On April 19th,

We left the lake in New Hampshire and took a long and winding drive to Elgin, Texas, arriving on April 26th. It was a trip full of love, peace, and discovery.

Moments before leaving New Hampshire — Selfie with Rudy ❤

The day before we left was packing day. It took the afternoon to clean the house and car, and pack our things up. In the end, what gathered in the dust was a minimal amount of possessions that we were able to tuck into the car with room to spare. Necessity takes on a new meaning when one knows one’s priorities.

Our possessions leaving New Hampshire, we’ve since downsized even more

For us, one of the infinite joys is Jim’s massage table and this fits perfectly in the square footage of my little Honda’s trunk. Another is fresh, clean water, so we stopped by our favorite local spring in Exeter, New Hampshire and filled about 10 gallons’ worth. Everything else was packed in between the spaces.

April 20, 2020 — Cape Cod, MA

The first day on the road we headed to Cape Cod to say goodbye to family and friends. We stopped in Plymouth, MA to see Jim’s sister and her family. It was a beautiful sunny day; the kids were outside soaking in the sun and Jill looked so pretty with her kids all around. Due to everything that’s going on, we didn’t touch but social distanced ourselves. In paying visits, we made sure to inquire into everyone’s “COVID Protocol” ahead of time, since that’s the world we live in today.

We stopped at Jim’s mom’s house to drop some stuff off and packed our bags, and hung out with Barbara and Ken, her husband, for an hour or two. Then, we set off to see Mike P. and Jim’s dad. Mike was working on his VW bus when we rolled up and we chatted for a bit before taking off.

At Mark’s, we hung out in the warm greenhouse, which felt like a humid tropical island. I sunk my fingers into the dirt and felt the earth. It felt great to get my hands dirty. There is something in dirt and Earth that is like a salve, a healing balm. He sent us on our way with Korean melon seedlings he started from when I brought over a Korean melon for everyone to try, Jim’s book — Shantaram that he had borrowed, and a few of his old shirts for Jim.

When we returned to Barb and Ken’s, we cooked up some rice and vegetables for dinner, and played an obsolete Scrabble game played like Yahtzee with dice. We shared a joint and belly laughs.

Before night fell, we set up a tent outside with my Korean sleeping mat, similar to a tatami mat but cushioned, and a big down comforter + black duvet combo that I brought from home because it is seriously amazing. This is the most luscious of sleeping situations.

We both fell asleep instantly and through the night with the ribbed chorus of peepers in our ears. For me, the soundest sleep I’d had in a very long time.

April 21, 2020 — New Britain, CT

In the morning, we awoke at 6:30 am and did our flow exercise before anything else. It felt good to crack the bones and joints and get the blood and fluids moving.

Everything was ready to go from our wonderful preparation the day before so we had an easy morning of crappy coffee and chats before setting off for Connecticut at around 9 am.

We stopped in Providence to pick up a couple of sleeping pads for camping that Jim found off Craig’s List and still made good time, arriving in Mystic, Connecticut at 11 am to see my sister, Angela, and her newborn, Zoe.

She was expecting us the next day and felt very put upon and confused. Jim and I took a walk around Ender’s Island to give her some time and space before heading over. When we arrived, she cautioned us about masks and gloves, meeting us at the door with spare gloves. Donned with face masks, we entered the home like a bio-hazard site.

There was baby Zoe, her head lolling about her neck, still getting used to the world. I clucked my tongue at her and smiled.

Jim left to give my sister time and space to breastfeed and picked up some road trip snacks at the local supermarket.
While he was out, my sister’s husband was getting in from work. He asked if I had a chance to hold the baby yet, which I hadn’t. Thank you, Miles! I thought to myself. My sister had seemed far too stressed out and protective of the situation to venture the question. Zoe scrunched up on me, like a little squiggle, hard to hold. I savored the moment of being there, a new aunt with my little niece. I promised I’d be there for her.

That night, we slept at my friend’s house in New Britain where we chatted and laughed late into the night.

Meeting Baby Zoe — April 20, 2020

April 21, 2020 — Wilkes-Barre, PA

In the morning, we awoke early, drank coffee, and talked. With just a short drive ahead of us to Wilkes-Barre, we were not in much of a hurry and left at 10 am. We took the windy back roads through northwestern Connecticut into New York. I saw parts of my home state I had never seen before. Weaving through South Kent, CT it was luscious, green, misty, and foreign — I thought we might spy a leprechaun or fairy peek out from behind a mossy rock.

As we crossed the border into eastern Pennsylvania, we stopped at a strip mall to use a restroom. As I walked into a Subway, the lady behind the counter at told me to leave because I wasn’t wearing a mask.

“CDC rules,” she said unapologetically. We had a few masks in the glove box of the car, courtesy of my parents who gave me a stack before the trip, along with some latex gloves, but I wasn’t about to put it on — more on that later.

It was the first time I encountered in real life this degree of COVID regulation and it felt strange. Her eyes flashed angrily at me above her own sanctioned face mask that covered the rest of her anonymous face as she stabbed her finger at the door. I didn’t know what to say and recognizing the fear in her eyes, I simply gathered myself and walked out, my nerves unsettled. Being as it were, all the other stores were closed due to being deemed non-essential, so I ended up peeing behind our parked car next to the plaza while Jim kept watch.

A week or two ahead of our trip, Jim had hit up the Couchsurfing website and made contacts along the way of our route — someone in Pennsylvania, another in Virginia, Tennessee, and Texas. It was encouraging to know that in spite of the simmering hysteria, people were still responding and inviting us in.

Meeting Bob

The first stop was with Bob in Wilkes-Barre, located in eastern Pennsylvania. In fact, it was so close to Connecticut, about 3.5 hours from our start point, that it seemed silly to me that that would be our first stop. And I am so glad we stopped there!

As we drove through Wilkes-Barre and the Pocono Mountains, Bob directed us via text message to the lakeside community of Indian Lake. Service was spotty at the entrance to the private community so Jim and I traversed Bear Creek Boulevard for a few minutes, seeking signal so we could confirm with Bob that we had arrived. When it proved to be more difficult than necessary, we figured we could try again later and drove down Indian Lake Trail, a wide and knobby dirt road.

Following his clear directions sent by text, the lodge we drove up to was set away from the other houses, in the woods and off the lake and the main road. Construction material lay around the house that was in the style of a Lincoln Log cabin with large stacked logs and a rustic feel.

Bob was at the big lodge and as we approached the door, he came out, welcoming us into his home. This was actually his second home, a getaway into the peaceful embrace of the woods. Originally from Wilkes-Barre, but quite the traveler himself, he was open, extroverted, and boisterous with a quick and flashy smile. Immediately, he ushered us into his home with the familiarity of a comfortable and practiced host. My keen nose smelled a hint of pot as I crossed the threshold and we were brought on a thorough and extensive tour while he regaled us with “Bob Tales”.

Bob Tales

Story after story tumbled into the conversation of his life and times. I liked his style — flamboyant, rambunctious, extra, out there, loud, determined, tenacious, and street smart. He offered us beer, which I was glad to drink, and made sure our cups were never empty, which I appreciated although I only partook in one beverage. These days, I don’t drink much so it’s quite the luxury when I do.

As the night progressed, there was talk of pot. With murmurs of agreement and nods of approval all around, we smoked a joint together — “Medical grade Gorilla Glue”, he told us as I contemplated how I was already glued to my seat listening to him weave his stories of adventure and mischief.

He shared with us about how he finagled a position aboard a cruise ship that he then worked on for the next 20 years. At the time, he was just 18 years old and fresh-faced in Honolulu from Pennsylvania working as a boat boy at the Hilton when he spied the cruise-liner, The Continental, docked at the pier. Noting its magnificence and all it meant to him, he made it a goal to get on that ship. Normally there is an extensive process one has to go through that involves seamen’s training in Annapolis, but he wasn’t about to do that. And true to that, he bypassed it through sheer determination, conversation, and quick thinking.

“You won’t believe what people give us,” he said of he and his brother’s gift of gab and the opportunities that present themselves through this ability to talk to anyone and everyone. I’ve always admired people who could talk like that. My gift is writing, but it doesn’t necessarily translate to the art of conversation as one might think.

He went on to talk about the beauty of giving and receiving and how that keeps the flow of energy cycling. And he really does embody that mantra of giving and receiving. He is a super generous and welcoming host, and through his stories, it becomes clear this is a big part of how he lives. I liked this, a lot.

It is this that keeps social sites like Couchsurfing alive and it’s the reason he had us in his house that night, three strangers brought together by opportunity, sharing a beer, a smoke, and stories. It is proof of concept for the way of living that Jim and I share for the future of this world. One built on neighbors helping neighbors.

“Prepare for the unprepared,” he tells us as he wrapped up a story of a motorcycle tour he took with his friends that ended up with one of their bikes totaled in a ravine out West. Stoned, I nodded and made a mental note of this Bob-ism.

“Oh, you gotta take the Blue Ridge Parkway!” he crowed with such enthusiasm and joy of the scenic highway that connects the Shenandoahs and the Smokeys that Jim and I mutually agreed on the new route.

Later that night, Bob suggested we take his ATV on a ride and I jumped at the opportunity. I love anything with wheels and I’ve never driven one of these bad boys before. When we stepped outside, the temperature had chilled even more in these Pocono woods and snow had started to silently fall around us. We drew our light jackets even tighter around us. I had packed for Texan heat, not the deep chill of a lingering Pennsylvania winter.

It was COLD! — Wilkes-Barre, PA — April 2020

We drove the ATV back down to the main dirt road and as we approached the lake, I breathed a sigh of happiness. The sun was just setting and there was not a soul around. Shadows mixed with the colors of the sunset and the looming solitude of the surrounding woods. How lucky we were! We left our lake in New Hampshire for this lake in Pennsylvania. It seemed the spirits of forest and water liked our spirits very much.

Indian Lake — Wilkes-Barre, PA — April 2020

Later that night when it was polite to do so, I arranged our sleeping area in the lofted nook for the night, called my friends and chatted about home and our trip, while munching out on dates and dark chocolate. The adventure was off to a great start!

April 22, 2020 — Greenfield, VA

The next morning, we did our morning flow practice and took off around 9 am.

While we were packing, Jim apologized for something that lurked subtly in our space, previously unnamed. I thought about what he said and before I could say anything, he felt hurt by the pause. Instead of saying anything, I listened to him. Because I paused instead of immediately responding, I understood why he was hurt — I would be too. And because I understood him, I let him speak his peace and before long, he talked himself out of his hurt. It was beautiful.

And without skipping a beat, we continued everything we needed to do to head out. It was seamless. It was awesome to feel so in sync with someone else’s rhythm, to zip the zips and tie the ties on my pack expeditiously and turn to find that my partner has too.

When we were about 15 minutes down the road, we realized I left the pack with the tent behind so we had to head back, but we handled it well and simply with no fuss. This may have not been possible without the morning of reconciliation.

On our return, the lodge was locked, but Jim gave me a boost onto the 2nd floor deck and I was able to make my way in through an unlocked patio door. After grabbing the pack, I remembered the peanut butter pretzels I had snacked on the night before and stowed some in my pocket before using the bathroom. As I was leaving, I crossed paths with Jim — his hand in the pretzel jar — great minds think alike!

It was 10 am when we hit the road from there and it was smooth sailing to our next destination — Virginia!

Jim was on the Couchsurfing website reaching out to folks there and before long, we secured not just one but two places! The first person to respond was a bit apprehensive due to her responsibility for some elderly folks whom she cares for so we opted to go with the second, a man named Ty. Jim made sure to ask about their COVID protocol and the request was for social distance.

As we approached our spot for the night, we drove through Staunton and Waynesboro, Virginia, onto beautiful hills of winding roads and greenery, into verdant pastures of a valley at the foot of soothing ridges that surrounded us, the Shenandoahs. I heard them murmur epic and ancient stories into the wind.

When we pulled in, the sun was shining bright and sounding that barely perceptible sizzle and hum that rings in the ear. A beautiful girl came out of the cute white house with red shutters and greeted us with a big smile, “Hi, I’m Yesi!”

Shenandoah Valley — Virginia

We chatted for a few minutes, she was from Argentina and had come here to work at a local ski resort but when it came time to leave, her friend and coworker, Ty, suggested she stay and hang out, so here she was 2 years later — hanging out in the beautiful valley. Then, a truck rolled up with two men inside. The driver stepped out and appeared to be dipped in sunshine. This was Ty. His hair was blonde and curly, his eyes blue and sparkling, and he wore yellow smiley-face sweat pants with an equally bright yellow shirt that had Japanese script scrawled across it and “Good Vibes Only” underneath it in brackets.

“Happy Earth Day,” he grinned. Not shaking hands as a greeting or introduction feels a bit awkward but after a few times, it becomes more practiced. The sun shone on us that afternoon as we pitched our tent and practiced Ashtanga yoga.

It was nice taking it easy on the road. Although today was about a 5-hour drive, longer than the day before, we still arrived at our destination during the day despite having to turn around for a forgotten item and lose an hour. We had time enough to set up our tent with ease and in no hurry, snack on one of our multitudes of nomadic snacks, exercise, journal, and read.

Panorama of our campsite in Shenandoah Valley

That night, we fell asleep early with the sun, at the foot of these ancient mountains, and I was so grateful for everything about our trip so far. Jim and I were getting along great as a team, I was learning the art of communication, listening, and speaking, and we were sleeping in beautiful places these past two nights and meeting all sorts of people.

April 23, 2020 — Knoxville, TN

The next morning, we awoke at 7 am into fits of laughter and giggles. We were dirty, happy, and having fun! The skies were gray and clouds moved in as we rumbled out of one small town into the next, heading for the Blue Ridge Parkway that lay next door. I had done a quick and cursory search on its website regarding COVID precautions and it seemed to be relatively open with only some potential troublesome spots. Clicking off my phone screen, I offered Jim the go-ahead; we would figure it out as it came.

When we turned onto Blue Ridge from Rockfish Gap, we immediately encountered a road block at the north entrance of the parkway. An orange and white striped blockade stood dourly in our way. I went back to the drawing board and pulled out my Google Maps, searching for another entrance onto the parkway. Ah, found it! I instructed Jim and soon we were on Route 664 that ran parallel to the parkway for a few miles before depositing us onto it. With ease, we found ourselves on the scenic highway of which Bob had spoken so highly.

The road wound and twisted a path along the ridge that we had all to ourselves that afternoon. How lucky we were! The day was foggy, misty, and overcast, lending a melting scene around us as the water dripped from the trees, onto the slick road, into the soggy ground and the soaking mountain. Occasionally we passed another driver coming the opposite way, Northbound, but otherwise it was just us driving through the clouds of the fog.

The trip had been smooth sailing so far. One of the benefits of a lockdown is little to no traffic and interstate travel through these areas of upstate New York and Pennsylvania hadn’t given us any trouble. I hadn’t seen one cop or trooper the entire drive. For much of the way, it was just us and the freight trucks.

“So many trucks,” we remarked as they clustered along the highway like a caravan. “Looks like business is still carrying on.”

“And who’s buying cars right now?” Jim questioned as we passed trucks carrying fresh, new cars destined for dealerships.

The Nomad Diet

Back on the Blue Ridge Parkway, cell service was spotty and finding a Couchsurfing host in Knoxville was proving to be quite difficult to coordinate while driving in and out of service, so we decided to arrange an AirBNB for the night once we were in good range of internet. After a few hours, the parkway dropped us off near Roanoke and we headed there for a place to use the bathroom.

“Greens,” I declared as we drove on the main road that grew busier, bearing the tell-tale signs of consumer shopping up ahead. “I need leafy greens!”

Up till then, we had been subsisting on a nomad’s diet of dried fruit (dates, raisins, and figs), nuts (pecans, walnuts, and Jim’s favorite, peanut butter), and fruits and vegetables that could carry well with minimal refrigeration like apples, celery, and carrots. The day before, we had also bought some snacks at Target where we stopped for a bathroom break. Cruising the snack aisle, Jim rifled up a bag of blue corn tortilla chips and I, a box of saltines.

Now, I was parched for a salad, thirsting for nutrients that dried fruit, nuts, and crackers couldn’t provide. We pulled into the packed parking lot at Kroger’s. Half the people were wearing masks, the other half weren’t. This was becoming increasingly commonplace, which was startling coming from New Hampshire where this was not nearly the case. What was similar is that, everywhere we went, every state, supermarkets and home improvement stores were happening spots.

From Krogers, we grabbed a large box of greens, tomatoes, and a pre-made salad mix that came with crunchy, yummy stuff and a packet of dressing. In addition, some simple sushi rolls, a tub of hummus, and two green peppers were thrown in the mix. Back in the car, I used a pocket knife to halve the cherry tomatoes, while Jim set about finding some Tupperware in which to disperse the greens for our road salad. And it was glorious! We munched and munched on our salads like two hungry rabbits, while coordinating our room for the night in Knoxville as we ate.

We booked an AirBNB outside downtown in a residential neighborhood and settled joyfully into our temporary stay. As soon as we arrived, we did our flow exercise that normally goes into our morning routine, but that we had postponed that particular morning. Afterwards, I felt so energized and ecstatic that I decided to go for a run to explore the neighborhood.

It was hot and humid in Knoxville and the heat steamed off the cars and road, engulfing everything in a languor that only this kind of wet heat can. Here, too, the flora was luscious and green, jungle-like almost in its flourishing drapery along the trees. Everywhere I looked was a vibrant emerald green imbuing the environment with an iridescent hue. And with the small, steep hills that rolled into another noncommittally I was brought back to one summer spent in Richmond, Virginia, a city whose hills, history, and humid heat built a nest in my heart.

The Bible Belt — View from our AirBNB — Knoxville, TN

That night, eager to take advantage of the kitchen, I prepared some meals for the drive ahead. Cooking up a buttload of white rice, I mixed it with generous amounts of sesame oil and seasoned with soy sauce while it was still steaming hot. For extra happiness, I tore up small pieces of roasted seaweed and mixed that in as well. Simple and delicious. Jim’s eyes lit up as I offered him some to try and even more when he tasted it.

April 24, 2020 — Memphis, TN

Our sleeping arrangements in Memphis had been arranged ahead of time. A Couchsurfer named John offered us his backyard in which to pitch a tent. Everything sounded great and we checked in with him while we were on the road from Knoxville heading West.

Passing through Jackson, TN on our way to Memphis!

He was at work when we called and sounded distracted and concerned over the phone, talking to himself about arrangements and ruminating on safety measures before snapping back to the conversation. We inquired after his expectations for COVID protocol and received the response that contact would have to be minimal, as was to be expected.

The effect of social distancing was a far cry from the usual way that Couchsurfing operates. While I haven’t used it myself, I know a few members and Jim has hosted many surfers himself, and typically it is a very social and entwined interaction that surfing and hosting create. Operating under COVID season was a unique and altogether unprecedented experience for everyone, asking that a new dance be learned as was happening in the society at large.

Knoxville to Memphis was another easy ride straight across the state on I-40 Westbound. Driving 5 to 6 hours a day is long enough to cover significant ground, and short enough that we arrive at our destination in the afternoon with plenty of time to rest and relax before bedtime.

Heading into Memphis, I noticed that traffic had picked up noticeably. It was the greatest number of cars on the road we had seen the entire drive. Granted, this was a city and yet, all the same, it was surprising to see so many cars out and reminded me of pre-COVID times.

The outskirts of downtown Memphis are beaten down and scraggly. We passed a recruiter’s office in these parts where unattended shopping carts hang out on sidewalk corners and noticed a long line that extended out of the office of almost 30 people, all milling about waiting, most of them un-masked and no one practicing the rule of 6 feet distance. Another strange sight since March.

It was early to meet John, so we decided to stop at an Asian grocery store for some things. When we pulled in, armed and masked security manned the door as customers bustled in and out, all of them wearing masks. It was our first time seeing such widespread use of masks and, combined with armed security, it was a bit unnerving so we skedaddled quick.

When we met John, he was also wearing a mask and crouched by the front porch of his house, trying to coax a cat over to him with some milk and sheer will. “It’s my neighbor’s cat,” he explained to our curious faces. “She got loose and apparently likes to hang out in my yard.”

John was familiar with the Northeast, “Barnstable county, eh?” He remarked on the area code of Jim’s phone number. John was a lifeguard and had applied for jobs up in Cape Cod. These days, he was a lifeguard at a summer camp for children, and only recently his job has been deemed “essential” because these were the children of essential workers like nurses. He practiced social distancing while welcoming us to his home. After pitching our tent, we went exploring.

The Big Muddy

During our introduction, John had mentioned the Memphis-Arkansas bridge and I was eager to check it out. It is a walking bridge that starts in Memphis and runs across the span of the big Mississippi River into Arkansas, which I found endlessly cool.

The Mississippi River is enormous. I hadn’t expected it to be so big. It is triple, maybe quadruple, the size of the Connecticut River and keep in mind, we were at a narrower part of its juncture. Its muddy waters swirl and glide down its length like a slow-moving mass and there was big barge carrying something down the river that appeared as a tiny car in that sea of brown.

Hand in hand, we walked across the bridge and I breathed in deep the air, thinking about the journey we had been on so far. The ride was so peaceful as we coordinated together, taking turns at the wheel for a couple hours at a time each as the co-pilot fed the driver delicious snacks and managed everything else. Every morning we awoke without any delay, the car packed and on the road without a hitch, it was a seamless dance we had with each day of travel. There was no time or energy spared on useless bickering or even its cousins, annoyance and irritability. We were happy, energetic, and enthusiastic.

We took a drive through Beale Street, the renowned part of downtown Memphis, known for its live blues and music venues where stars were born. Cop cars cruised the streets, and a few people walked around, but otherwise it was a dismal ghost town. Strangely, bars and restaurants were lit up and doors were propped open like an invitation that no one accepted because there was not a soul sitting inside. It was a strange contrast and yet, nothing is really surprising anymore these days.

The famous Beale Street — 2 cop cars, no people — Memphis, TN

April 25, 2020 — Texarkana, TX

The night was turbulent. Neighborhood dogs were barking madly as plane after plane whooshed in overhead, touching down at the local airport. I lay there in the dark, trying to nurse myself to sleep but as soon as I lulled off, another plane would drone in overhead and interrupt my delicate and already fitful sleep.

So it was in Memphis that I learned how silly it is to camp out in a city. And even more so, I gave my gratitude for always having a home to sleep in. I thought about the homeless population in cities who sleep every night with the stress of barking, honking, and other loud sounds that go bump in the night.

Luckily for me, I am one prepared bitch and remembered I had two sets of earplugs somewhere in my things. I ransacked my pack looking for them in the dark and soon emerged victorious. “Jim, earplugs.” I whispered as I stuffed a pair into his outstretched, open palm.

The morning was more than welcome for the two of us as we got ready for the next leg of our journey — a 4-hour drive to Texarkana, where our next Couchsurfing host, Brian, lived. I quickly packed my things and washed up inside John’s house. When I came back out, the tent and our bags were packed and Jim was standing by the running car, ready to go. Bye-Bye, Memphis!

Unspoilt Land

We booked it out of town, eager to escape the din and heat of that city. We continued along I-40 Westbound heading into Arkansas. Making good time, we stopped by a Trader Joe’s in Little Rock, home of the Clintons, but were put off by the line that formed outside and decided to continue on. As of yet, we hadn’t waited in line to enter a store and had little desire to do so, even for TJ’s $2 jars of crunchy, salted peanut butter.

Continuing on through Arkansas, we were elated to find the countryside was absolutely gorgeous. I suppose it’s not called the Natural State for nothing, and yet it was so unexpected and we gazed with wonder at the beauty that surrounded us. Arkansas combines the farm vibe and landscape of Ohio with the rolling hillsides of Virginia and the deciduous forests of New England. It is simply pretty.

Somewhere in Arkansas

Continuing on our easy cruising speed across the country, we decided to take a detour through Ouachita National Forest. Originally, we were thinking about stopping through the Ozarks, but this is pretty far from our route so Ouachita, which is actually on the way, became the stop. And what a lucky draw because in the middle of the forest lies Lake Ouachita.

Healing Water

The water in the lake was a beautiful, opaque Aquamarine color I had never seen before. We surmised it was from the silt and minerals of the earth and rock. Along the lakeside, were shiny pieces of quartz strewn in the dirt and rocks. On our drive through the park, we passed a large, pink Hummer parked on the side of the road whose license plate read GEOGRLZ, again another indication this area must be geologically significant. To me, it was the whole of it, not just the rocks, but the pocket of this stillness of the water, the earth, the forest, and the sky that mesmerized me. I stripped my clothes off and went smoothly into the silken water like a fish. It was a bit cold but soon enough, my body regulated itself and I was held in a cocoon of familiarity with the water.

It’s difficult to describe the amazing quality I felt, but I described it to Jim as the most comfortable I’ve ever felt in water before. If ever I was in healing waters, this was it. It was therapeutic, like all the minerals and goodness of nature were soaking in my skin, through to my bones, and marinating me in its amniotic fluids of minerals and nutrients straight from Mother Earth.

I captured it in my memory, willing myself to remember this moment in time in these healing waters, where I felt so good — slippery, vibrant and healthy, my lover nearby slurping in and out of the water and here the two of us were, alone in Arkansas — the chaos of the world beyond the snow globe of this lake, virtually unheard, unseen, and unknown. It didn’t exist at all. I went inward and allowed myself to acknowledge the healing, to be cognizant of the transformation I was undergoing each day. As I dove below the silky water, I focused on the sights, smells, and sounds of where I was. The sky was so blue overhead, with a cloud or two passing surreptitiously by like a puff of smoke dilly dallying with not a care in the world because it was a perfect day.

And as I stayed there treading water and whooping happily, gazing into the horizon where lake meets forest, I didn’t want to leave. I could have stayed in that water forever, completing the cycle of evolution of human returning to water like a dolphin. The mermaid of Lake Ouachita.

But alas, we had to continue onward and reluctantly I got out of the water. As we hiked back to the road, we plucked wildflowers, grasses, and other pretty strands of Nature into a small bouquet. One large orange and black butterfly fluttered with us back to our car where the tent billowed in the wind, drying out from the dank moisture of Memphis, Tennessee.

After spending enough time milling about and dragging my feet, we hit the road again, Southbound on Route 71 to Texarkana.

Lake Ouachita — this picture does NOT do it justice

The beauty and felt energy of Arkansas was so clean and natural we both knew we had to stock up on some spring water here. The ten gallons or so we brought from the spring in Exeter, New Hampshire was holding up okay but this was objectively important. We were in love with Arkansas and I wanted to bottle it up and savor its taste. We searched for springs on the website we normally used but there wasn’t much luck locating a freshwater spring. Casting doubt to the wind with faith in our hand, we settled into a deep knowing that this was going to happen.

Fresh Spring Water

Driving along the Caddo River, we saw a blue-haired woman working in the yard next to the road. She was Waverly from Miami. Making conversation, we learned she reprised her role in the corporate world to live out here and run her camp, Arrowhead, and she bubbled over with pride as she sung its praises. We inquired about any springs in the area and shaking her head, she said, “If I had a nickel for every time someone’s asked me that… Well, if you find one, I’ll pay you $20!”

Continuing on, we took stops by the side of the road at the most beautiful junctions of earth and sky, to capture these remote places on our trip that filled us with love and expansion like sails catching powerful winds.

“Local Honey — $12”, stated a handmade sign along the side of the road scrawled in crude block letters. Craning both our heads to look back as we passed this enticing offer, I spied a dappled mare grazing in the yard sprinkled with dandelions. Looking at Jim, we were both thinking the same thing.

Turning the car around, we deposited the money in the anonymous drop box and selected one of the two jars that sat patiently waiting for their new homes. The dark, amber colored syrup beckoned invitingly with its promises of wildflower sweetness.

Just then, an older man in his 70's or 80's shouted out a greeting from the driveway as he walked out to his truck. He was dressed in all denim and had a rough-ish exterior inured to the climate of these out-of-the-way places but his clear eyes twinkled and his teeth shone, strong, even, square, and white. His face was tanned, wrinkled, and dark like leather, his features appeared Native-American and in his presence, I felt immediately calm and at peace. It was incredible how strong the pull of his calming energy was. He spoke evenly and astutely with just the right amount of pause in a hesitation and each word spoken, measured out with love and care and confidence. I admired him in an instant. I wondered what it takes to build that sort of presence.

Jim asked him if he knew of a spring nearby where we could collect water and he pointed back down the road saying, “There’s one not 30 feet from we’re standing now.” We both smiled at the serendipitous nature of this stop.

“A white pipe sticking out of the ground,” he went on. “My wife likes that water better. We have well water here, but my wife thinks the spring water tastes better, so we get our water from there. A white pipe. If you have trouble finding it, come back.”

Happily, like two giddy children, we laughed as we drove around the corner from this strong old man’s house and there it was, a white pipe gushing with water — Camilla Spring.

Filling up on Arkansas spring water!

The Cossatot

I was falling in love with Arkansas. It is simple and so beautiful. Freshest air and freshest water that hit me in just the right spots.

When Jim had been communicating with our host in Texarkana, he suggested checking out Cossatot Falls or Little Missouri Falls while we were in the area.

Having time to see just one of the two, I selected Cossatot Falls because a quick Google search stated the rapids here were class IV and that sounded like it would be an interesting sight in spite of my lack of rafting knowledge.

This place, too, had aquamarine waters and was beautiful. It was a long drive down a dirt road off the main but when we arrived, the parking lot was bustling with other hikers and nature enthusiasts. Dotting the Cossatot River were large, smoothed out boulders that hard whorls and swirls and holes from the passage of the river over their hard bodies worn over time.

We scrambled over the rocks barefoot, following the river, before finding another spot to take a dip and enjoy the sun and the water. We lingered here for an hour or two before hitting the road again, only a few hours away from Texarkana. The time flew by as we appreciated the passing scenery and the love from the world pouring into our windows as we loved it all right back.

Arkansas

Soon, the long winding roads of pasture, cattle, and countryside were replaced with the hallmarks of town and city as we pulled into Texarkana.

April 26, 2020 — Texas

The night we arrived in Texarkana, we were greeted by Brian and his friend, Kelly, with beers and conversation. They were both avid travelers and loved to explore the many different cultures and places offered in this vast world. Eager to share and get to know each other, we talked about travel, life, and the many options that are available that don’t always seem to be. They shared our sentiment about choosing to live a different, minimal lifestyle from one spent chasing the dollar so one could buy more things.

Everyone there that night agreed that there are some things more important like freedom and adventure. It was clear choice to us and one that we all had arrived at in various ways. The more I chat with like-minded people who understand what Jim and I are doing and why, the more I am bolstered and enlivened by the possibility for a paradigm shift in our culture. This is especially so since I was on this journey against the behest of my family.

No one really gets it. They are all steeped in this idea of what a life well lived looks like and the formula is predictable — high-ranking position at a respected organization, getting paid six figures or more, and with the luxury of buying many expensive and beautiful things. To them, I am a homeless vagabond wasting my time and talent. What they don’t see is that I am happy, vibrant, and healthy. I am at the highest peak of happiness, vibrancy, and health that I have ever been in my adult life but … without the superficial accolades — who cares?

Memphis, TN

Going to bed that night, I sunk into the large warm bed offered by Brian who did not seem to have any qualms about social distancing. Neither he nor his friend wore masks and he invited us right into his home, offering us his guest room even though we had simply asked for a place to pitch our tent that night.

The next morning, we did our flow exercise on the backyard patio while Brian’s large feline named, Fat Cat, slinked among the chairs and watched over us as we huffed and puffed, stretched, and did our breathwork and meditation.
Then, it was the last haul — the last 6 hours to our destination! We stopped at the local supermarket for another road salad, noticing all the signs for barbecue and tacos. We are definitely in Texas!

A Maverick

Initially, we were going to drive through Tyler and Waco, looping down to Austin and finally to Elgin, the tiny country town 40 minutes east of the city. However, as we drove, that plan changed to “Let’s just get to the house!” As soon as we were able to change course, we made a beeline for Elgin.

Here in Texas, the highways were packed with cars. It didn’t seem like the stay-at-home order suggested by the Feds was taking place. Back home in the Northeast, highways were sparse and unpopulated and it seemed the more South we drove, the more cars we saw on the road.

Maybe Texans see things a little differently. Their history is one of a maverick identity after all and their nickname is the Lone-Star State. Perhaps it is this same independent streak that leads to their people speeding down these highways and spending time not in lock down, but out and about. And if that’s the case, I look forward, all the more, to what lies in this adventure.

This entire time that COVID was taking hold, it seemed daunting and strange, all the restrictions and fear mongering spread like wildfire. My parents wouldn’t give me a hug before I moved halfway across the country because of COVID. The country stopped dead in its tracks, suspended like one great collective pause.

A Reflection

When we left the Northeast, the climate was strange and uncertain. I was surprised to find my family donning masks and gloves. No one I talked to was sure what was real and what wasn’t. Statistics were oft quoted and facts were exchanged. The hysteria on social media provided fodder for people’s deepest fears. Mass media was creating a reason for people’s fears to plug into and even alternative media seemed to be doing it. There was a bubble of hysteria growing with the pause as the unknown so often creates and it is this unknown that is fear itself.

Driving cross-country, outside the bubble of the self-imposed, voluntary quarantine, trucks were still trucking, grass was still growing, and people were still connecting in real life. People were even welcoming us, two traveling strangers from New England, a hot zone, into their homes for a place to stay for the night amidst all the noise. This was a triumph and victory over the promulgated fear that’s being broadcast in the news.

Memphis, TN

Breaking out there, into the vast plains of the central American states, down into the searing Texas heat, out in the country air where wide, open spaces live and wind is free to roam, one can almost forget for a moment that the world is locked in a heated war of ideologies and fear, of statistics and death rates, of politics and policies.

When we arrived in Austin, we took a detour to the local Korean supermarket. Everyone was wearing masks around us and as we headed into the entrance, an employee ran up behind us and indicated we needed to be wearing masks. We headed back to the car, grabbed the spare masks in the glove box and went back in. It was a dystopic experience to wander the aisles of a supermarket and see everybody’s anonymity instead of their smiles; our eyes meet, and it is like we are all just blank faces in a crowd.

With our Korean groceries in tow, we finally made it to our new homestead in Elgin, Texas. We were greeted jubilantly by our hosts, Lee and Duncan, albeit from a distance. We had been warned ahead of time that although they are ordinarily big, warm huggers, we may have to forgo that familiarity in light of everything. Everyone has their own COVID policy. Still, we all talked in a close group that afternoon as we toured the house and property and later that night, enjoyed each other’s company over a light soup in the dining room.

Warm connections were made and established. I loved their vibes and energy. Their spirit and interests reminded me a lot of Jim and me. “This is going to be great sit,” I thought as I fell to sleep that night in a comfortable bed, curled up next to Jim, carried listlessly away in a swirling dream.

Arkansas