were packed with extended family, friends, and probably a host of loyal customers.
My son and I were in the original Sidney Cabela’s in 2002. It was a sprawling one-story structure that looked like a strip mall on the outside, and a maze of rooms with various “departments” of sporting goods of nearly all types spread throughout. Cabela’s has since sold to Bass Pro Shops.
Day two brought a nearly immediate smile as the topography quickly changed to bluffs and pastures west of Sidney. The flats of eastern Nebraska faded in my rear view as I rose further above sea level, viewing small flocks of prong-horn amongst grazing cattle, some near enough to catch their gaze, others like polka dots in the distance. Too much fun!
Mountains loomed like low-level storm clouds in the distance as I approached Cheyanne, WY. Snow pack was still prevalent atop the taller ranges to the southwest. Before long I saw snow near the highway as I continued to gain altitude and began to weave my way through the rocky ranges.
To my delight, mountains surrounded me for the rest of my journey to Salt Lake City, my second stop. Wind and rain welcomed me as I traversed the city, ending up on the west side where I could see the Lake’s low water level from my motel room. Wind and rain continued into the night, the American flag in front of the building snapping so loud it woke me in the middle of the night.
The morning brought calm, sunny weather, ideal for the next leg of the journey. I drove along the south end of the lake for miles, as it transformed into salty desert landscape, flat as a table top, with mountain ranges surrounding both near and far. I didn’t realize that I was heading for the Bonneville Salt Flats until I came to the exit for the flats and the Bonneville Speedway. Though I’d traveled through here in 2006, I didn’t remember seeing them. Too much fun!
I continued west to Reno, NV through mountain passes and vast desert land, smiling the whole way. Fair weather, comfortable car, Goin’ Mobile.
I wish I could say that the entire journey to the south of the bay on day four was a pleasure. But as expected, California driving is not a California dream! Traffic picked up as I approached the state line, headed toward Sacramento. On west from there for a while then a sharp turn south toward San Jose. Traffic. Interstate parking lots for no apparent reason. Yep. Just what I expected. The one positive part of this experience was the presence of flowering shrubs and Eucalyptus trees in the medians and along the shoulders of the interstate. Unfortunately, I couldn’t gawk for fear of hitting another sardine in the tin, or the or the tin itself!
My sister chose to fly to CA, approximately nine hours door to door. I chose to drive three and a half days. We arrived at California Dreamin’s house within an hour of each other. Let the party begin!
Stay tuned for part two of California – Not a Bust posting on Sunday, June 25th
But true, none-the-less. I was in the car for most of the week. It’s difficult to write while driving. Hopefully, I am gathering material for future posts along the way. Consequently, this will be a short post, what Pam used to call a “lick-and-a-promise” type of post (though she was referring to cleaning the house).
So I would like to take this opportunity to convey my thanks, once again, to all of you, my faithful followers, for your continued reading. But also for your continued positive feedback for my subject matter and my writing. Wut Javia, including my writing, sharing music, and other aspects of my life, has become an integral part of my grieving process. Not only is it an outlet for working through my thoughts and emotions, but a medium for honoring Pam’s life; the life of the most amazing, caring, and truly nice person I ever met.
Thank you. Without your participation and encouragement, this past year would surely have been a much darker, more difficult path to navigate.
My current travels exemplify the process of moving forward with life. With an eye on the past with Pam, I am purposefully opening myself to experiences that might become part of my new life without her. I know this is what she expected of me, hoped for me, and approves of. I hope that I can live the rest of my life in a manner that continues to honor hers.
Just before leaving, I turned to look at my living room and said, out loud, “I know you are not here anymore. But I am taking you with me.” I did smile.
This week’s subject was supposed to be Egocentricity. But I’m putting that on hold to recount to you my Memorial Day weekend excursion. I promise I will still be egocentric when I write about egocentricity later 😉
I had an opportunity to spend some guy time with my son Daniel last weekend. The rest of the family was visiting other relatives. As expected, we picked up just where we left off; debating the world’s problems, contemplating the origins of the universe, reminiscing about our many travels, and eating fun and fancy foods.
The rest of the family returned Monday and I enjoyed playing my music to an appreciative audience (special shout out to Claire and Ellie who listened intently for quite a while). We had fun around the yard and later, eating pizza. Unfortunately, reality intervened as they had to get ready for school and work the next day.
Tuesday was supposed to be a day to chill. But I had seen signs off the highway for the High Trestle Trail Bridge. I had always wanted to get on that bridge. But I never made it during my bike/trike riding days.
Summer of 2006 before my solo tripMy roadster – lot of miles. Lot of fun
With plenty of time on my hands I set off to find the bridge. In this case, Google Maps was not helpful. It took me to a trailhead miles away from the bridge, no matter how I phrased the location. I stopped in Polk City for directions and was sent to Madrid. Another convenience store attendant gave me good directions to the trailhead from there. 0.9 miles from there to the bridge. I finally made it.
Guitar on back, I took off across the bridge. High temperature, hot pavement, warm breeze. It was great!
A view from the middle. I could hear a heron or gull or some water foul, but I never saw it. Some interesting history of the railroad
Looking back
There is an elevated overlook just off the west end of the bridge. Turn right, walk up, and there ya go. I’ve seen the Saylorville Reservoir near here when it was filled with water from tree line to tree line.
I sat in the shade, unzipped my guitar case and began to play. Too much fun. A single cyclist ventured up to the deck, peered through the free binoculars, and left again. Play more music.
An older man on a recumbent trike rode up, dismounted and peered over the rail. He then approached me and asked if he could record my playing. His girlfriend plays flute and performs with her friend who is a harpist. I’m not sure why he thought she would find it interesting, but sure, why not.
I played about half of I Look Away, including lyrics, “when I can see what you’ve done for me…” We got to talking. He said he could relate to the lyrics in his new relationship. Not what the song is about, but that doesn’t matter. He related. Isn’t that what music and artistry is all about?! He lost his wife a year and a half ago. An aortic aneurism. Fast. It’s always interesting to find connections with people when one is willing to open up. I’m happy to have met this stranger and share some humanity with him!
I played for a bit more, then began the return trek across the bridge. Another successful, unanticipated excursion. Check this minor bucket item off the list. I made it to the bridge and back again. Sounds like another lyric or title. Hmmm…
Hope you all were able to enjoy your Memorial Day weekend as much as I. Now we look forward to new, or familiar, summer activities. Not too long until Independence Day. That is definitely one to cherish. Let’s not lose our independence. Take that however it strikes you. And thank you to all who serve and have served, both living and passed, and sacrificed!
Bear with me for another short story before I go. A few of my walking routes take me past a Frog Hollow Kids Campus, basically a large day care center. Sometimes the children are playing outside. Sometimes they wave or say hi. Sometimes I return balls and frisbees over the fence.
Yesterday as I was walking past, a boy asked “Can you honk your horn or anything?” I answered, “No, sorry.”, and walked away laughing. Kind of made my day.
This is part three of a three-part article being published on successive days beginning Saturday, May 20, 2023
The Bridge
The route to Pam’s bridge, as I like to call it, is familiar. Not only have I traveled it a couple times in the last year, but Pam and I had traveled the same route on the way to family reunions and visits in the past. With temperatures in the lower sixties and grey, somewhat foggy skies, the weather well suited my general disposition as I approached the family farm, and thus the bridge, on the gravel roads coming from the Northeast.
Though I’ve been to the bridge enough times to remember how to get there, I was further aided, especially in terms of distance and time, by my now well-functioning Google Maps. Even so, anticipation swelled as I approached. First, the tree line along the entrance road, the farm house, and some outbuildings. Then, turning west to see the winding creek and guardrails along each side of the rural gravel road.
Numb! No tears. No words. Just me, blankly staring into the water just as I did a year ago. I dropped a daisy branch and watched it float north, turning east and out of sight as it wound its way onto the family farm property. I tossed another, the only yellow daisy branch. To my surprise, it stuck in the mud next to the water looking as though it was planted and meant to be there. A thin ray of emotional sunshine.
I tossed a third branch and enjoyed the calm as it floated away and, once again, out of sight. I pictured how Pam’s ashes filled the stream as they, too, followed the same waterway to the north, then east into the farm. Just as she had wanted.
Three more branches. What should I do? I had wanted to bring living daisies to plant but was unsure whether they would make it even a year. So I decided to “plant” a branch at each end of the bridge’s guardrail. The ground was soft, and gravel loose enough from recent rain. Yeah. This is good!
Now I’m down to one daisy branch. But I’d been there only a little while, definitely not ready to leave! So I plucked each flower stem and slowly dropped each one in its own time into the water, watching as they floated northward. Still no tears; no words. But maybe a little more at peace with letting go, as I have the flowers. Moving on without Pam and yet having her with me all of the time, just not as either of us had wanted.
Alice’s Restaurant
No, not the one in Arlo Guthrie’s song. It is, as far as I can tell, the only restaurant in Creston, Nebraska. We held a luncheon there after the family memorial service at the family church last year.
I’d had no coffee nor anything substantial to eat yet, so I sat at the bar, ordered and enjoyed a burger, fries, and lots of coffee. There were few people there and I appreciated the solitude of the moment to reflect on my visit to the bridge. Now I wept. I wept for the finality of Pam’s passing. I wept for her not being with me to visit the people and places she cherished so. I wept that Alice didn’t remember that we’d even been there the previous year. It’s over. The deed is done. It’s time to go home.
Home Again, and Bad Weather
Yep. I was ready. I charted a backroad route only to find that it would take nearly seven hours to get home. That won’t do. It was only about five hours mostly on Interstate. An uneventful trip that had me home just around 5pm. No weather, no battles. Good to be home. Something to eat, and unload the car. Sorting and drying equipment would wait another day. This night I would try to come to grips with the emotional roller coaster of, well, the last few weeks, and the truncated camping weekend.
By now, I just had to know. Opening the weather app on my phone revealed the wisdom of my decision to pull up stakes that morning. Tornado warnings in eastern Nebraska on a direct path toward Louis and Clark State Park. As the evening unfolded, watches and warnings flooded the screen. Though there were no tornadoes reported in the area, it was clear that high winds, heavy rain, and hail marched through the campground slowly, taking a while to pass through where I would have been. Whew!
My brother-in-law sent me this picture taken near Freemont NE last Friday afternoon close to where I’d traveled. This is the same storm that proceeded NE toward L&CSP.
Less severe storms made it to my home in the overnight hours. I opened a window by the bed and listened to the thunder and rain, watched the lightening flash, and smelled the rain soaked air. Another reminder of things Pam and I enjoyed together.
It would take a couple more days for me to tether myself back in reality, grounded in what has become my daily routine of writing, walking, and playing my music. I have much to accomplish and personal and family events to look forward to. All a bit tainted by the vast emptiness that once was filled by Pam.
My notes for this post include the statement: “Passing of a significant day doesn’t make a significant difference.” Thinking about it now, I’m not so sure. A little more looking forward. A little less looking back. How weird are our lives?!
In case you missed them, back to part one or part two of this story.
Continuing with the theme of minimal planning, I did not research L&CSP to an extent beyond choosing a campsite on the outside of the loop, along the water. It was difficult to tell from a map and a couple photos what I was actually paying for. So I was surprised to find that the last section of the drive to, and the campground itself, were very flat! Not in the hills at all. I should have known. The park is situated next to a bend in the Missouri River that was separated, by design, many years ago from the current river course to shorten and straighten the river for commercial traffic.
Arriving about 4pm on Thursday, the sky was threatening and the wind whipped up from the open waterway. First things first. Setting up the tent presented challenges in the wind. I was proud of myself for single-handedly securing all the stakes and tiedowns, thinking that I would weather a storm.
Across the CampgroundThe CampsiteThe Tent – Ready!
Not yet hungry, I played guitar for a while but thought I should prepare food, as it was beginning to sprinkle. Finally an opportunity to try the Mountain House Italian Pepper Steak I’d purchased last year (I see now that it is “currently unavailable”). Boil water, fill the bag, wait 10 minutes, eat with a spoon. Good backcountry victuals! I enjoyed it and hope I can find more for future travels.
The wind continued into the evening and through the night. I turned in before 10pm, just as the rain began in earnest. It rained for several hours. There’s no sound that compares with hard rain and wind on a tent fly. One always wonders if the stakes will hold and whether the water will stay outside the tent, both from above and below. Fortunately and happily, the tent held. Unfortunately, my sixty something bladder was closer to its limits. Very fortunately, there was a lull in the rain during which I was able to keep that liquid outside the tent as well. Ha!
One lays down, and rises, earlier when out in nature. The rain had ended by morning. All I could think about was the weather, and wanting to get to Pam’s bridge on the anniversary of her death. I had a bunch of daisies to toss into the water, to float away into the farm as did her ashes almost a year before (Memorial Day Weekend last year).
The weather forecast was a priority. Earlier in the week a 30% chance of rain and storms was predicted. By Thursday, it was 60%. As I checked the forecast this Friday morning, there was now a 95% chance of strong to severe storms developing by late afternoon and early evening. I knew that I didn’t want to be in a tent during, nor have my car subjected to, hail and even stronger winds than I had endured the night before. I made up my mind to strike camp as soon as I came back from the bridge, and figure out the rest of the weekend from there. I decided to skip making coffee and get on the road. I was not yet out of the park when I realized my stress level was elevated just pondering whether I had time to make it to Nebraska and back before severe weather erupted either at camp or along the way. Turn around. Pull stakes. Say goodbye to L&CSP.
I was thrilled to find that the only wet parts of the tent were the fly, the stakes, and the tiedown lines. Even the tent footprint was dry on both sides. I’d rarely seen that in the past after a rain. A little ray of sunshine in an otherwise gloomy (emotionally and atmospherically) day. Knowing that I would probably be headed home from NE, I didn’t worry much about the packing, just making sure I hadn’t left anything behind, that it all fit back in the car, and that it would not rattle around too much as I drove. I hate that!
And so I headed west toward Nebraska, drinking Frappuccino and munching oatmeal raisin cookies. It would be after my visit to the bridge before I ate a meal.
This is part one of a three-part article being published on successive days beginning Saturday, May 20, 2023
Thoughts of going camping over the weekend that included the one-year anniversary of Pam’s death came as a way of breaking up a long drive to Nebraska while checking off a visit to scenic Loess Hills in Western Iowa. I had camping equipment I’d yet to use and wanted to experience camping again nearly a year after visiting Mammoth Caves and Green River Lakes last summer.
The Plan
Of course I had a plan, but a loose one compared to my preparations for most travels. Yes, I did create a Google route to keep me off major highways and on course. And yes, I did duplicate a camping/backpacking spreadsheet – but only to ensure that I didn’t forget anything. So, okay, at least in my mind it was not minutely planned. I fully expected to take it as it came, adapting to circumstances.
I would leave on Thursday the 11th with Louis and Clark State Park as my final destination that day. I prepaid three nights of tent camping. I’d make the trip to Pam’s bridge at the farm on Friday, the actual anniversary, then back to the park as a base camp for yet unknown (and unplanned) adventures Saturday along the Loess Hills Scenic Byway. Home again on Sunday.
The planning that I did do, and the anticipation of the journey, were enough to keep my mind from much of the detail, over the last couple weeks, of what took place a year ago. I was aware, though, that my emotions were lurking in the background.
A Sketchy Start
A misguided Google Maps was my first clue that I would, in deed, have to take things as they came, when my location was consistently about 1/2 mile off the routed highway. The pleasant female British voice kept telling me to take the next right, at every gravel road that would lead me back to the road that I was actually on! I had to dig deep into my troubleshooting bag of tricks over multiple stops, to solve the issue. On my third stop and fixit attempt, I forced a stop of the application, then rebooted my phone. I’ve not had any issue with it since!
New Providence Hardware
This would be a great trip to take a detour to one of the interesting stops recommended by a daily email that suggests restaurants and attractions one might want to visit, Only In Iowa. New Providence Hardware was on my saved list of places so I added an out-of-the-way stop on my way to Loess Hills. After all, I had all day to get there and was up for an adventure. I figured I’d have lunch there and then continue my journey.
I timed my departure to arrive around 11:30. But that was delayed by my stops to fix my location issue. So I got there around noon. New Providence was all of two blocks long with the hardware store and a bank flanking the only north/south road through town.
I hadn’t reviewed the article about New Providence Hardware for some time so it came as a bit of a surprise when I found no restaurant either in nor near the store. No lunch! But it was fun just to be there, including taking a toilet break in the basement with dirt floor and a plethora of old grinding and lathing equipment, and metal shavings on the floor. At least the toilet was clean.
I got to talking with Heather who must have grown up in New Providence. She knew that there had not been a restaurant in town for at least 25 years and that the “soda shop” next door could be rented for events and hosted a free will lunch on Mondays. That’s it. I bought a Hank’s Gourmet Cream Soda just because.
Heather smiled widely when I asked to take her picture. I took special pleasure in capturing the mannequin as well. I see now that I missed part of the head. Oh well. Heather was delightful with her information about the town. I returned to the counter on my way out to tell her that I’d used worse toilets in my time.
On to Louis and Clark State Park (L&CSP). I finally grabbed an Italian Wrap sandwich at a Casey’s in Nevada IA, washing it down with the cream soda. The rest of the trip to L&CSP was uneventful but pleasant as I rode into the hills of Western Iowa.
