The Roadtrek Winter Freezeout Mantra: No Bugs, But Cold Seats In The Pit Toilet

People say I am crazy.  When I tell friends and acquaintances in my hometown I am going camping in Michigan's Upper Peninsula in the winter, they shake their heads and look at me like I am not quite right in my head.  Won't it be cold?  What about wild animals?  What if your truck gets stuck in a snowstorm?  They express all kinds of worries, letting their imaginations and fears get the best of them.  It's really no big deal to go, but it is a big deal to be there.

I have been hearing this sentiment for years, longing to meet people who are more like me, with the same interests, passions, and desire to experience nature.  A few years ago, I stumbled across a blog by Mike Wendland,  Roadtreking:Discovering the Small Motorhome Lifestyle.  This guy, and his wife, Jennifer, travel around the country in a Class B Roadtrek motorhome, a big van really, and see things most people don't see, meet interesting road warriors who do the same, exchange stories and experiences, and teach the rest of us how it is done.  I began following his blog, listening to his
podcasts, subscribed to his newsletter, and eventually began an online interaction with Mike.  Most of his group are Roadtrek owners, they go to rallies together, have smaller meet-ups, and wave to each other on the road.  I was delighted when Mike said I could join a Roadtrek outing in Winter 2015, even though I would be camping in my car, at Tahquamenon Falls.  I had a great time playing in the snow with a small group of adventurous souls who took good care of me, bringing me coffee in the morning and checking to make sure I hadn't frozen to death in my car.

This year, our group grew, as did my camping accommodations.
We had about 50 people arrive in our winter wonderland as I greeted them from my truck camper.  Still not as convenient as a Roadtrek, but a definite step up in comfort from last year.  The park staff at Tahquamenon Falls State Park are top-notch and had plowed additional sites out for us, brought us snow shoes to borrow, and a bucket of sand in case anyone got stuck in a snowbank, which one of us who shall remain nameless ended up using.  The outhouses were clean and well-stocked with toilet paper. (You'd be surprised how pleased we all were by that).  Our weekend began with happy reunions and getting to know the newbies.  I was so happy to be there my face froze in a great big smile.

Road treks parked at
The Inn in Paradise.
Photo Credit: Ari Adler

Yoopers - people who live in the U.P. of Michigan - call the land above the bridge "God's Country".  Indeed, it is.  They even have signs posted along the road, to remind drivers they have no worries, they are in God's Country.  The Roadtrek Band of Merry Men and Women embraced it, got out in it, breathed it in, let it fill them, and became part of it.  Collectively, we snowshoed to the lower Tahquamenon Falls with Theresa Neil, Michigan DNR Interpreter, then a small group took the challenging  route to the upper Falls, a strenuous 8 mile hike wearing snowshoes designed to keep your feet on top of the snow but aren't that effective on the steep up-and-downhill terrain.  Some went to the dogsled races, while others explored Whitefish Bay with Lake Superior waves frozen mid-curl, where time stands still and the winds do not.  Mike set up his HAM radio at the upper Falls, on a section of the North Country Trail to participate in the National Parks on the Air. You can read all about it here. Photographers broke trail and captured places where no man had walked since the freshest snowfall.  I drove to a parking lot, left my vehicle, and spent two hours of solitary hiking on the North Country Trail while waiting to give a ride to that small group of hearty snowshoers making their long journey to the upper Falls.  They were unusually happy to see me at the end.

Photo Credit: Yan Seiner

Photo Credit: Yan Seiner

Photo Credit: Ari Adler

Photo Credit: Lynn Ellen Kaiser

Habushu: The Essence of Snake

We spent most of our time outside, some of it in remote areas.  We weren't cold, because we were moving and dressed for the weather.  We weren't miserable, or isolated, or hungry or thirsty.  We were alive!  At night, we built a bonfire and sat around its warmth.  Some of us supplied a little bit of our own warmth.  Yan even brought Habushu, but that is an entire story in itself which I will tell later.  Tired from our day spent exploring outside, we enjoyed good conversation, Gouda cheese, a warm fire, and stories of our travels.

Photo Credit: Jim Diepenbruck

Roadtrekers aren't crazy, but they are my kind of people.  They had come from Michigan, Ohio, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, Illinois, Indiana, and Ontario, Canada.  They have traveled through Canada to Alaska, from Maine to the Outer Banks to the Florida Keys, from Texas to New Mexico and Arizona.  They have boondocked at Yellowstone, Glacier National Park, and along the Pacific shores in Oregon and California. They have been to the Heartland and made it part of their own heart.  Jim, a photographer in our group, boondocked in an extremely isolated wilderness on the way to and from the U.P., looking for Elk.  He didn't find any, but Jim did get a fleeting look at the Coyote who was none too please to have Jim as a guest in his home, and expressed the sentiment late at night while Jim was outside photographing the stars.  Jim's not crazy, but he experienced something most people never will, a close encounter with a wild animal late at night, and shared a moment with a Coyote, a moment he won't forget.  That Coyote is part of Jim's journey now.

I have turned my dream of owning a Roadtrek into a goal.  I have no idea yet how I can make it happen, but I can open a conversation with my husband about his retirement in a few years.  Together, we can decide what we can live without (you'd be surprised what you can live without), what we can give up, and what we can gain by traveling the country together and immersing ourselves in the adventure of living.

I want what these people have.  They have worked hard, raised families, overcome tragedies and health issues, have faced the challenges we all face.  Some are still facing them, still working, still planning.  But they all know this very important secret:  whatever came before today is over.  Whatever will come tomorrow is unknown.  So take today as the gift that God gave you, go out, and explore.  Fill your soul with a spirit of adventure!  Embrace the mantra of our Winter Freezeout; No bugs (the perks) and a very cold seat in the pit toilet (little inconveniences that don't matter).  Wherever you are right now, in your home, in your office, out shopping, or camping in two feet of snow...there are perks and minor inconveniences.  We are not crazy.  We are fun and full of life.

Photo Credit: Yan Seiner

If you still think we are crazy, watch this video by Roadtreker Ari Adler:

To be on the edge of a cold wind and a warm sun, and watch the melding of water and ice; to stand where there are no footprints and breathe; it is the igniting of imagination, the freefall of spirit, and the stillness of your soul.  But it's not crazy

I am grateful for my time with the Roadtrekers in a winter wonderland.  I love their stories, their warmth, their laughter, and their willingness to explore.  I love their sense of humor.  I love them. Most of all, I love being in God's Country with them.  No big deal to go, but a really big deal to be there.  Crazy, eh?

Shadow and Light: Patterns in Nature

I have long been fascinated with different patterns created by Mother Nature, sun, wind, water, and snow.  This post is a little different for me; no long story today!  Just a few images I have captured over the years - raw and unedited - of shadows and light.  Please enjoy them, and feel free to post any images you have of this theme in the comments section.

On a nice sunny day, a sudden storm front turned day into night. (Ludington State Park, MI)

Sunlight reflected on water (Clark Lake, MI)

Mud Wasp Nest.  Fifty Shades of Grey?

A foggy field in southern Michigan

September morn.

Some snow falls through the branches, some does not.

Polka dots!

Snow, with a few sparkles from the sun

Wind blown snow

More patterns made by the wind

Tree shadows, brought to you by the sun

The horizontal pattern made by the snow mimics the vertical pattern of the tree bark.

The Bear Is Not The Scariest Thing In The Woods

For several years, I have dragged my best buddy, Debbie, into the wilderness while she kicked and screamed and sang patriotic songs to scare off the bears.  Armed with her telescoping hiking stick, a whistle, and a complete repertoire of songs about the good ole' U.S. of A., Debbie reluctantly followed me into remote areas, where her pretty little head never stopped moving as she constantly scanned the woods and wildflowers for bear, coyote, wolves, and all other manner of life-threatening wildlife.

After I got Debbie lost in the wilderness for 11 hours, I promised her that if she would continue to join me each year for our annual camping trip, I would change my obnoxious ways, allow her to stay firmly rooted in her comfort zone, and make the trip "nice".  I was happy enough to save my adventures for another time, instead tailoring the trip to a more civilized method of camping, just because I treasure my time spent with Debbie and want her to treasure the memories of our trips as well.

Last year, I chose to camp at Petoskey State Park, which is the creme of the crop in the Michigan State Park System.  Debbie was excited to wander around Petoskey, visit a French antiques store she knew of, sleep in her cozy bed in the tin can, and sit beside a warm campfire reading a good book.  She was most excited to be camping on the shore of Lake Michigan, where she could wander aimlessly on the beach without getting lost, search for Petoskey stones, and fall asleep to the sound of waves gently lapping on the shore.

Even though Petoskey State Park is surrounded by hardwoods and conifer stands, giving it that rustic feel, I assured Debbie we were in an urban area and would not be accosted by a bear at our campsite. I said, "Trust me", which raised an eyebrow with Debbie, who learned long ago not to trust me in the woods, but she felt comfortable with our surroundings and did not break into a rousing rendition of "God Bless America".  I assured her we had nothing to be concerned about this time.

We should have known the bear in the woods would not be our biggest problem.

We had only been at the campground a short time when we both needed to visit the restroom, and then wanted to walk around the park, checking out other campers and finding trails (for me) and paths to the beach (for Debbie).  As we walked up the sidewalk to the bathroom, a sudden, awful, screeching sound had us stopping in our tracks.  As we turned, a car (and I use the term loosely) laden with conservation bumper stickers announcing the arrival of a proud tree-hugger who was driving an ancient, rusted hatchback slammed to a stop in front of the bathroom.  A man, who appeared quite manic and possibly crazy, jumped out of the car and yelled "Hey!" to us.  Debbie took a step closer to me, (actually, she pretty much hid behind me) while the man launched a verbal assault on us, the campground, Michigan, and the perils of traveling from Maine to Minnesota through states that simply do NOT understand the joy of cross-country journeys.

We've all been in that frustrated frame of mind when things are not going well on a long trip, but Guy from Maine was over the top.  He was downright scary!  His longish grey hair was flying out from his head, spittle was spewing from his mouth, and his raised voice attracted the attention of other campers.  His main beef was having to pay $24 to park overnight and sleep in his car.  I told him there was a State Forest Campground 5 miles up the road, where he could stay in his car for $14, but that only angered him further.  He also was very upset because there was no one at the check-in station.

Enough time had passed listening to Guy from Maine rant and rave that the bathroom was now becoming a serious issue for me.  In an effort to remove Guy from Maine from the direct path between me and the bathroom door, I calmly explained self check-in to him, suggesting he drive through the campground, choose a few sites he liked, and check the list at the station for availability.  He finally got back in his time-warped vehicle and sped off.

Whew!  The guy was weird, and manic, and a little fearsome.  I hustled to the bathroom, and as the rain started to fall, Debbie and I opened our umbrellas and set out to explore the park.  We walked for about 45 minutes, noting the location of other campers, deciding the number of campers made us feel like we weren't all alone, but the distance they all placed between campsites was good for privacy and quiet.  There were several loops in the campground, and everybody had spread out.

As we approached our campsite, Debbie grabbed my arm and stopped.  She pointed, I looked, and crazy Guy from Maine had parked his car directly across from the tin can.  Of all the empty sites in the campground, he chooses to park right on top of us?  Creepy.

We were a little uncomfortable with his presence.  I kept trying to convince Debbie, and myself, that cross-country travel can be stressful, Guy from Maine was just having a bad day, he's probably a really nice guy under normal circumstances.  Neither of us was buying it.  He was just scary.  We stayed close to the tin can, kept our eyes open, and watched his every move.  Guy from Maine sat in his little car for a while, listening to a baseball game on the radio, which we could hear loud and clear.  We saw him get out of his car, disappear, and then make an unexpected appearance right behind us when he came up from the beach.  He complained about the beach, said it wasn't very nice.

Later, without saying a word, Guy from Maine strode right through our campsite to walk on a trail behind us.  Talk about rude!  He made us uneasy all evening, coming and going and pacing and mumbling. We gave up trying to relax by the fire, and went in the tin can.  Three times I left my bed to make sure the door was locked on the tin can.  Three times Debbie said, "The door is locked, right?"  I had my dog, Rooney, and some personal protection items, which I kept right next to the bed.

I don't normally run into this problem.  People who camp and spend their time outdoors are good people.  I have never felt threatened.  Guy from Maine took away my sense of peace, my ability to relax.  He drove me into the camper, which is not how I camp at all.  It was sad.

The next morning, I awoke early to the feel of Rooney staring at my head and drooling.  He needed to go outside.  I dressed, fill my pockets with safety devices like pepper spray, a knife, and an alarm, and cautiously stuck my head out the door.  Guy from Maine was gone.  I wasn't sure whether to be relieved, or more scared wondering if he was really gone.

Debbie and I spent the rest of our trip enjoying the area, walking the beach, reading by the fire, laughing, and then laughing some more.  But each night, as we sat by the fire after the sun went down, if we heard a snap! in the woods, we both jumped.  We were almost hoping it was a bear, and not Guy from Maine coming back with a chainsaw and hatchet.  You can imagine the scenarios that were running through our heads.  I could still feel his presence, smell him lurking in the woods.  It didn't help that I was reading a James Patterson novel.

It was, overall, a great trip.  But the dark shadow of Guy from Maine hung over us the whole time and served to remind us that the bear in the woods is not necessarily the scariest thing we might encounter.  Another lesson learned.  Be aware, be prepared, be safe.  I hope Guy from Maine made it to Minnesota, I hope the rest of his trip was better.  I hope he was just having a bad day on the road and we only saw the worst of him.  I also hope we never run into him again!

The Best Snow Day Ever?

Today, my daughter had a snow day.  Again.  It's all just part of the cosmic conspiracy to keep me from writing.  However, contrary to what people think of me for hating snow days, it's not an entirely selfish reaction, it's just that I know how the day will go.  While it's true that I won't get any writing done, it's also true that my daughter loves snow days only until 9:00am, when she wakes from a glorious sleep and delights in the fact that she got to sleep in, only to remember that the day ahead will be long and boring.

The roads were pretty bad today, and the wind chills were brutal, so she couldn't call her friends to go sledding, or to come over and build a snowman.  Many of her friends live out in rural areas, and I was not willing to drive the slippery roads to pick them up, and their moms didn't want to bring them here either.  So my little Bean, while refreshed from catching up on her sleep, spent most of the day on the couch, watching mind-numbingly stupid shows on TV.  Bean is far too active a girl to enjoy a full day of TV.

Meanwhile, I shoveled the sidewalks and plowed the driveway.  An hour later, I did it again.  I did laundry, fixed the dryer, and checked emails.  I tried to write, but Bean kept calling out to me from the couch.  She made plans with friends, and would yell, "Mom, can I go to so-and-so's house at noon?"  and I would holler back my permission.  Ten minutes later, the plans would fall through.  Bean made plans with friends all day, but nothing ever came of it.  I gave up trying to write, hovered on the fringes of depression, and took a nap.

But then a funny thing happened on the way to my depression.  I found a way to love snow days, even if only for a moment.

After my nap, I sat down in front of my computer and was scrolling through social media sites when Bean wandered into the kitchen and sat down next to me.  She was complaining about how bored she was, when she suddenly exclaimed, "Mom!  Look at that bird!"

Outside the window, where I keep a bird feeder filled with seeds, was a Blue Jay, one brilliant bird among the many nuthatches and sparrows.  Then Bean shouted and said "Look, there's three more!"
She asked what kind of bird they are, and suddenly I found myself in my element, teaching her about Blue Jays.

Google Images

Bean moved closer to me, and I pointed out the coloring of their feathers.  She asked how to tell the difference between males and females.  Blue Jays do not exhibit differences among males and females by their markings.  Instead, you must observe their behavior.  I told Bean to watch each bird, and tell me what they are doing.  One bird would land, and the other three would follow.  The same bird would call out, imitating a hawk, and the other three would call out too.  When the one bird flew off, the other three followed.

The bird initiating the behaviors is the female, while the males imitate her, trying to impress her.  Mating season starts soon!

Blue Jays are a close-knit family unit.  Mates are monogamous, and males are fairly involved with nest-building and rearing young, though the female has the final say in all matters.  (Maybe that's why Bean is drawn to them!) They are very social birds, and will warn other species of birds of danger.  Blue Jays are also highly intelligent, and can be a bit aggressive at the bird feeder.  Bean was enthralled by them.

Sorry about the quality, pictures taken through
windows are never good!

 Then the best thing of all happened; a Yellow-Bellied Sapsucker made an appearance!  It swooped in, ate from the feeder, then flew off to land on the trunk of a nearby tree and started pecking at it.  Bean and I laughed as the Sapsucker backed down the tree trunk, and in that moment, I was so glad she'd had a snow day.  I would have missed this moment with her, sharing what I know and am passionate about and seeing her delight.  I'm not trying to sound cliche here, but it was a beautiful thing.

I don't care about the rest of the day.  I forgot about my frustration at interrupted schedules, I didn't dwell on the fact that I wasn't accomplishing much.  For that moment, Bean wasn't bored, she was at my side, sharing something wondrous.  She wasn't a teenager; she was my girl again.


The next time Bean has a snow day, which will most likely be next week, I might even suggest a snowy walk in the woods.  Who knows?  Maybe we'll see an owl, or a red-tailed hawk, or wild turkey.  I can show her rabbit tracks, deer tracks, and coyote tracks.  It's quite possible we could simply walk silently, and she might begin to understand the serenity I feel in the wintery woods.

Bean, and my other children, are a gift to me.  I have always believed that, even when I don't show it. Today, Bean was my gift, my reminder to slow down, breathe, and take in the moment.  If I can give that gift back to her, teach her to be interested in the natural world and to learn how to really observe what goes on around her, then I was a good mom, at least for a moment today.  The rest of the day?  Eh, maybe not so much, but I think Bean cherished our moment as much as I did.  Then a friend called, and she left.  Her warmth stayed with me.

I hope you had a simple moment of joy today, and every day.  I will remember today as the best snow day ever, at least for a moment.