03-20-2019 Crossing the Country

Current Location: Peregrine Pines Family Camp, USAFA Colorado Springs, Colorado

Full moon clear at 29 degrees F at 4:00 AM

The days are starting to all run together.  When traveling east on I-10, crossing Texas, it seems like it goes on forever.  I can’t remember how many days it took us to get across that state, but I am sure it was at least four.  What I have discovered, is that the name of the state doesn’t matter, one state, five states, whatever, it takes days and days to get back west.

1620 miles, 5 days driving, with one down day in Palestine, AR, looks like our 300 mile per day routine is about right with a little bit extra

When we left Okefenokee, our main focus was heading home, taking I-40 back west as an alternative to I-10.  It helps to have a bit of different scenery, new landscapes to wake up the eyes and heart.  I know there are many sights we haven’t visited along the 10, but my ache to see new sights is waning a bit as our trip exceeds two months.  I am sorta ready to be home.

The annual Home Show in Eufaula, Georgia would have been a fun stop if we weren’t in travel mode

We left our little campground in Albany, Georgia on Thursday morning the 14th of March, traveling west and north.  Our original plan included driving toward Nashville, where we had a reservation at Arnold Air Force Base for two nights.  We thought it might be fun to see a little bit more of Nashville than we saw back in 2007, and to continue west toward Memphis.

We did have an important destination.  My mother, deceased in 1952, was born in Palestine, Arkansas.  I have spent several years attempting to track down my mother’s father and relatives on that branch of my family with little success.  With the help of Ancestry DNA tests, I discovered that I truly do have family connections right there in Palestine.  We had been invited to park at my cousin Rita’s place as long as we wanted.  Our visit will get a post of its own, but that will come next.

My cousin Rita and her husband Johnny in Palestine, Arkansas

No matter where you travel this time of year, weather can get in the way of the best laid plans.  The huge “bomb cyclone” that hit the upper Midwest was coming east in a long red, orange and yellow band that stretched from the lower southwest corner to the upper northeast corner of our route, spawning flooding, and scariest of all, tornados.  There was no escaping it. Should we hunker down and wait somewhere for it to hit us, or simply drive fast through it and hope it misses us.  As my daughter Deanna said, you are moving and the tornados are moving, no matter what you do, it is a crap shoot.

We decided that we should take the most direct route possible to get to Arkansas, skipping the sight seeing and cancelling the Nashville reservations.  All I had to do when calling the office was mention the tornado watches we were traveling through and we got a full refund.  Nice.

Our goal on the 14th was to simply get through the line of tornado watches.  We crossed Georgia in lovely sunshine, entering into Mississippi and some of the most kerthunkety roads we have traveled since I-10.  We passed Montgomery and Birmingham, navigating the freeways without much trouble.  I thought a lot about the important historical locations in both of these cities.  I have read great stories about visits to both cities and wished I had the weather, the time, and the energy to stop and spend some time appreciating the changes we have experienced in our country since the early days of the Civil Rights Movement.

Did I mention I was a bit burned out on city sights?  I found myself a bit glad that I had the excuse of tornado warnings to keep us moving north and crossing Mississippi in record time.  I joked that there would surely be a tornado shelter at the Cracker Barrel.

There were only a few scary moments, as we watched the swirling black clouds north of Birmingham building, and fought the erratic wind gusts.  The sky never did turn green, and the warning system app never sounded an alarm for tornado conditions going from watch to warning.  There were a few intense downpours, but no hail, for which I was extremely grateful.

That night, once again we overnighted in the free parking lot of a Cracker Barrel in Tupelo, Mississippi, safely on the other side of the tornado watch.  Nickie teased that we must love Cracker Barrel food, but not so much.  We do love their free parking lots however, and so far at each one we have used, the lot has been quiet.  In Tupelo we were the only rig in the lot, as we were previously in Florida. 

On the morning of the 15th, we continued north and west, crossing the Mississippi River mid day and arriving at my cousin’s place early afternoon.  We stayed two nights, and as I said, the story of that visit will come in another post.

Lots of high water on the Mississippi Delta

On Sunday morning, the 17th, once again we pointed the rig west along I-40, crossing Arkansas and most of Oklahoma before settling in once again at another Cracker Barrel, and another night alone in a quiet parking lot.  There were a lot of hotels surrounding the restaurant, but it seemed perfectly quiet and safe, even on the fringe of a big city near the airport.

This time we decided to succumb to the big country breakfasts that they are famous for.  Mo had French Toast for the first time on this two month trip, and I had some kind of great scramble thing, with biscuits and fresh squeezed orange juice.  We don’t eat out a lot, and this was our first breakfast out on the entire trip. 

Texas Rest Areas are sometimes as big as everything else in Texas

Our lovely breakfast kept us satiated through the rest of Oklahoma into the Texas Panhandle toward Amarillo. We haven’t traveled the Panhandle since 2010, and we were still unsure if the weather was going to cooperate with our plans to turn north toward Colorado.  There were inklings of snow in Colorado Springs, and if that continued, our plan was to spend the night in Amarillo, and continue west toward Albuquerque.

Gorgeous informative displays at the Gray County Safety Rest Area

Checking the weather, messaging with Erin, and looking at options for routing, we finally decided that it would be OK to make the journey north.  Instead of stopping in Amarillo, we continued north along highway 87 toward the little town of Dumas, Texas.  Using All Stays, we found the Dumas City Park, called Texhoma Park, a free camping spot with free electricity.  Free?  yeah, it really is free, with a limit of 24 hours only.  There is a donation box if you wish to help keep the place available. 

Once again we were almost the only rig there for the night.  Our only company was a gray RV with signs all over it in Spanish, basically advertising their travels from Chile to Alaska.  I did a bit of sleuthing, I found a photo of the same rig on Facebook, and ended up messaging with the person who posted that photo who had seen them in Chile.  Crazy world.  He and I did some more hunting, and actually found the Facebook page of the family, who have been on the road for two years. 

I had a lot of questions about that entire process.  Do they have to get visas for each country they pass through? Their facebook page says they are supporting themselves by selling things, but how do they do that in the US? It is a mom and a dad, two kids and a dog. They left their ordinary lives and ordinary jobs of teaching in Chile to travel all the way to Alaska.  I guess the RV dream is everywhere.

When we woke up and planned a leisurely 200 mile drive to our next destination, we were shocked to see that the plug-in voltmeter  was showing 18 volts and we were on store! It dropped down to 14 part of the time, so we really didn’t understand what was happening.  We tested a few things before deciding that we needed to find some help.  I found a mobile RV repair guy, Bob’s Mobile RV Service, who was back south of Amarillo, but he was so kind and helpful.  He said it could just be the meter itself, but that driving between 14 and 15 volts might not be a problem to get us to a repair service.  He then made some calls and set up a visit for us at the local Ford Dealer.  What a sweet guy.  He even called back a few hours later to be sure that we were OK. If you are ever in the vicinity, and need help I would highly recommend his service.

After driving to the small Ford dealership in Dumas, we waited a couple of hours for a technician to check our batteries, and alternator. Everything was fine, and as Bob had suspected, it was our voltmeter that had failed. The Ford dealer didn’t charge us for the service and we were on our way just a few hours later than planned.  Nice that we had a shorter mileage day ahead.

Eroded limestone at a rest area near Two Buttes, in far southeastern Colorado

Speaking of the RV dream, I am definitely not a full timer.  We have been traveling for 2 months now, and it has been wonderful.  I am so glad we can do it.  I am also so glad that we are heading home.  I have lost a bit of the excitement, and the thrill of exploring new places has taken a back seat to the thrill of once more getting back west.  The thrill of returning to our little town, and our green lovely acre, and our comfortable home is overshadowing the thrill of seeing more brown barren trees and brown barren grass on the high plains of the United States.

The Texas Panhandle isn’t completely flat.  We might have liked to explore Palo Duro Canyon, the Grand Canyon of Texas, second largest canyon in the United States

Following the snow predictions for the east side of the Rockies, we knew that it would be cold but not snowy for a night at John Martin Reservoir State Park.  We stayed at this park back in 2010, even spending an evening kayaking.  It was September then, not March, and wasn’t as cold. We knew the temps on this night in March were going to drop to the 20’s.  I discovered by pure chance that the park is now reservation  only, and made a reservation at the last minute as we drove north.  When we arrived, signs on the posts said do not occupy without a reservation, but same day reservations were allowed. Only problem, there is limited cell service at the park and one would have to return to the little nearby town of Hasty to attempt to get service.

Once at the park, my choice of a site seemed really stupid.  On the website it is very nearly impossible to get any kind of idea of what a site might be like.  There are no photos.  We ended up all alone in a loop over by the dam.  It turned out nicely, however, since it was completely quiet, and I could take Mattie out running off leash without any problems.  It was too cold to be on the lake anyway!

Yesterday morning we got up to a windy 24F degrees, that quickly warmed to 34F degrees but the wind was biting cold. 

Yup, that’s me trying to take phone photos at 24 degrees in the wind.  Stupid selfie camera comes on when I don’t know it

On the road by 9, we knew we had a short day ahead driving west toward Interstate 25 and our final miles toward Colorado Springs and the USAir Force Academy Peregrine Pines Family Camp.

We have read about this beautiful camp over the years, and seen beautiful photos from Erin’s blog about the trails and the chapel, and knew it would be a good place to stay.

Settled in at Peregrine Pines with the bluest skies we have seen in a long time

Erin and Mui loved this area so much, it called to them when they made their choice to end their full time lifestyle and settle down once again to a sticks and bricks home. (You can read about it here). We look forward so much to seeing their new home and spending time with them here in Colorado Springs.

Still not quite sure about our return route.  Once again, weather will be the determining factor. Mo isn’t too excited about returning back south to the 40 and I am not that excited about traveling over the mountains on the 70 or through the cold windy country  of Wyoming on the 80.  That route on the 80 is actually 400 miles less than my choice of returning back to the 40 and then having to go back north.  Ah well.  As I said, the choice will be made next Sunday morning when we exit Colorado Springs.

Hoping that a few extra miles going back south will be rewarded with warmer temperatures and maybe even some desert flowers as we continue our run home west toward Grants Pass.  Either way, home is the prize waiting at the end of the journey.

03-15-2019 Visiting My Cousin Rita in Palestine, Arkansas

Current Location: Peregrine Pines Campground, USAir Force Academy, Colorado Springs, Colorado

Overcast and chilly at 48 Degrees F

We were lucky that the weather was with us when we arrived in Palestine for two days visiting my cousin Rita and her husband Johnny.  The sun was shining, and in spite of the chilly nights, the days were warm enough for shirtsleeves and we enjoyed our time exploring the local roads and cemeteries.

There is some background here that can get a bit daunting, so I’ll simply summarize a bit.  My own mother passed in 1952, I didn’t know my father, so he wasn’t a source of information for me about my family background.  My grandmother was incredibly secretive and refused to even tell my mother who her father was.  All I knew was that she was born in Palestine Arkansas in 1924.  My grandmother died with her stories untold.  Later in life, I found my father and he said there was a name, “Hurt”, that was probably my mother’s father.

Enter Ancestry and DNA testing.  A few months ago, my DNA came up with a very high probability match with Rita Hurt Jayroe.  I WAS a Hurt! I wrote a tentative note to Rita, and in spite of the sketchy background, was welcomed with open arms and tons of stories about the Hurt family. 

Her father and my grandfather William Isham Hurt were brothers.  There is no record of my mother’s birth, but amazingly for the time, my grandmother has two photos of a man holding my mother when she was weeks old.  I showed that photo to Rita, and she said, sure enough, that was her Uncle Isham.  What a world!

We talked for a long time on the phone, sharing stories and laughs, and Rita and her husband Johnny, with such open hearts, offered a place for us to park our motorhome if we ever were to pass by Arkansas.  Sure enough, with our trip plans including a return along I-40, I asked if it was a good time for us to visit.

Rita’s Uncle Isham, my grandfather, William Isham Hurt, holding my mother as a baby

What a delight it was to step into the roots of Rita and her family.  We arrived mid afternoon, and were directed into the big barn with a cement floor and electric hookups.  It was nice to have the view out the front and yet have shelter for the predicted freezing nights to come.

Mattie had a playmate for a couple of days while we visited.

Rita welcome us with open arms, and then we walked around the property a bit, hearing more stories of the Hurt Family.  In the photo below, you can see a small white house, located across the street from the house that Rita and Johnny live in now and that they built over 40 years ago. 

Rita was born in that little white house on their property across the road from where they live now

  Rita and Johnny built this home more than 40 years ago

Rita and Johnny have been married for more than 50 years, and Johnny also has very deep roots in Palestine.  During the afternoon, before Johnny returned from work, Rita shared movies of her father and uncles, including Uncle Isham, my grandfather, on the right in the photo below that I took from the projection on the television.

I also saw portraits of my great grandparents and other family treasures that have been part of the Hurt family.

Later that evening, we rode with Rita into Palestine for an supper at a little cafe called the Crazy Donkey Grill.  The place was packed on that Friday night, and the food was good.  Quite different from our western version of Mexican food but still tasty. The restaurant has been open only a year or so, and has a map of the United States with pins marking where people are from.  Our two pins were the only ones from Oregon!

Johnny joined us as we finished up our supper.  We had the farmer discussion about this being being “supper” and the big meal at noon was “dinner”.  Johnny told us lots of stories about farming in this part of Arkansas, one of the biggest rice growing areas in the country.  I had no clue that rice was grown in Arkansas. Johnny was as kind and friendly as Rita, and wanted to be sure that we were comfortable.

Rita loves her flowers, and we could see how pretty everything would be as spring progresses

We retired to our cozy nook in the shop, and the next morning Johnny insisted on making breakfast for all of us in the house.  The day was cool but beautifully sunny and we had plans to travel to Forrest City (the nearby county seat) for lunch at another restaurant that is a favorite of theirs, the Ole Sawmill Cafe.  There we were treated to some traditional Southern cooking at a buffet that included Southern Fried Chicken and fried okra.  Yummy stuff.  They had plans to take us out to dinner, but we said, please, no more food! 

The rest of the afternoon we visited the cemetery in Forrest City where my grandfather was buried, and then later we wandered around the cemetery in Palestine where Johnny had been in charge for several years so he knew where a lot of the gravestones were located.  There we found the headstones for my great grandparents and many other members of the Hurt family. 

Tina “Tiny” Cooper Taggart, my great grandmother.  All I will ever know of her

We thought perhaps we might find my grandmother’s mother Tina somewhere in that cemetery but had no luck.  What we did find was a record of her death in 1931 in Little Rock.  There are so many stories that died with my grandmother that will never be known.

The no more food suggestion didn’t work very well, because after a short late afternoon nap we walked back over to the house to discover that Rita and Johnny has ordered ribs and fixin’s for supper!  Good thing I don’t live in the South.  Good stuff.

It was a wonderful visit, and Rita and I spent a bit of time going over the family tree that she has worked on for some time now, with roots going back to the 15th century.  I always thought I had no extended family, and now look, I have cousins!  I am so glad that Rita was willing to answer my tentative note, and that we had a chance to meet and share stories about our children, our lives, our history.

For someone like me, who has lived in so many places throughout my life, it was fascinating to meet Rita who has lived only right there in the vicinity of Palestine Arkansas for her entire life. I once made a google map of all the houses I lived in from 1945 until now.  Here is the link to that map.

It is good to have some roots. It is also interesting to discover that my somewhat strange connections to the South and how I feel when I am there actually have some basis.  My family roots on this side are in the South.  In Arkansas, in Tennessee, with preachers and Civil War soldiers, and sheriffs, and farmers. Those roots go all the way back to Virginia, and then England and Scotland and Ireland. 

It seems that many people I have talked to lately are discovering so many hidden stories in their families, truths that have long been hidden revealed. As Rita said, all of Isham’s legitimate grandchildren might not be so welcoming, and she is going to take her time letting them know about me.  No matter, this connection that we have made is enough to fill in some of the blanks that have been part of my life story for 70 plus years. 

The wonders of DNA.  Who knows where it will lead for so many of us seeking answers to our stories.

Palestine, Arkansas and Nashville

In Nashville at the Nashville Country RV Park comfortably settled in with cheese, crackers and salami and a great bottle of cabernet. Actually, cheap wine here is 10 bucks a bottle, but it’s Australian so of course it’s good. Love that blackberry overtone with hints of vanilla and chocolate in the Yellow Tail. Sigh. Nice evening. It’s been raining and more is coming, but for now it’s quiet.

Today I went to Palestine, Arkansas, where my mother was born. I stopped in at the Post Office to mail our Christmas cards and talked with the postmaster there about the Hurt family, the person listed on my mother’s birth certificate is Emmet Hurt, a barber. After much slow drawling kind southern conversation, interrupted by locals coming in for mailings and conversation, I got the phone number and address of a 90 year old lady who knows all the history of Palestine. And I was told very sweetly that Palestine is in the Middle East and Palestyne in right here in Arkansas.

Just standing in that post office was a southern experience, with Mary the postmaster so kind and conversational, and I just waited and waited while she thought about people to call. Finally talked with a woman who married into the Hurt family who said, “Well, Emmet must have divorced that lady you are speaking of because later he married my aunt and they had no children.” Emmet is dead now, as are his two brothers. I am thinking that maybe the 90 year old lady Vada will remember the gossip of the time, but who knows what the reality is in this story.

My grandmother told me bits and pieces and refused to tell me the whole story, only alluding the intrigue and fear and secrets. I will never know for sure if this man Emmet Hurt is really my grandfather or if he was some kind of cover up to an even more secret story of my grandmother giving birth to a baby girl in Palestine Arkansas at the tender age of 15.

Another small piece of a story had something to do with my grandmother’s mother taking her to the train when in the midnight dark in the rain in an old wagon, getting stuck in the creek, and going fast because the situation was fearful, and my grandmother had to get out of town for her safety. She left my mother behind and went to Tulsa, where she worked as a photographer’s model while her mother took care of the baby back home in Palestine.

Stories. Part of all those stories that flew past my inner vision as I lay on the massage table at the Hot Springs. Do the stories really matter?

It was gray and cloudy as we crossed Arkansas today, with brown fields and brown trees with no leaves, and water that was gunmetal gray full of geese flying somewhere farther south.

Hot Springs, Arkansas

8pm in Lake Catherine State Park, Arkansas
My grandmother lived near here, my mother was born here in Arkansas, maybe it’s genetic, the familiar feel of the hardwood forests here, my Cherokee heritage, past memories that aren’t even mine that I feel here in the Arkansas winter. I went to Hot Springs today, the Hot Springs national park, and to the original Buckstaff bathhouse established in 1912. Turned out to be a truly amazing experience, from the old tiles to the antique plumbing, the huge porcelain tubs, the huge linen bath sheets that they wrap around you as you go from treatment to treatment.

http://www.buckstaffbaths.com/

It was really cold today, at least for what we expected in Arkansas, and gray all day. Maybe 45 degrees at best but really windy and damp. Cold.

Hot Springs is a magical space, at least the area around the actual hot springs was amazing. Old buildings that were once the heyday of the rich and famous coming for the water therapy that used to be considered so healing, even by the medical establishment.

John and Linda came in last night and we visited in the moho and then went to dinner at Chili’s and I had some truly tremendous ribs. It was a nice visit, and they drove back home after 9. He said he could do it, after all he was a truck driver. We talked a bit about trucking and Deanna and Keith and wondering how it all is going to go for them. We even managed to sit around and talk and visit in this tiny space with a modicum of comfort.

Mo was tired last night though, after driving in all that wind, and after “entertaining”. Today’s travels were a mere 138 miles from Van Buren to Hot Springs, and it still seemed like a long day. Mo didn’t partake of the baths, she isn’t susceptible to all that stuff the way I am. I’m so glad I didn’t miss it though.

Tonight the GSM broadband is less than non existent, so I suppose I won’t get to the internet, even though it says I am connected. Ah well. Out in the countryside of Arkansas.