Elliott Beagle Bakes

Elliott Beagle and I have started our Christmas baking. In my family, everyone has their favorite "must have" treat that helps make their celebration complete. I start with the ones that have to be mailed out: chocolate crinkles for Dan, snickerdoodles for Caitlin and maybe some fudge, some sugar cookies and a cranberry-pumpkin loaf. Next, ginger cookies for Kate, cherry bars for Dale, scotch-a-roos for Don, lemon squares for Kay, more chocolate crinkles for Amanda, and scrabble for Mark. My dad likes sugar cookies and Mom likes white chocolate cranberry cookies. My favorite? I like peanut butter chocolate cookies.

What is Elliott Beagle's cookie baking role? His job duties include sleeping under the kitchen table while I work at the counter, listening to CBC Radio 2 while I bake and always helping with spills and clean-up.

Mother-Daughter Roadtrip

Not too long after I returned to Michigan, my mother was ready to take her own roadtrip. We'd both been hearing about the Dale Chihuly exhibit at the Fredrick Meijer Gardens & Sculpture Park in Grand Rapids, Michigan and thought we should see it before the snows start. We left Van home in the garage and Elliott Beagle with my dad, then headed west.

Why I don't go to Grand Rapids more often is a mystery to me. It's the second largest city in Michigan, about three hours west from where I live and only about 40 miles from Lake Michigan. As a kid, I used to go with my parents to visit my mom's relatives in Holland, Michigan, not far from Grand Rapids, but I can't remember visiting the west side of Michigan since my children were young. For some reason whenever I go on a roadtrip in Michigan, I seem to head north or east, towards Lake Huron or Lake Superior.

Grand Rapids is a great town, with loads of things to do and places to visit. At the top of the list is the Fredrick Meijer Gardens & Sculpture Park. The gardens and sculpture park is a hard place to describe. You could easily spend an entire day there without getting close to seeing everything. It's one of those places which will surprise you every time you visit. There are both indoor and outdoor exhibits, permanent and temporary displays, a sculpture trail and a fantastic children's garden. Mom and I probably spent an hour playing in the children's garden. It made me wish my kids were still little.

All throughout the gardens were installations and displays by world-class designer and glass artist, Dale Chihuly. His fantastical blown-glass creations added a sense of whimsy, wonder and beauty as we explored the gardens. We spent the entire day wandering about, both on foot and by tram. After a little time in the gift shop and the cafe, which has a Chihuly installation on the ceiling, it was closing time. We left wanting to see more, but knowing we're sure to visit again.

Goodbye Gray

After a month of mostly gray, gloomy weather I was glad to return home to Michigan. It feels strange for me to be writing that last sentence because, during certain times of the year, Michigan is infamous for its overcast skies. I'm not saying I didn't enjoy my trip. I had a good time visiting family and friends, and I saw a lot of the country I don't usually visit. It's just that I expected to have better weather for hiking and photography. Of course, there was no way to predict the remains of a hurricane traveling up the East Coast.

I was too early for the changing autumn colors, too. It wasn't until I returned home that the reds, oranges and yellows appeared. Just looking at the warm colors and walking on the crunchy leaves brightens my day.

Wandering Around Maine

About the time I entered Maine, the remains of a hurricane were heading up the East Coast and the weather turned nasty. The rainy, windy weather wasn't conducive to sightseeing or photography; most of the time I didn't even want to leave Van. It was cold and my solar panels were useless with the constant gray skies, so I camped for two nights at a commercial RV park in Skowhegan to charge up my batteries. It was a friendly little park with warm showers and a inexpensive coin laundry. It had great Internet reception, so I was able to watch a couple of Netflix movies, too.

From Skowhegan, I drove up to Baxter State Park, where I spent a few days hiking. Mt. Katahdin, in Baxter State Park, is the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail. The southern terminus of the trail is over 2000 miles away at Springer Mountain in Georgia. For the last ten years, or so, I've been exploring the AT through a series of day hikes. In my teens and twenties, I thought I would like to through-hike the trail; sometimes I still do. But, while I love the wilderness experience, I know I've grown soft and too fond of hot showers and comfy mattresses. Still, the thought of through-hiking provides me with hours of excellent day-dreaming.

Mirror Lake

I found these photos while organizing some of my photo files from my Northeast trip. I'm not sure where it was located but, I'm guessing western Maine near the New Hampshire border. I wouldn't bet my life on it though. I remember driving down a little, twisty two-lane road, on a gloomy, gray day. Suddenly, I saw this unbelievable view on my left. I made a u-turn in the middle of the road and pulled off as soon as I could find a safe place to park. I never learned the lake's name so, I've decided to call it Mirror Lake.

Ever Wonder How I Wander?

When I travel, I make few plans in advance. Usually I open my AAA road map then circle my starting point and the location of my destination with a neon-colored highlighter. I then "connect-the-dots" choosing a likely looking route. Next, I take a different color highlighter and circle all of the public parks with campgrounds along my highlighted route. Finally, with a third highlighter, I circle any interesting sights or towns I've heard or read about. Also, any that interest me while reading the map. Of course, the route I draw on the map is seldom the actual route I take. I favor small, unlikely looking, roads. Often, especially if I miss a turn, I let Van decide which road to take.

I'm an extremely casual, laid-back traveler. It's probably a good thing that I'm a solo traveler, for I'm sure the way I travel would drive most people crazy. On an average travel day, I probably drive about 150 miles, but 50 could be a good day, too. I rarely make reservations and usually don't know where I'll stop for the night. When I find a place to camp for the night, I'm seldom disappointed.

Vermont's Grand Isle State Park, in the middle of Lake Champlain, was a good find. I chose a grassy campsite, in full sun so I could recharge my solar panel batteries. Then, I walked down to the lake to do a little beach combing. While scrambling over the rocks, I found a comfortable rock chair creation provided by a previous camper. The chair was in the perfect location to eat my picnic supper, listen to the waves and watch the rising moon.

The Enchanted Emerald Lake

Emerald Lake State Park was my first stop after leaving New York. Located in the Valley of Vermont, between the Green Mountain Range and the Taconic Mountain Range, it was quite a contrast to the iron and glass "mountains and valleys" of Manhattan.

Emerald Lake was a pleasant discovery and an excellent introduction to Vermont's state park system. On the morning after my arrival, I packed a portable breakfast and went out at dawn to explore the park. The campsites were on a steep, heavily-wooded ridge above an enchanted lake. The trail from the campground led me down to the beaver ponds along Otter Creek, at the base of Emerald Lake. There, I found a comfortable rock, within sight of a beaver's lodge, to sit on while eating my breakfast. While munching on a banana, a young mink stopped to check me out. He probable stared at me for a full 30-seconds before disappearing into the rushes. Later, that morning, I saw a little orange newt sunning himself in the middle of the trail.

The lake, also added a magical feeling to the morning. The nearly mirror smooth waters reflected the early autumn colors and made the reflections of the water lilies look like a French Impressionist painting. I felt the lake inviting me to stay, but...the call of the open road was louder.

Not My Typical Roadtrip

On a typical roadtrip, I like to get as far away from "civilization" as possible. The more remote the campsite, the fewer the people, the wilder the country, the better. Boy, did I make a wrong turn somewhere! This latest trip included a week-long stay with my son in New York City. I'm not saying I didn't have a great visit, because I did, I'm just saying this was not a typical roadtrip.

Van does not like the city so he was happy to stay in the driveway of good friends of ours in Katonah, about an hour north of NYC. The Stanleys have been friends of my parents since I was just a few weeks old, when my father was in the army, stationed in Oklahoma. They have a beautiful home in a beautiful little town where they very graciously offered me both a place to leave Van, but also, a cozy room and great company to return to after my city visit. They gave me rides to and from the train station, which I used to get in to the city.

Dan, my son, met my train at Grand Central Station. He taught me how to purchase and use a MetroCard, an essential to traveling the subway system, then we rode back to his apartment in Queens. He and his fiancee, Caitlin, live in a great eleventh-floor apartment with excellent views of the Queensborough Bridge, the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building and a tiny bit of the East River.

My previous visits to NYC have been rather structured and supervised; I almost always traveled with someone who knew what they were doing and where they were going. This trip was different; Caitlin was out in California on a business trip and Dan was working long hours. Although we did a little sightseeing together, notably, a trip to a Staten Island tapas restaurant, most of our visiting was in his apartment before or after he went to work.

When Dan was at work, I was on my own. I wandered around the city, sometimes with a destination in mind, other times just to walk and explore. I bought groceries and brought them home on the subway. Don't laugh, I've lived all over the world, but this was a first for me. I spent a lot of time sitting on park benches, watching people and eating food from street vendors. I explored the main library and Central Park. I shopped, both for real and window-shopping, and basically, just did whatever I wanted when I wanted. It was an extremely relaxing way to visit an anything but relaxing, city.

One of my favorite activities was taking photos of the changing cityscape from the balcony of the apartment. I watched the sun rise and set over the city and watched fronts move in and out, including one which brought a tornado with it. On the anniversary of 9-11, I saw the lights on the Empire State Building change to red, white and blue, and the twin beams of light shining from Ground Zero.

I experienced the crush of the crowds, heard the constant noise of the trains and traffic, saw the towering buildings and bridges, and everywhere, saw nature. Most of what I saw just hinted at people's craving for the natural world, such as roof-top gardens and the elaborate green space of Central Park. Other nature sightings, such as the wild turkey wandering in a children's playground near the Staten Island ferries and the hawks soaring in the thermals above the buildings, spoke of the ability of wild things to adapt to human surroundings.

Most impressively though, were the great rivers surrounding the city and the skies above. The rivers travel past the same shores as they have been since before there ever was a city or people to give them names. The skies, with their roaring winds and thunder and beautiful bolts of lightning flashing from building top to building top, showed me how small even our greatest city is. No matter how intelligent or important we think we are, no matter how great our civilizations may be, compared to the powers of nature, we are insignificant. In the end, nature always wins.

Erie Entertainment

Growing up in Michigan, the natural feature dominating my life has been the Great Lakes. One of the first things a Michigan child learns in school is HOMES, the acronym for remembering the names of all the Great Lakes, (Huron, Ontario, Michigan, Erie, Superior). Lake Superior was the biggest, the coldest and by its name, of course, the best. Lake Michigan was where you went if you wanted sand dunes, big waves and warm water. Lake Huron's shore was quieter, its water colder and that's where you went to watch the sunrise. Lake Ontario was somewhere off in Canada, and then there was Lake Erie. The smallest and shallowest of the Great Lakes, the one with the creepy name, Lake Erie got no respect.

As a kid I always thought of Lake Erie as the place where the bodies of people who had drowned in Lake St. Clair or the Detroit River would eventually resurface.

Recently, my opinion of Lake Erie has changed. After leaving Stratford, Ontario, I camped at Lake Erie State Park, in Brocton, New York. The campground was on a high bluff above a beautiful crescent shaped beach. The sandy beach had large rocks which provided perfect spots for viewing the water. As a former Michigan kid, what I was viewing was totally mind-blowing. I was watching the sun "set" into Lake Erie...a Michigan impossibility!

The sunset was beautiful and a lively wind created some nice sized waves. After a while a friendly dog showed up to play in the waves providing me with my evening's entertainment. That night as I was drifting off to sleep I was left with two thoughts: 1. I hope the owners of that wet, sandy dog weren't sharing a tent with him, and, 2. Just where do those dead bodies resurface?

The Play's Not Always The Thing

The first stop on my latest roadtrip was Stratford, Ontario. My sister and her family, and I shared a bed and breakfast, leaving poor little Van sitting neglected by the curb. My family and I have been enjoying the plays at Stratford since I was a kid. When we first visited, my parents would pull their motorhome into a vacant lot where we'd stay for the weekend. We'd change into our best clothes, then hike up the hill to the Festival Theatre for our yearly thespian treat. When we first visited, the only plays being presented were by Shakespeare. Attending one of the performances was quite an occasion; everyone dressed up and the women often wore long gowns. These days the atmosphere is more casual and the repertoire has expanded.

This year we saw two matinees, The Tempest and Peter Pan, and a musical, Kiss Me Kate, in the evening. If I were asked to choose a favorite, I'd have to say each one was unique and pleasure to watch. I enjoyed them all.

Although I love seeing the plays, they're not the only thing I love about Stratford. The town is full of beautiful parks and natural areas. You can spend an entire day walking up and down the Avon river, exploring the gardens, paths and walks. I love watching the waterfowl on and around the river, under the ancient willows. Stratford is the place to go when both your mind and your spirit need refreshing.

Yes, I Am A Travel Addict

Well, I've been home for a about a month, so it's time for another roadtrip. Anyone who likes to wander will recognize the symptoms of travel deficiency. First, there's a growing restlessness, intensified when reading travel magazines or watching the travel channel. Next, you'll notice yourself day-dreaming, accompanied by copious sighing during routine tasks at home or at work.

You'll pull out maps and markers to highlight interesting routes and destinations. Perhaps you'll hide your actions from those around you who don't share your travel addiction. When you start checking your bank accounts and making packing lists you know it's too late; you've succumbed to the sickness.

There is no cure. Travel is the only treatment.

Drying Out

One of my favorite overnight stops on the Erie Canal bike tour was at Syracuse, NY. We stayed in a city park with access to a pool and dinner at the zoo. But, the activity I enjoyed best was walking around tent city, taking pictures of the ingenious ways people found to dry out after the previous night's rain.

Cycling The Erie Canal

In case you're worried that I'm lost somewhere in a southwestern canyon and you're about to send out a search party, I should let you know, you're looking in the wrong direction. For the last week or so I've been exploring the northeast. I've been traveling with a biker gang. Not motorcyclists, but a group of about 500 bicyclists traveling over 400 miles from Buffalo to Albany, New York along the Erie Canal.

Now, don't get me wrong. I am not a biker. I own a bike, but it's been sitting neglected in my basement for several years. It's more of a clothes rack than a mode of transportation. I like to drive, walk and hike. Biking...not so much.

My sister, Kay, likes to bike. Every year she finds a multi-day, cross-country trip to join. This year she was tired of setting up a tent after a long day of biking, so she recruited me to be her personal "sag" driver. I transported her luggage and bike, drove her to and from the ride, and provided a cozy place to sleep at night. In exchange, I participated in all the fun tour activities, met a lot of interesting people, had plenty of time to take pictures and learn about early American history, and of course, had a chance to enjoy my sister's fine company.

Where Am I?

I entered Death Valley the hard way, through the backdoor. The road was a tiny, twisty, sometimes one-lane track from the Owens Valley through the Sylvania and Palmetto mountains. Traveling back and forth from California to Nevada and back again, I never knew exactly where I was. At one point I was stopped on the open-range by two cowboys herding cattle across the road. I enjoyed watching them so much I never even thought about taking pictures. The only vehicle I saw on my drive was a delivery truck. I guess when you live in the middle of nowhere, on an isolated ranch, that's the way to shop. Why bother driving all the way to town when UPS will deliver right to your door.

I arrived at Death Valley National Park in the late afternoon. The park was full of Spring Breakers and all the campgrounds were full, so I stayed just outside the park entrance with a few other campers. We were in a nice parking area, but it freaked me out a bit. At one end of the parking lot was a sign that read, "Welcome To California" while the other end had a "Welcome To Nevada." We were in the middle in a no-man's land. I couldn't stop wondering exactly which state I was in. I would have been seriously worried if I had outstanding warrants in either state and didn't know legally where I was.

In the morning, solidly back in California, I took a couple of tours of Scotty's Castle, a historic mansion in the park, then went looking for a campsite. Still no luck, so I stopped at the Furnace Creek Inn for lunch and possibly a room for the night. I'd stayed at the inn before with my daughter. We'd shared a great road trip, back and forth across the country, one summer. What we liked best about our stay, not counting the scenery and overwhelming stars at night, was the oasis and pool. The inn has a huge spring fed pool which is drained and refilled every night. The water from the pool refreshes a cool, green oasis of flowers and palm trees. It seems like a mirage, this strange, wonderful little bit of paradise surrounded by the stark, unforgiving beauty of the desert.

Desert Love

To the casual observer, Joshua Tree National Park is a hot, dry, barren and forbidding land full of prickly, poisonous inhabitants; a "drive-through" park with few sights beyond some interesting rocks, a strange cactus garden and weird looking "so-called trees". But, to those who love her, those willing to spend time with her, she will reveal her hidden treasures.

Her secrets lie in the cracks of massive boulders where small desert animals sleep through the day and wildflowers bloom in the spring. Where imaginations can turn inanimate objects into the tortured faces of giants, frozen in time.

Her secrets are in her broad, dry washes which, if you take the time to explore, transform into hidden lands of steep twisty cliffs, rich and moist, teeming with life. Seek out her cool shady spots beneath the giant boulders. Sit quietly, letting the gentle breezes caress you. Smell her clean, dry scent. Embrace the smooth, cool curves of her rocks. Spend the night with her, enveloped by the starry sky, until you lose all sense of perspective and balance and are swept away by the magnificence around you.

Leave with regret, promising you'll be back to see her again and again.

Restless Genes

I'm a product of restless genes. As a teenager, my mother left the country for the city. Her parents moved from the city to the northwood forests. Their families left Europe centuries before, always moving westward. My father was born with wandering genes, too. His life with my mother was one long road trip. He loves maps and my mother is an excellent navigator, so, for as long as I can remember, they've either been planning a trip, traveling or reminiscing about their travels.

I was doomed to wander from the start. My first cross-country trip was when I was two weeks old. Like a baby bird imprinted by the sight of his mother, as an infant I was imprinted by the sight of the open road. My first lullaby was the sound of tires rolling down the highway. The "ding-ding" of a car entering a gas station was better than the sound of sleigh bells at Christmas. Perhaps that's why I liked Picacho Peak so much.

Not a wilderness park by any means, Picacho Peak State Park is located just off of I-10, west of Tucson, Arizona. From the campground you can watch a steady stream of cars and trucks moving across the country. Parallel to the highway, and just as busy, are trans-continental train tracks. Since prehistoric times Picacho Peak has been a landmark for travelers. While definitely not a park for everyone, I enjoyed watching the traffic in the distance from my saguaro-dotted campsite. With my imagination, and by squinting my eyes, I could turn the cars, trucks and trains into long lines of covered wagons, stage coaches and bands of travelers, all following the dictates of their restless genes.

Chiricahua National Monument

Now that you've read about my tortilla indulgence day, let me tell you more about Chiricahua National Monument. I knew nothing about Chiricahua before my arrival. On my map it was just a likely looking place to spend the night; I found it to be a little piece of paradise.

Located just across the Arizona border, in the far southeastern corner of New Mexico, Chiricahua National Monument is an example of a "sky island". Sky islands are isolated mountains or mountain ranges with their own ecosystems, unique from the surrounding desert. There are plants and animals at Chiricahua that exist nowhere else on earth.

I fell in love with the monument's Bonita Canyon Campground; it reminded me of the campgrounds my family and I camped at, in Oregon, when I was growing up. There were only 24 sites and they were limited to rigs under 29 feet long. There was no electricity, water or sewer, but, there were two low-water crossings, an icy creek running through the campground, fresh, cool, pine-scented breezes, hiking trails and bear-proof storage boxes. What more could a person want?

In the morning, before leaving, I drove to the top of the mountain on a tiny, twisty road. The sides of the road were still snow covered with little trickles of water running down the slopes. On the summit I was able to get cell phone reception, so I made a few calls and checked my email. Then, after having taken care of business, I hiked around the summit on an interpretive trail that explained the erosion process that created the crazy rock formations in the park.

I only stayed for a night and part of a day, but Chiricahua made me feel like I could have lived there for a lifetime.

Playing With My Food

I stopped at Deming, New Mexico after leaving Rockhound State Park, to gas up and buy some groceries. I really only needed milk and bananas but discovered the grocery store made their own fresh corn and flour tortillas! I watched the mixing, rolling, baking process until I was seduced by the aroma of freshly baked tortillas. Of course I had to buy a package and as soon as I was outside I had to eat one. As I enjoyed its warm, tender, goodness I thought of what else I could add to my tortilla.

Once I got back to Van, I took a warm flour tortilla and wrapped it around part of a milk chocolate caramel bar. Yum! It tasted like an ooey, gooey junk food celebration. Later, I tried the same combination with a sliced banana. Delicious! I made one more discovery that day. Driving while eating an ooey, gooey chocolate caramel creation is not a great decision; very similar to the time I learned not to drive while eating giant, frosting covered cinnamon rolls.

Later that evening, after I made camp at Chiricahua National Monument, I continued my tortilla obsession. I made a little fire and grilled some summer sausage which I ate with a freshly warmed tortilla and salsa. I sat in the dark watching the glowing coals, listening to the trickle of a nearby stream and the calls of night creatures. Surely, this is heaven.

A Rocky Destination

Rockhound State Park, near Deming, New Mexico, was a new discovery for me. So far, every state park I've visited in New Mexico has been unique, quirky and pleasant. I haven't found one yet that I wouldn't be glad to stay at again. What made Rockhound unique was that it allowed visitors to collect and remove up to fifteen pounds of rocks per day; quite a surprise considering most parks ask that you "take nothing but pictures." Various rocks and minerals can be found throughout the park, including quartz, jasper, agate, opal and other semi-precious gems.

Rockhound's campground is in a little bowl surrounded on three sides by the Florida and Little Florida mountains, some of them snow-capped. There are several foot trails nearby including a cactus garden nature trail.

After dinner, I went out for a little hike on one of the rocky, cactus-covered slopes behind my campsite. I talked to a collector hammering rocks out of the slope. He didn't think he'd found anything of great value but would know more after he had examined his haul that evening. After he returned to his campsite I watched the sunset and enjoyed seeing the glow of the lights of Deming off to the west and the stars appearing above.

Another Big Bend

When I left Big Bend National Park I didn't know there was a second park to discover. Just west of the national park on highway 170, from Presidio to Lajitas, you'll find Big Bend Ranch State Park. What a surprise! Just when you think the feast is over, along comes another course. This Texas state park is located along the Rio Grande with lots of hiking trails, scenic pull-outs and picnic areas.

When I left Michigan for the Southwest, my goal, at the time, was to search for wildflowers. So far I hadn't had much luck, an odd flower here or there, but no real signs of spring. It was along highway 170 I first saw any significant wildflowers. My first sighting was of large displays of beautiful, deep blue lupine along the side of the road.

Luckily, the road was very quiet. At a likely spot I pulled Van off onto the shoulder. I grabbed my camera and trusty doormat and headed down the road. Soon I was flat on my belly in the middle of a patch of flowers, the mat protecting me from various prickly things. I felt like a little desert animal hiding in a field of blue; nothing but swaying flowers around me.

It was the wind and the swaying of the flowers that kept me from getting a really sharp picture. Later down the road, I found some yucca in bloom. I also found a two inch spine stuck in my blouse. No doubt, the result of acting like a bunny in the blooms.