Montana postscript

Love, LOVE this photo that has hung in our family room

for many years. It's soft and sweet and fun.

Katie, David, Mark and I

were riding a ski lift to the top of Big Mountain, Montana.

It was intense at times: riding 5300 miles

with a husband and four kids. 

Feeding them. Laughing at their jokes.

 Boys being boys.

Sleeping in tight quarters with no privacy.

Listening to their grumbling. And they mine.

Holding my little girl's hand as she fell asleep in a tipi

because she saw an enormous spider.

But somehow, I'd do it all over again. 

And again.

the one-crate trip: on the road with Big Red

In 1998 we went a little crazy and drove with our four kids to Montana and back. It was, hands down (kids, correct me if I'm wrong) the most memorable and fun family shenangigan ever. A few highlights:

* We rented a 12-passenger van that we named BIG RED. The back bench seat stayed home in the garage, providing us plenty of cargo space. Four kids got three bench seats which of course lent itself to some riotous, sibling-type situations.

* I gave each kid a plastic milk crate for the 15-day trip; an 18-inch square cube. No duffles, no suitcases. If it didn't fit in your crate, it stayed at home! I was that bossy. Hey, we stopped in campgrounds along the way, equipped with laundries. The crates stacked perfectly and worked! We also threw in sleeping bags, two coolers, food crates, propane stove, dishes, pots and pans, and a pillow for every head.

With the exception of a swanky resort in Whitefish, Montana for Bill's business conference, we stayed in KOA campgrounds. I let go of my tacky, Yogi Bear-stereotype of these facilities: they were actually ideal while traveling with four squirrely kids. We'd pull into Devil's Tower, Wyoming or where-have-you and the kids would leap from Big Red and head for the pool or playground, happily occupied while I began assembling the dinner grub. Camping, as one mom aptly put it, is just taking your housework to the woods. But I capitalized on the opportunity to teach the children some life skills ...

We once met a family whose rule was that only children over age 6 went on the family vacations. I thought this a little extreme until our Montana trip. Let's just say our youngest family member, age 8, was tired and cranky approximately 14 and 1/2 days of the 15-day trip.

I went a little overboard with my enthusiasm for history. The kids were ready to gag me as I said for the 15th time in North Dakota: "Gee, imagine being a settler and doing this in a covered wagon!" Poor kids.

We discovered history (Little Bighorn battlefield my favorite), saw buffalo, cooked and did dishes together, got up extra-early to beat the crowds to Old Faithful, slept in a tipi and tiny cabins in rain and wind storms, and rode "to the sun" in Glacier National Park in "jammers." We especially built memories as a family that will last forever.

I have a hunch our kids will find a way to take their little rascals on such an adventure. That is, after they turn 10.

baby's head

I'm enamored by my granddaughter

Ari's head.

It's very nearly perfect.
A little oversized for her body
as a baby's head always is.

Soft whorls of downy hair,
lying lovely: no style needed.

Her head, always warm
against my cheek nuzzling close,
draws me back to days with
my own babies.

And she doesn't mind a bit.

backseat photographer

We sailed into Columbus Thursday at dusk. I sat in the backseat and grabbed my camera. Can you tell I wasn't even using the view finder??

the Columbus skyline

the sun slips behind Riverside hospital

trees silhouetted, on the verge of spring

almost home.

Dad

Dear Dad,

It was good to see you for a short visit.

In many ways, you're still Dad.

Witty, sarcastic, winsome.

But hard to really know.

Your spirit fights to stay in life's loop,

like shopping for a truck.

Though you'll never again drive a truck,

 we humor you.

It seems almost the cruel but the right thing to do.

You share memories of life
on an Arkansas farm 75 years ago.
Your house had long porches, a study with a library table
and painted wood floors. No phone or air conditioning.

Yet you don't always know the day of the week.
It seems you search your mind to connect the dots
of confused thoughts.

 But for these visits you know me and we talk and laugh
and for that I am grateful.
love you,
Barb

road buddies

Do you know this place?

It's incredibly amazing!

And I made a quick stop there with my road buddies this week.

The Grove Park Inn

in Asheville, North Carolina.

If you can't stay there, at least park, walk through

the lobby, notice the fireplaces tall enough to walk into

 and see the stunning view of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

In two years the Grove Park Inn will turn 100.
Might have to plan a stay.

three of my favorite girls