A Few of the National Parks

The last save date for this post was 18th September 2018. It is an historical recollection at the time it was written. For more about looking backwards, read the introduction.

Enjoy what was...

Dear Adventurous Reader,

Enjoy some photos we took while on the road.

Route 66. The Road for Milkshakes in a Diner.

The last save date for this post was 18th September 2018. It is an historical recollection at the time it was written. For more about looking backwards, read the introduction.

Enjoy what was...

Dear Adventurous Reader,

Enjoy some photos we took while on the road.

The Road Goes Ever On…

The last save date for this post was 18th September 2018. It is an historical recollection at the time it was written. For more about looking backwards, read the introduction.

Enjoy what was...

Dear Adventurous Reader,

We drive out of Mexico, it is a hot day. No rain. Four hours waiting in the immigration line... and Loredo is busy. Cars filled the main road, and we decide to beat it straight out of town, and as far away as we can get. Find a place somewhere. No expensive hotels for the evening.

We turn off the interstate an hour later. Down on a side road, crossing a railway line, and heading west. A small bird stands on the hot tarmac, at the sight of the car it runs into the shrubs on the roadside. A road-runner. It didn't make a "beeping" noise, and no rock crushed our car as it disappeared.

We call our car Road Runner.

The camp ground was just 10 minutes down the road. After a hot day in the car, it was good to get out and stretch our legs.

Texas is huge. We could get lost for a lifetime in this country.

Austin Texas

Austin Texas. The interstate rolls down through the tall buildings, winding out into a vast intersection. Navigating laneways we roll out the north side, over tall roads. A ribbon of interstate.

Finding a place to pitch a tent is hard work, in a country of Recreational vehicles. No tents allowed. No tents allowed. The travelling dogs, common companions on the road, when life exists within the walls of an R.V. have taken the small patches of grass where we could stay.

The U.S. Army Corps have some excellent camping grounds, dotted outside city limits. Wonderful views, and excellent facilities in huge campgrounds. We are glad that it is not peak season - it is busy enough right now.

The older boys opt to spend the night in hammocks. They string their "eno hammocks" up below the roof of the cooking area; stretched in different directions they sleep above the table. In the morning there is a story, what follows is the account of the boys...

The Monkey

"Dad. A monkey poked me last night."

"What?"

"I woke up in the night and something was poking me from the bottom. It made a noise when I moved, and when I looked over there was a monkey running away."

"A monkey?" I asked. Confused. "Are you sure?"

The three boys nodded. Absolute certainty that it was a monkey.

"I think it was a monkey. It was small, and ran away with it's hands waving above it's head." The boy put his hands up and waved them around.

I laugh. They don't think I believe them. "Are you sure?"

"It was a monkey. Or a small human..."

We laughed. Jacqui did say, "Well, we are close to Austin. If there is any place in Mexico where someone owns a monkey, that could escape, it would be here." I think she was being serious.

Not in Kansas

The clouds pulled together in a tight formation. Dark and menacing. They swirled, slow and steady, as we drove between the wind turbines. The road twisted, back and forward, winding between posts and turbines. The clouds pulled tighter, and darkened.

"Maybe it will be a tornado." One of the boys postulated.

We watch the dark eddies of clouds as we drive towards our next stop. Amarillo Texas, where our road meets the interstate, and we find a place to pitch the tents. The clouds have followed us, and over the fence we see the clouds moving over cities we cannot see. Our tents go up, slow and steady, with more than one eye over the horizon, the ominous clouds a cause for concern.

Inside, making dinner, the television is on. The news stations are all talking about a tornado. We watch the newscasters speak calm warnings to the residence of Claude and Groom.

"What happens if it comes here?"

"Well," I tell the boys, "First we look at what the TV says - the tornado is moving away from where we are. Second, we have to expect that they have gotten a tornado past here before - because of that we would expect everyone here to know what to do. Third, the campground owners will know what to do, and if we get worried, we can find someone to talk to."

It was a dark night. Over the fence the tornado moved away, a path of destruction following it's wake. It was an difficult night to find sleep, but waking in the morning was a joyous feeling.

Route 66

America's road.

The interstate doesn't tell all the stories of history. The interstate bypasses history, taking the fastest way around and away from the stories grown in small towns. To experience America's Road we needed to get off the interstate and drive a little slower. To see the places that made Route 66 the legend it is.

A wide boulevard stretches along side abandoned buildings, and deteriorated signs. If nostalgia had a look, and the romance of travel needed a town, we were there. Broken neon tubes, old signs for long-dead mechanics, buildings that could do with some love, and baking tarmac below the sun. It was picturesque, and a little depressing - Splendour and Wonder faded; time moved past the this small town, and onto more attractive areas.

We stop, fall out of the car, and into a small diner. Baking hot sun pushing us towards a small café. The air conditioning is refreshing. The milkshakes are even better.

New Mexico

I expected Texas to be give me the "feel" of Route 66, but I was wrong. New Mexico is the state that feels most like Route 66. The grey sand, the long road that stretches far beyond the horizon - rolling over the land like a gentle breeze. Low mountains, stretch alongside our dark road. Long trains, somehow going faster than our car, snaking alongside of us.

The campground is a picture of New Mexico. From our tents we look down upon a large lake, edged with large stones. Wild horses walk free, allowed anywhere as it is their land. This native American land is edged with steep hills, surrounded by the light blue evening sky.

Mexico

The last save date for this post was 18th September 2018. It is an historical recollection at the time it was written. For more about looking backwards, read the introduction.

Enjoy what was...

Dear Adventurous Reader,

Even now when I look at maps of Mexico the panic rises within me - and I am miles-upon-miles away from there. The roads. The visa checks. Driving the car through the small streets, unsure of where we are heading. The speed bumps, shaking the car. The time to trunk popped open and spilled our gear onto the road.

Relaxing

But the place where we stayed was awesome. Hammocks over the pool. A wonder view of a mountain often used for rock climbers. The dirt and rocks that showed the dryness of the land.

A few more weeks of time and I would have taken a long stride into the country side. Maybe.

"No hablo espanio" I say in my awful Spanish. A friend told me, "If you say it like that, they will know you don't speak Mexican." I wasn't sure if it was an insult, or a compliment.

Escape. Get Out of There...

After the panic attack I felt as if I couldn't accept the job offer with the travel company. Unsure if it was result of my worry, or the cause of it, I didn't want to head further into a country with no experience, and no certainty of work to come.

We stayed the three nights at the camp ground, and returned to the US once again. A trip into Mexico on one tank of gasoline, one panic attack and one long border crossing.

Entry into the United State was super easy this time. No hard-line interview about entering the country, no lengthy discussions with border guards. Just four hours in the car, baking in the hot sun, sitting in a long line of cars, waiting to find out way into Laredo.

Panic. Mexico.

The last save date for this post was 21st May 2016. It is an historical recollection at the time it was written. For more about looking backwards, read the introduction.

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Dear Adventurous Reader,

I panicked. I never knew I had it in me. I always thought that I took situations with a grain of salt, with a dab of butter. But it seems that going to Mexico, with not much of a plan was too much.

Crossing Over

We crossed into Mexico with no hassles. Passed the man at the booth, were stopped by a border guard, who looked in the trunk and didn’t want to check if we had things to declare. Then we were in the country, right into the streets of Nuevo Laredo, without a clue where to go.

The rain was falling in torrents. Huge swathes of water fell on the windshield, and were pushed away by the wipers in was could have been bucket-fulls (at least the wipers were working). I pulled over on the side of the road, struck that the border-controls were so light. It did not feel like we crossed a border, we just changed cities, but there was something different.

There were no signs. No directions. So, in my first instinct I started getting frustrated with Jacqui. After some gentle coaching she suggested we drive forward. Large blue signs directed us down some side streets, and around a long u-turn that felt as if we were being taken back to the US.

The rain kept streaming down. One boy commented that “This is the most rain I have ever seen.”

The building was long, and white. Pulling up in the car, we ran inside to avoid as much of the rain that we could.

Visas. Car Import. Insurance.

Getting our visas sorted, and the car imported, was easy. It could have been difficult, considering the very limited (read none) Spanish that we speak. Within an hour we were out the other side, in a car line-up to exit Mexico. It was the wrong line. The guard waved us through, with a smile (or a laugh), and into the streets of Nuevo Laredo.

Driving Rain, or Driving Sane?

Busy. Cars sliding from lane to lane without indicating. The rain had poured huge pools of water onto the road, and driving through caused it to splash onto the windscreen.

We pull up at a light. A man and his friend look into the window and started yelling. I talk back, “No hablo espanol.” To which he say the number 300, raising 3 fingers. Then he draws a line across his throat, points to the back of the car, and repeats the 300. I tell him again “No hablo espanol”, and look out the front window, waiting for the light to change.

Not sure if it was a threat, or just someone having a bit of fun, I celebrate that the light changed colour, only to wonder if he started to follow me.

Lane merge.

Three toots from the car behind.

I drive half across a lane. A truck passes.

“We need to find an ATM.” I say.

“There’s a Walmart.” But I am stuck in traffic. No way to merge. No way to get to the lane. These roads no longer lead to Walmart.

Merge.

Road works. A man waving a red flag with gusto.

A am repeating myself from the last few days. “Where are we going?” and then reply, “Nowhere, just yet. But it will probably be okay.” I’d wave my hands. “Probably.”

My head aches. My eyes are darting around making sure no one will merge into our car. I find it difficult to talk, and my two lower fingers are tingling.

I stop indicating, no one else is. I don’t want to appear too much of a foreigner. In my white Suburban, with foreign plates, and import sticker.

I slip off my wedding ring. Take down the GPS grip that we have not used. Pity the air condition is broken so I cannot do up my windows. I want to hide. Not cause any problems.

What followed was me loosing my mind. Pressure, stress, confusion. The past weeks of discussions, the past weeks of trying to understand our position on which way to go. They all flood out of me.

The remaining fingers start to tingle, it feels like pins are being pressed into my skin. Shaking my hands didn’t do anything. Signs flashed past us, in a language I cannot understand. Words that look like “caution”, and something about “accident”. Attractive faces with smiles, and long names that I cannot pronounce.

A while down the highway my foot feels numb. My chest feels heavy, and I am reminded of people breathing into paper bags; we have no paper bags. I think that the driving keeps me sane - it is not like there are any places to pull over on the side of the road.

I was talking to myself for a long time. Trying to speak reason to a situation that I could find no reason. I knew I was panicking. I knew that there was something wrong in my brain, but the pieces weren’t correcting themselves. It was falling apart, my brain slowly becoming undone.

Toll booth. Slow and pay. Check booth, “No hablo espanol” - it is my mantra, the first thing I say when speaking gets difficult. A second man comes to the car. He asks some questions, checks our papers and waves us on.

Eventually. After 100kms of driving on the highway, I found peace. Numbness. A washing of confusion in a place of steady unease. Highway driving is something we have become accustomed to over the past few years, so I can handle that. Forward motion. Moving forward.

Nothing

There was a time when I had thought that I could handle anything. Life’s little problems were not a worry to me. Care free. A shrug of a shoulder, and we would move on to the next thing. Take it step by step. Problems would arise, and I would smile, and we would move on to the next thing.

The time when I thought I could handle anything has passed. Yesterday morning I was reluctant to leave, and yesterday afternoon I spent more than an hour driving Mexican roads with the brain of a crazy person. Maybe, just maybe, I am capable of a mental breakdown.

Pressure. Stress. Confusion. The cracks are starting to show.

I try and think how it will be okay. I know in the back of my mind it will be okay. But I cannot get rid of this deep sense of unease. Unease for the future, for what we have done and what we will do.

I cannot find it in myself to find peace with these scars.

Jacqui talks of moving on, or going home. I am worried to get behind the wheel of the car. The road into the town scares me. I don’t know what will happen.

Some of this email was written in the car after we arrived at a place in Mexico, choosing not to get out of the car (I sent it to a friend who was very comforting in reply).

Decisions and Borders

The last save date for this post was 18th September 2018. It is an historical recollection at the time it was written. For more about looking backwards, read the introduction.

Enjoy what was...

Dear Adventurous Reader,

We are in Laredo. It is morning, overcast with grey clouds in the sky. It speaks very much to how I am feeling.

The past few weeks of talking have been difficult and confusing - I hear that can be common among families that travel. It has shown me how different Jacqui and I are. Not just in how we communicate, but also in how we asses risks.

I like to think. To understand. To plan. The plan doesn’t have to be fully formed, but it has to have ups and downs considered. Backup plans, or alternate plans are helpful. Weigh the bad thoughts with care, keeping in mind that “things normally work out”, and see how I could push the bad toward the good. Just because something sounds like a good idea, doesn’t mean it is - it just means that we haven't considered how to make the bad things work in our favour.

Jacqui is happy to take some risks to see her desires met. Jacqui is happy to ignore risks, or accept bad consequences, as long as they are acceptable to her. It is not so much about the bad thoughts, it is more about making things work. If there is a glimmer of hope, then it is worth the risk. And, if their is good food along the way, the risk seems like one to take - she is always thinking about good food.

Jacqui wants to go to Mexico.

Since December our future on the road has been uncertain. Work stopped coming in, and there was no idea for when the next project would come. We were left with no other choice but to look for work elsewhere. 60 job applications and no-one was interested in considering me as a work associate. Except one company - a travel company was willing to "take a risk" (words that were used) with me.

Since we departed North Carolina we have been weighing this lone job offer. Considering the pros and cons, trying to see how long it will keep us travelling. It was a very good wage in Eastern Europe - I was never sure how we would make it work in Mexico, where we had never been before.

Uncertainty is the hardest thing to predict.

We both want this to work out, we want to keep on travelling. We want this risk to turn into something fresh and new. I am holding all of the possibilities within my mind, every new place we would go, and how this job opportunity would just work out for us. I want to go to Mexico, because it means we keep going into the future. It is a step to what lay beyond.

So I have been entertaining the acceptance of this new risk, that does not equate in my mind. I have been trying to push away the doubt of taking a big leap into Mexico, and hoping that we can keep moving onwards.

Good stories that we recall in tough times, are about taking risks. "When I came to the cross-roads, I chose the road-less-travelled". They are the stories that are told, the romance of long-term travel is less about the hard-work and more about the one pivot point - for that gives us a better story.

What is a better story than "We gambled, and we won?" The story of the Hobbit would have been far-less entertaining, if Bilbo had remained in his comfortable hobbit-hole.

It is not the fear of Mexico that has me second-guessing our move. I wrote a piece about the hope of travel in the aftermath of a world-changing event - but this has to do with our uncertainty of work.

So, in pressing onwards, are we making a safe decision, or the right one?

The Deep South

The last save date for this post was 18th September 2018. It is an historical recollection at the time it was written. For more about looking backwards, read the introduction.

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Dear Adventurous Reader,

One thing I notice as we drive around is that places in the United States don’t feel like the same country. There are similarities, for sure, but as you move around the states it feels like changing countries. The place feels different.

We drove through New York State, with the rolling hills. Into West Virginia with the small towns feeling like they are growing old. Into Greensboro, with life and youthful energy. A relaxing drive into the South and through the other side - into the Deep South. Where the cajun flavours run free, and the tamales are in small shacks on the roadside.

Here, in the deep south, the crawdads are everywhere. The bodies of Armadillos line the interstate. Roads turn into long bridges, driving over the bayous. Everyone keeps their eyes open, because at 60 miles an hour, there is a small chance we could see a Gator. The temperature is hot, sticky and it feels very close.

Island Night Life

We stayed out on Dauphin Island, Alabama. We crossed over a long, ribbon of road, stretched with a high arch in the middle - as if the road was built with too many pieces of road; concrete slabs jammed from the end until the road climbed in a steep curve.

We camped beside the Gulf of Mexico. An evening walk in the hot sun, to the hotter sand, to look upon the oil rigs lining the horizon. Driving down backroads to search out the interstate once again. From Alabama, through Mississippi, to Louisiana.

We didn't see any gators.

New Orleans

In the distance, New Orleans sits uneasy on the horizon. I was waiting for skyscrapers to pierce the skyline - a common "welcome" for every major city we have driven into. Not so with Louisiana; down here it is the tall-reaching industrial cranes of the port, that cast ominous figures along the horizon.

We drive around the north of the city, skirting the east roads and to a small state park, close to the banks of the Mississippi. Green grass, surrounded by beautiful trees; it felt hot and sticky, like the dampness of a swamp. We learned that the camp ground where we are staying was 6 feet underwater when Hurricane Katrina came through.

One day we head Downtown and spend the day along the banks of the Mississippi: Watching an old steamboat depart from the pier; Sitting on the grass by the St. Louis Cathedral; Walking the colourful streets of entertainers and horse-drawn cart rides. We ate gumbo, and a Gator Po'boy. Walked Bourbon Street - during daylight hours it was only-slightly manic.

Meeting People is Easy

One thing that has become expected when journeying along our un-ending road. People are easy to meet. With no daily commute, and after a long morning coffee, wandering the camp-ground will surely help with meeting interesting people. Our children find meeting new people easy, they are relaxed, and enjoy meeting anyone up for a chat - so conversations are easy to begin.

In the short space of an afternoon, our young girl starting chatting to a couple, who has two dogs. We invite them to join us for dinner, and by dusk were watching Finding Nemo outside their caravan.

They are from Minnesota and Canada, and they are heading back to Alabama for a summer of working, and planning, until they decide where to head next. Life on the road, with dogs, was something they loved.

Camping at another campsite was a family from "not-too-far-away", enjoying the State Forest for the long weekend. When we mentioned our southerly travel plans, they offered to re-gas our air-conditioner.

Onward

The road stretches over more bayous as we begun our westward, and southerly journey. We talk, between naps, about what could be. Discussing Mexico - an idea I am not altogether sure about - and how we will make things work. What work will we have to make money? Where would we live within our meager budget?

We hear time and time again from travelling families that making decisions is hard; that figuring out travel plans is difficult. With our next plans, I am having a hard time balancing my unease of such a new place, alongside the normal cautiousness I feel with our plans.

Over time I have learned to trust my gut-instinct. With a set of parameters, I can find a peace in the pluses and minuses of making a decision. With the decision to go to Mexico, I do not have that peace. I want to find safety.

Jacquelyn points of that every family says this is normal before a "jump". That the nerves, the unease, that is the wonderful thing about "learning to fly" (read: travelling with a family). We have a solid plan, and enough money to make things work in Mexico. Plus, the food down below the border is amazing.

Signs of being close to the border start appearing, and it isn't the arid-desert that is the major clue. We stop at border patrol sheds to be inspected by armed guards. Watch as large signs pass by the car, warning about crossing borders illegally. An increased law-enforcement presence is everywhere.

Then we roll in Laredo. Again, there are no sky-scrapers; only busy streets, and buildings that overlook the Rio Grande. Dust blows on the busy streets, and we find a McDonalds for the air-conditions, cold drinks, wifi, and a place to make decisions about what we do next.

Driving Southwards

The last save date for this post was 20th November 2017. It is an historical recollection at the time it was written. For more about looking backwards, read the introduction.

Enjoy what was...

Dear Adventurous Reader,

Thomas, Sarah and Stella have come camping with us. A few days, in the mountains, the sun is warm and the Appalachians are magnificent. Adventure, or relaxing, or something in between.

We leave the Faust’s with photos and tears. They have become family to us, which is something we love about how we get around in North America. We have moved from one family to another.

The roads out of North Carolina become familiar, a reminder that we are on another road trip. Car packed tight with all our things. The first day is hot, somewhere in the high 80’s, and it is slow going. First days are always slow. 100 miles is an eternity.

I always remember that a mile is almost 2 kilometres. And then I get sad about all the driving ahead. I have a Love/Hate relationship with road trips - it is a lot of effort for a few stories.

Camping...

Two days with Thomas, Sarah and Stella are great. We sit and chat. We figure out how to work Mr Faust’s gas stove. Talk about the future and possibilities. We enjoy a lunch, hidden in the back of Thomas’ truck to avoid park rangers. The boys and Jacqui enjoy a swim down in the freezing ice melt at some rock-falls.

They always find some rock slides to enjoy.

I use the internet in the state park to converse with a potential employer. The weather is pleasant and the company is finer.

Saying goodbye was hard. We had come to them through such difficulties. In the past six weeks we had made a home in North Carolina. Home was living with the Faust’s, and enjoying being so close to Thomas, Sarah and Stella. It has been a long time since the community we lived in included these family members.

It was a great joy that we got to enjoy camping. Both Jacqui and I feel like leaving would have been much more difficult if we had of said goodbye to everyone at the same time.

Song of the Southward

The hills and mountains are so beautiful. Tall trees, long and winding roads take us through small towns. New supermarket chains appear as we change states.

We leave the Appalachians and head southward. Maybe we’ll move to Mexico for a while?

Inter-State of Mind

The white, paved roads of the interstate no longer climb and fall over huge mountains; they rise gently, and fall with easy rolls. Green trees line the road. Buzzards circle in the sky. The slip lane is dotted with dead armadillos.

We have driven southwards. The border to Mexico is calling. And just as the Interstate keeps on going, we keep on following. North Carolina. South Carolina. Georgia. Alabama. The weather is nice, warming up. The car is rolling. The kids are varying degrees of bored.

I am in awe of the interstate system. It is a beautiful simile of the US. It is fast, and brash; cars rocket past taking the speed signs as guidelines. It gets us to places quickly; bypassing the small and large towns that once dotted the old highways. It embraces the beauty of the country; lined by trees, or over long bridges of the bayou. The rest stops are treated as somewhere you would go on a Sunday picnic - magnificent.

When the Interstate backs up into a long traffic jam, it does not happen half-heartedly. The artery is either on or off. Very fast, or at a dead crawl for an hour (or more).

These ribbons of tarmac and concrete are the lay-lines that keep the gods of the country together. Power lines that connect satellite towns. Arteries that let the lifeblood flow. Stop the Interstate, and you stop America.

In the South, the Interstate is lined with billboards, raised in worship to those who pay homage to another god of America: Money. For a sacrifice you can have your product raised above the natural beauty of the countryside. Cracker Barrel. McDonalds. Guns. Even, Jesus - he has plenty billboards raised in worship.

We head south on the interstate. Running state to state. Move slow through the big cities. Drive and merge with care. Long distances covered in long days of driving. Stop. Camp. Pack the car, and back to the road.

Road Runner. Our Car is called Road Runner

Our car is a marvel to me. Day by day it goes by, and keeps working. After our last drive south I am cautious of our car being up to the task. The Unease takes me every time I turn the engine over; I wait for the "click" of the starter motor, or the crushing of gears as we speed down the highways. I wait for the car wheels to fall off, or the 4wd to engage eternally. I am grateful when any of these don't happen, happy beyond measure, but I am still concerned next time the car starts, and we drive down the highway.

The first day on the road we had a rodeo of noise coming from the back of the car. Yelling of fighting and playing, pushing, shoving and tickling. Adeline screaming as Zeke scares her; Elijah and Adeline yelling, without tune; the words to YMCA, they had heard at the baseball in Greensboro.

Like sardines in a tin can.

About an hour from our destination, after a day of driving, with the temperature getting above 90 degrees, they fall silent and play Lego with each other. Silence, except for the wind pounding in through the windows of the car. Our air conditioner is the outside air.

The next spot to stop for a few nights in beyond the south. Louisiana.

Leaving the Ones You Love

The last save date for this post was 20th November 2017. It is an historical recollection at the time it was written. For more about looking backwards, read the introduction.

Enjoy what was...

Dear Adventurous Reader,

I am sitting in the car. It is hot outside, and heating up, going on to about 80 degrees today. I have the windows down. Outside the birds sing, twittering a lovely tune. The wind blows through the trees, pollen dancing upon the ever-changing breeze. And the air-conditioners of the church grind away, creating the cool room for the masses inside.

This afternoon we are leaving Greensboro. Six weeks of time with family, and friends.

Family and friends

Family and friends have a way of tying themselves around our souls. The little stories we tell weave our lives together. Like vines around a tree, we grow, and our stories interweave, and we can never be the same again.

Each time we have lived in community we have always left different than the people we started as. Stories are told. Our lives are shared. We listen, and change, and grow. And we are never the same as we once were.

Leaving Greensboro this time, it struck me so deeply. Living in community is a place where we can exist, but it truly changes us on the inside. I am grateful for community, and all the places we find ourselves in.

“You Gotta See The Baby…”

Thomas and Sarah had a baby girl. She is a cute little one. Six weeks ago she ate and slept, as one would expect from a month-old baby. Within six weeks she has changed; she looks around and smiles when spoken to, she has snuck in some growing, too. Small changes, but so noticeable inside six weeks. We have had the privilege of sharing a good part of her first few months.

We had a visit from the Mama and Papa Rickard, and Granny Smith. They planned a visit to meet baby Stella, to hang out with Thomas and Sarah, and to spend some time with us. Picking them up from the airport was no easy feat, Pa was a surprise visitor, and thus had no seat accounted for him for the drive home.

For two weeks they shared a house with us. Wonderful discussions, mingled with great meals and great company. We went to the park, and visited places in Greensboro. Went to an air-show at a US Marine base in North Carolina. Laughs were had, and a good time for all.

The Patience and kindness of Mr. and Mrs. Faust

We arrived on a Thursday. The car stunk like a road trip had taken place inside it - as if a skunk had peppered the car with stench.

We arrived at the Faust house, because it was the only place we knew how to get to in Greensboro. Mr. Faust came and shook our hands (I couldn’t give him a hug, because of the stinky-ness). Mrs Faust came outside, and almost immediately was taken aside by Adeline, who wanted to pick flowers in the front garden.

By the afternoon they had departed to go and see The Twins and we had moved into their spacious house.

After the weekend, when they got back, we had to learn how to dance around each-others movements in the shared house. Listen to each other, and understand how things were done. Before long, the house started to work. We could dance without standing on each others toes.

We had planned on staying two weeks and moving on to the next place - we had not planned that far ahead. But inside those weeks Ma and Granny had decided to come and visit. Make the trip over, and see us and Baby Stella - she gets to meet the newest grand-child, and also see us after our winter in Canada. The Faust’s had a chat and we were allowed to stay and await their arrival.

In the end it totalled around 6 weeks we stayed with them. Six long weeks sharing a house, and the Faust’s were happy to dance to the music that was playing around them.

During that time we had discussions. We shared stories. We listened to each other. We grew into a small community. When Ma, Granny and Surprise Pa arrived, we changed how the dance was, learned over again, and it continued.

Community. And Departures.

It is difficult to leave after spending time with people you love. After learning to dance you have to walk away, leave behind the life that you have made together, and head off on new adventures.

This part always pull me apart on the inside.

Stop. If only we could freeze time.

That afternoon you spent in the sun, at the park, talking with baby Stella.

The evening, as the sun sunk below the horizon, orange subset shining off the clouds, and we sit talking as dusk turns to night.

Being a guest at a new friends house, trying whisky, talking board games. The children scootering off home, in the dark, as the neighbourhood sleeps.

An afternoon run, along the parkway, in the warm sky.

Stopping by the park, and being shown the myriad of new treasures found in the creek.

Talking with new friends, over a morning coffee, about work, or adoption, or any of the new topics that new friends bring up.

Freeze. In that moment, when we are connecting. That feeling of being close. Those stories that bind families together.

This is what makes a community. This is how friendships grow, as we weave our lives into each others. Our stories become more than that, they bind us together.

We never leave a community the same way we started.

Now Greensboro gives me the same feeling as Wolfe Island. We stopped and we became part of a community that will forever be in our hearts.

Revisiting the Ghosts of the Past

pre-script

Dear Adventurous Reader,

The last save date for this post was 17th March 2017. Two years has passed since I wrote this post, and much has happened. I feel it would be wrong of me to re-edit the following series of posts, revisiting our last tour of the United States; so I post it here for you to read.

It is an historical recollection at the time it was written, so you may have to mentally keep up with the words.

Enjoy what was...

Going Back

It has almost been a year since I stopped writing. The ghosts of previous articles started to haunt me. The sounds of an untold tales, wanting to be told, were gathering their voices.

We kept a travel-log when were in Canada. We wrote entries on our blog between work and the things we were doing. When it started to feel that we would have to head home, I stopped writing. I started to second guess my adventurous spirit. I started to allow the ghosts into my words.

Regret. Failure. Depression.

I had thought that we’d be able to spend some time living abroad. Life in foreign lands, finding work where we needed. Extend our stay. Adapt to what life would throw at us. But the longer it went on, the more I understood our lack of options.

As hope of a different life started to fade, the ghosts started to appear in my words.

I stopped writing.

Things Change

We have been home since June 2016. Returning on the smell of an oily rag. A little too close for comfort. Our savings depleted. No job prospects. And into the third winter in a row.

But we have some stories to tell. Our experiences in North America will live on is the stories we tell, and the memories we will recall. I don’t regret going, only coming home so soon - especially when the options were so vast at one point.

Since then we have settled in to the rhythm of life in Australia. We are close to welcoming the ninth member of our family (child number seven), and have been enjoying the summer weather and surfing at the beach. Life is going along fine.

Stories to Tell

I feel like there are some stories yet to tell. I have so many drafts that need polishing, words that I tried to craft while we were travelling, and never got finished. Haunted words that I still remember.

Crawdads in Louisiana. Sitting in New Mexico, watching the wild horses down near the lake. Overlooking the Grand Canyon, words forming of the magnificence. The panic attack in Mexico.

All these thoughts haunt me. Written while we were travelling. Attempted stories about an experience I will not have again. And they sit here, not for you to read. I feel like I should change that.

For, if these words haunt me, maybe they will help you understand that sometimes travel is about keeping things together long enough to get home.

You will have to excuse my writing, for I do not write with the sunniest of dispositions. This is not a happy travel blog, though there will be things that may make you happy. There is no ebook at the end, no guidance for travelling.

I do not profess to have answers about travelling with six children. We just started, made a bunch of mistakes, and got home.

I am grateful for the experience. I am grateful for the chance we took to spend 9 months with our family overseas. What follows are some stories from almost a year ago. Some photos we took, experiences we shared.

Life is for living. I am glad we chose to adventure for a while.

Scenic Railway to Kuranda

Dear Adventurous Reader,

An old railway runs from Cairns up into the mountains beyond. A railway constructed by the labor of many men, facing hardship and death everyday. Today we took the easy path and paid money for the train ride to the small town of Kuranda.

We love trains and railways. All of us like old railways with a story to tell, especially one of hard work, of toil and men of the past shaping a peaceful path through a treacherous mountain. Before the steam engine could make the journey, men went before to forge the path. Pick axes and dynamite used to blast and hack their way through the difficult terrain.

Today engineering is a different feat, we have made it easier for ourselves. In the days of old paths were created on the sweat and shoulders of people who would dare to prove what seemed impassable was not.

There are 15 tunnels hewn from the mountain side, the longest 490 meters. There are many bridges spanning gaps small to large. One bridge is built on one of the two switch backs where you can see the engines pulling up front and the last carriage following behind.

The train slows down on one switchback as it passes a large waterfall. People move from one side of the train to the other, making sure to take a photo or to store an image in their mind. The rain from a few nights ago not going to waste with the magnificent scenery.

The Kuranda Scenic Railway has a video that displays photos at opportune story moments, telling us the tale of the railway's creation. It is neither loud or annoying, often times the children's excited voices drown out the words it speaks to us. It tells tales of wonder and explains magnificent views.

Tourist Town in the Mountains

We pull into Kuranda. The station is surrounded by wonderful green trees and large flowers. There are some steps leading toward the town which we follow.

Kuranda reminds us if Sorento, across the bay from where we live. The prices at the shops also remind is of Sorento. The town seems to run on the tourist dollars that arrive, there are many indigenous, new-age and specialty stores along the street, all catering to the whim of someone looking for a bargain or for a memory.

We walked into the rock candy store, just standing inside that place made your teeth start to decay. There were so many colours and flavours of rock candy to choose from, with a video to demonstrate how it was made. We put that on the list of places to visit on the journey back towards the train.

We ate a cheap lunch of Nutella on bread. We took a brief stroll though the rainforest before rushing back towards the train for the ride home. We spent more time sitting on the train than wandering the streets of Kuranda, although if we had more time we would have walked the rainforest instead of finding shops to take our money.

Down Again

Back down the mountain, making the slow trip with the train again. The same video played but reversed the explanation points. The boys hopped between seats trying to find the best view as the train slowed at important sections, once again. Adeline had the afternoon sleep she had been fighting since lunch.

Kuranda Scenic Railway was a slow ride through some beautiful scenery. We loved the idea of seeing that part of the world by train, in old style carriages, going slowly up the mountain to see the views of Cairns and the forests below.