Sensory Overload

Headed to the Grand Canyon on sensory overload.
We make our way to the next stop, Dolores, Colorado, probably the smallest town I've every spent time in.
Dolores is what is left of a stop on the rail lines. The center of the "square" is the old train depot.
The Dolores River runs through the town. It was named by Spanish Catholic priests in 1776- "Rio de Nuestra Senora de las Dolores"- the River of Our Lady of Sorrows. Seems a bit of a negative cast to the humble beginnings of this area. In 1891 a railhead was established here and in the early 1900's Dolores thrived as a major stop on the rail line. The town served the surrounding mining communities as well as the farming and ranching folks and became the commercial center of the county. Hard to believe as I look out at so many ghost buildings. Unfortunately, as seems to be the sad fate in so many small towns, the rail line was abandoned in the early 50's. As I've traveled the rural areas I see many abandoned depots that would be great fixer uppers-B&B or a neat little coffee and tea emporium. Dolores still has a draw as a recreation destination but honestly, there are about 4 small businesses and I 'm amazed that they are in business at all.

We spend the night at a B&B called the Rio Grande Southern. Its historical place ranking comes from the fact that Teddy Roosevelt spent the night there when he visited a nearby area he was crowning with national park status. Zane Gray ( the famous, prolific writer of Western novels) also stayed there.
Accommodations are adequate. made all the better because we're the only takers. But the tiny little hole-in-the wall restaurant on the ground floor... now that's another story all together. The owners are chief cook and bottle washer and are so friendly and accommodating, I think I could come down to breakfast in my PJ's and they would be totally and it won't phase them. Just feels like home folks. Great hickory smoked beef brisket salad in case your wondering.
(By the way, it has really surprised me that every restaurant we've eaten breakfast in so far has had grits on the menu.)
Dolores gets the distinction of being the first time I've seen a medical marijuana dispensary. Welcome to the West. Had to have a picture of that.
Next stop- on to the big ditch.

Monuments

This is gonna be a long one- lots to say. So turn off your distractions, open the eyes of your imagination and join me on this trek.
All through Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico and Arizona we've seen signs announcing our entrance to or departure from various Indian nations. This piqued my curiosity. An Indian reservation is land reserved for a tribe when they relinquished the rest of their land to the Federal government- knew that right? While on that reservation the local governing authority is the tribal government- didn't know that. Still don't know who gives you the ticket if you're caught speeding.
There are 275 reserved lands the largest being 16 million acres for the Navajos. The strong sense of community is evidenced by the many invitations along the way for community activities on these reservations not the very least of which are a bullarama and a Father's Day gourd dance.

Monument Valley, Arizona

There is no way that I can do justice to the vista God has created that is the landscape of Monument Valley. Take a look at the picture taken from our balcony at The View (the only hotel on this Navajo tribal land) and prepare yourself for a little lesson on earth science.

What you are seeing above are some of the buttes- West Mitten, Merrick, and East Mitten. There are several buttes and mesas to be viewed from the balcony of our room. Buttes are mesas that have been worn away by time. The landscape here is so dramatic that it has been borrowed over and over to use as a backdrop for many movies over the years.

Our sight-seeing trail takes us around the base of these buttes. As I look up at the immensity of these monuments sculpted by time and God's hand I am speechless. I feel my insignificance in the shadow of their timelessness.

We are in the desert. The temperature is 75 with virtually no humidity. I know, I know, for us Southerners, imagining this is a bridge to far. There is such a dryness as the breeze flows over my skin.
The air is so light that when I breathe I feel lighter.
It is windy and quiet in a way that only your imagination can sense. If there is a passing sound, it is immediately sucked into the vastness of the expanse.
The view continues on until it sky finally meets land.
I can see why the Navajo hold these monuments sacred. I can feel the oldness of it. It feels like it will always be here, immovable, yet like everything else in life, changes continue to happen in thousands of ways that can't be seen until the big picture is looked at from afar.
It inspires reverence. As we hike around I find that I'm deeply and personally offended to see a crushed beer can lying on the desert floor. I am changed forever by the sights and silences of this valley.

The rock and sand is red. A gorgeous shade of orange-red like the deepest colors of the sunset. Geologists tell us that this area was at one time the floor of Gulf of Mexico. Try to picture in your mind's eye water lapping the sides of the Rocky Mountains.

At some point, uplift from the Earth's mantle caused the ocean floor to crack and the sea to subside west as the Pacific and North American plates shifted. (To simulate this try taking a big cracker and pushing it towards the center from the sides. See if you can create a crack and uplifting of your own to get a sense of what was going on.)
Eventually the mud from the ocean floor, under immense pressure, became sandstone. (Sandstone reminds me of sand mixed with a little Elmer's- try it and see what happens. Don't make it too runny, more like soft dough, and then you might be able to mold it into a "monument" of your own.) Natures "Elmer's glue" comes in the form of time, heat, and pressure that "glued" all this sand together to make rock. The 'monuments" you are seeing in these pictures have been sculpted by the work of wind and rain eroding the surfaces. (Take your sand-glue creation and rub it with an emory board as wind and run water over it as rain. What happens? )
The red sand on the desert floor used to be part of the buttes and mesas of the area. I wonder what it looks like on the rare occasions that it mixes with rain? Does it look like rivers of blood?

I count myself very blessed to have been able to spend the night in this splendor.
At The View, everyone's room opens to "the view" . At night, they show a movie filmed in this area on the side of the building. You can sit on your balcony and watch.
When developing the concept of The View, the decision was made to have no swimming pool . This was done out of respect to the Navajo elders some of who still live on the desert floor and have limited access to running water. To underscore the harshness of living in this area, I see pickup trucks with big plastic tanks of water in their beds traveling into the desert to make water deliveries.

I would strongly urge you to make a trip to this area and stay at The View. It is very hard to get a reservation- we had to build our whole itinerary around this one night, the only one available. It did not disappoint.

The People. The View is staffed by Native Americans. At the dedication of this facility the Navajo nation's president stated that The View provided a much needed opportunity for employment while protecting the culture of the people. That being a plus, I still wonder how they feel about tourists invading their space. I observe a very detached air of politeness as we check in and it gives me pause to ponder.
Fun thing- movie night on the desert floor. All the room balconies are slanted so that you can sit out and enjoy. Tonight's movie of choice, surprisingly, a John Wayne western filmed in the same area we can see from our perch. It of course portrays the "Indians" in the stereotypical role I grew up with. I'm a bit uncomfortable with this, embarrassed by the staff who might be watching until I realize...the Indians doing all the bad things in the movie are Comanches and are in Navajo country.
Just one more day would make this stop complete. One more day to just sit and let the quiet wash over me and wrap around me filtering through all that's on my mind, bringing clarity to my thoughts and feelings. There is something about seeing this vista that, at least for a short while, brings perspective. Is that the trade off that keeps those Navajo elders sacrificing the conveniences of a modern world to live on the desert floor? Is it really a trade off at all?

Pushed on to Albuquerque- 800 miles in a day. Once again the land and soil changes drastically to a more red landscape and I get my first glimpse of a real life mesa.
Albuquerque was really just a place to grab some shut-eye (sound like a real cowgirl don't I?) but lucky for us, we happened upon a really fun place to eat that made Albuquerque stop a memorable visit.

The Owl Cafe. The Owl Cafe started as a small bar in the back of a grocery store started by Frank Chavez we he returned from WWII in 1945. The bar soon became the hangout for a group of "prospectors" new to the area. These guys had a very interesting day job. They were the atomic scientists that activated the famous Trinity Site explosion (first test of the bomb used to end the Great War.
Eventually the bar became a grill and, over the years, a cafe that is loved by this community. It still has that old school flavor with juke boxes at each both and along the counter. The bar (counter) is original and from Conrad Hilton's (of Hilton hotels and Paris Hilton fame) first boarding house

Dinner at the Owl starts with a serving of saltine crackers and a little dish of pinto beans with green chilie sauce. Don't know if this is a regional thing or not. With every dinner you choose a side of either red or green chile sauce. Since I had no clue as to which I'd like our waitress brought both red and green and called it "Christmas on the side".

One of the things that is icing on the travel cake comes in the form of the people you meet along the way. Our server was a sweet, diminutive, young lady of Mexican or American Indian descent (or maybe both). Picture in your mind's eye a tiny little lady with long straight black hair and cafe au lait skin. When she spoke she had the voice of a young Julia Childs. She was very obviously in her third trimester and when asked, she proudly told us this would be her second baby. A little later she quietly opened her order pad and showed us the picture she carried of her precious 5 year old daughter. She talked of those oh so typical concerns every mother has about the coming of another baby and her desire to see her daughter easily accept and adjust to the new addition. It's nice to know that some things never change- mothers are mothers the world over.
If you are out Albuquerque way be sure to take in breakfast, lunch or dinner at The Owl.

Texas, big sky, big land, big everything

I've always heard everything is bigger in Texas. We saw billboards all the way to Amarillo advertising a restaurant that sells a 72 ounce steak. Imagine, that's 4 1/2 pounds of meat. The best part is, if you can eat it all in less than an hour your meal is free.
And Texas also sports the largest cross in the hemisphere.

Texas is land and sky that stretches on to forever. Immediately on crossing the state line the soil changed from red to sandy brown. How can that be?
Houses are miles apart. Who owns all that land?
Heading down the road I was quite taken with seeing a corridor of wind turbines. Miles and miles of them. These areas of turbines are called wind farms. Texan wind farms produce the most wind power of any state in the US and Roscoe Wind Farm in Texas is the largest wind farm in the world.Tex

Where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain.....

Ooook--lahoma- can't say the word without singin' the song, right? I drove all the way through the state looking for that wind and those plains.
What I saw was red dirt, even redder water and land belonging to the Kickapoo nation.
We also drove through Canadian county with its Canadian river (wrong turn?)Know one really knows the origin of the name Canadian- its source isn't Canada.

We passed through Yukon where we saw a sign for he Czech hall where they have a Czech festival every year. Evidently Yukon became a hot spot for Bohemian immigrants and came to be know as the "Czech capital of Oklahoma".

Kickapoos- nothing fierce about that name. As I've read about this tribe I've found their name suits their nature. Kickapoos were constantly displaced because they wanted to avoid the white man who kept encroaching on their homelands and they wanted their children raised in their own culture. Kickapoos were originally part of the Woodlands Indians and were located in Michigan. They moved from there to Green Bay, Wisconsin and, after many other moves, ended up in Oklahoma and Texas. Big change huh? Considering they lived off the land,I can't imagine their learning curve.

By the way, we stopped for lunch close to the state line. Got out of the car and guess what- the wind really does come sweepin' down the plain. Glad to know you can still learn something from the movies.

Arkansas- Diamonds and Rice

Got the car loaded and headed out by noon. The first stop, Hohenwald, TN. and lunch at the Junkyard Dog :) After that on to Arkansas- home of rice and diamonds. I've never driven any farther west than Memphis. Never have even crossed the Mississippi in anything other than a plane so it was very interesting to see the change in landscape. Eastern Arkansas is very flat and very green. Miles and miles of lush green fields. I was so surprised to learn that those green fields are producing rice. Arkansas produces more rice than any other state. The fields have a beautiful curlique pattern of tiny streams for irrigation. I would love to see this from the air because the streams formed meanders that were a darker green. Meanders are lazy curves in a river or creek. "Meander" is one of those words that sounds just like it moves, long, slow, and lazy.
Arkansas is also home to the only diamond producing site in the world that is open to the public and they have a "finders keepers" policy.

Sinkholes

I'm often amazed at the way the path we walk every day mirrors nature. I think one of the reasons I've loved teaching science has been the opportunity it's given me to help my students learn life lessons by examining God's unique creation.

Take sinkholes for example. I was thinking about them as I roamed the country roads of Maury County with my dear friend. There is a story (around these parts) about a farmer who was driving his horse-drawn plow across his field when, all of a sudden, the ground dropped out from under him in a newly formed sinkhole. This area of Middle Tennessee is a karst. A karst is an area of land underlaid with rock (in this case limestone) that is filled with little nooks and crannies and tunnels and holes that provide a storage place for underground water. This water runs back and forth in little streams and underground rivers. When the acid in rain seeps through the soil and into those tunnels it wears away the limestone and the underlying foundation for the ground above. After this goes on for many years sometimes, without warning....plop....a sinkhole. (To see this in real time, grab a piece of limestone gravel and put it in a bowl of vinegar....watch for the fizz.)

As I was recalling that intriguing farmer story, I was struck by often that very thing happens in life. We can't always see what's going on underneath the surface so, there you are leisurely enjoying a walk across a beautiful, peaceful field when... plop...a sinkhole!

The good news is you can usually climb out of a sinkhole. The bad news is it definitely delays your progress and you just might have to change your route and take a detour. But, then again, detours aren't always bad things. Sometimes they take us down the road less traveled and into a whole new world.

It's all about the shoes...

One of the big plusses of the travel nursing gig is the housing benefit- the placement company provides you with a furnished place to live. (I'll let you know if I still consider that a plus after I've lived there for 13 weeks )
We have our new digs but now comes the hard part. Packing.

What you need to survive for 13 weeks is not a whole lot different from what you need to live for a year. At least that's what I tell my husband. So when I started packing a couple weeks ago I encountered a real dilemma. Shoes. Everyone knows a girl has to have shoe options. You have to have your dress red shoes and your casual red shoes, the red sandals that are flat and the red sandals that have the cute little heels. And what about those precious blue and white striped shoes with the red bows that you've just now found the perfect dress for? They couldn't possibly be left at home.
This conundrum has taken much thinking and planning on my part.
I've never invested a lot in shoes because I they are such a flight of fancy with styles changing radically from year to year. But let's face it, shoes are the exclamation point on the end of your ensemble's statement.
For just $14.99 your outfit can become something quite unique.
Maybe if I develop a decision matrix, some type of rubric, I can separate the "wheat from the chaff" and narrow my selection enough to fit in one box. As I go through the culling process my husband just shakes his head and rolls his eyes.
He just doesn't understand that it really is all about the shoes.

First stop, Columbia, TN-Not exactly on the westward trail but very definitely an oasis.

We are blessed!!
I'm not saying that to sound pious, I truly feel that way.
After the "door" closed it took a few weeks for reality to sink in and figure out our plan B. Once we found the "window", things (emotionally) began to look up. For a short time we experienced that heady feeling of excitement that comes with embarking on adventure. Then, once again, life came crashing in.
Remember that chapter on stress in your college Psych 101 class? It included a list of the top ten things that bring significant stress to your life. I have found that those stressors never seem to come one at a time. but kind of clump together like those big ugly clots when you let cream outlive its expiration date. There is never just one or two things happening but multiple layers of stress going on at one time. Consequently, in the midst of having to make some serious decisions about this change in our lives, we lived through a very traumatic experience...the Great Nashville Flood of 2010.
It began raining on Friday, April 30. The water cycle that hydrates our earth stalled out over Middle Tennessee. It poured almost nonstop for 3 days dumping 14 inches (in some places 18) on our city. Creeks became rivers, rivers became torrents,.
and any ole' low spot in the ground suddenly became a lake.
The Harpeth River decided to take a detour through the home of our son and his sweet wife (who by the way DID NOT live in a flood plain). They ended up with river water 4 feet deep in their house and lost most of what they had.
Now I was not only packing to put my own life in storage, but I was finishing out the year in my job, helping my kids salvage what they could, doing demolition on wet soggy sheetrock, insulation, and flooring, and trying to decide if we go on with our plans or postpone for a couple of months.
Needless to say, the last few weeks have been difficult on lots of levels. Maybe now you will understand why the guest house at our friends' home place in Columbia is truly oasis.

In Nashville we lived in a townhouse- great location but very noisy. Sirens all the time, a security gate in the development behind us that squeaked constantly as it opened and closed. I had to resort to sleeping with a sound machine...noise to cover up the noise. To see or hear nature I had to leave home. I've come to realize that there is a certain amount of nourishment that my soul gets from nature and for the past few years I've become quite malnourished.
For the next couple of weeks I get to enjoy a front porch with rockers, big trees to shade me, that sweet smell of things growing, and nothing but the sound of the birds.

Columbia is what I call a real Southern town. It's a small town so everywhere you go someone knows you or your people. Since it was on the Confederate army's route to the battle of Franklin there is plenty of "history" wherever you look. My husband grew up on a farm in Spring Hill and used to dig up mini-balls (Civil War ammo) in his front yard.
Columbia has several claims to fame.
James K. Polk, our 11th president, lived in Columbia.
Of course there are several plantation homes in the area. One I particularly like is Rattle-n-Snap, named for the ole' timey game of chance in which you rattled your dice and snapped your fingers when you threw them. Up towards Spring Hill there is Rippavilla where the Confederate generals spent the night before the Battle of Franklin. But by far, the best claim to fame Columbia has is Mule Day. Columbia's roots are sunk deep in an agrarian culture. It used to be considered the Mule Capital of the World, the hub for buying and selling mules (the workhorse of the farmer.) Every year King Mule was and still is celebrated with The Annual Mule Day Parade. Personally, I've always thought the very best thing about Mule Day is the reason it gives you to to throw a whoppin' big party.
Well, that's the latest stop on the High road. Love your family, hold your friends close, and keep your faith in front of you.

When God closes a door he opens a window.....for real?

I hate that saying. It's one of those sayings people use when they are in a "happy-go-lucky" place and you are wallorin' like a pig in slop.

In my life God closing the door has never been a pretty sight and usually plays itself out something like this.
The door is usually one I enjoy using thus the reason I keep using it. So when it slams I begin knocking on it and jiggling the knob to see if it's really locked or if the wind just blew it shut. In pure frustration, I pound on it, maybe kick it a few times. Finally, after waiting much longer than I should, I plop down on the floor beside it. As for finding the open window, I'm not ready for that yet.
I proceed to spend a considerable amount of time trying to figure out why the door shut. I ask God what I did wrong? How could I have prevented it? Then on to the "why is this happening to me" line of thinking.
Even then I don't look for the open window. I wander around pounding on the wall to see if I can make my own door. As for the open window.....well it usually has to just suck me right through it.

Consequently this spring, when the door that I had used for several years unexpectedly, yet firmly shut, I began to go through that whole door/window process. Because I am now little older and a tiny bit wiser, I passed through the various stages a little quicker than in the past. And presto chango, here I am, through the window and on the threshold of a very new and different life.

This "window" actually began being built six years ago when my husband radically changed his profession and moved from being a general contractor into cardiac surgical nursing. The process of his going back to school at middle age and me becoming the sole breadwinner was far from easy. After living in a home that was 3500 square feet suddenly we were living in an efficiency apartment over a woman's 2-car garage. Yet another hairpin turn. One of the ideas that encouraged us during this time was the opportunity to see the country, and possibly the world, through travel nursing. (Doesn't that sound vaguely like what they used to tell people at the army recruiting office?)

Travel nursing is a bit of a vagabond lifestyle. You travel the country helping to fill the nursing shortage in a series of 13 week assignments. We saw that as an opportunity to experience a slice of life in different areas without having to make a permanent commitment. It would provide us with just a taste, not the full meal deal.

When my own professional door closed, the window led us back to this idea of travel nursing. And, lo and behold, that's where we are, our "life" in storage, ready to head out west for the first assignment.

Blogging....you've got to be kidding me!

Just when I thought I had it all figured out the road zigged when I wanted to zag. What do you call that, a hairpin turn? Life has a funny way of not doing what you plan. God has an even funnier way of putting a fork in the road just when you thought it was a straight shot and you had things set on cruise control. So here we go, off on the biggest adventure of our lives and (hopefully) like the poet says, "the best is yet to be. "

I've never been one to keep a journal, yet I love to buy them. Some of them are so beautiful and when I pick them up, I can just see myself seated with a nice cup of tea, putting pen to paper and recording my deepest thoughts. Then I sit down to write, only to discover my thoughts really aren't that deep or that memorable. The few times I have recorded my life, I go back later to read what I've written only to destroy the pages in fear that someone else would see it, probably when I die and they are cleaning out my things.

However now, since so many people I know want to keep up with happens next in my life, I have decided to, not only live a great adventure, but write about it too.
Join me, won't you, as I begin my journey discovering "the High road" of life.