SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY HOME

I never really had the empty nest syndrome, but now that my sons are grown men, living their amazingly creative lives, and I am traveling about with R and Moxy, I often find they are actors in my dreams, usually at about the age they are in this great photo my brother took on a hike up Chuckanut Mountain.

I must embrace my sons. I must see how A is doing with classes, last I heard he was doing right well, revisiting an old relationship and living in his cool old apartment with covert cats, interesting antiques and a plethora of musical instruments. Has he written another song? Is he still working maintenance for the old folks?
Has C spotted a proper piece of land? possibly the next Mort. summer trailer park? Has he added to his cabin? Does he still like working with robots?
Did he go crazy without snow on Mt Baker this winter and a new snowmobile ready to carry him to wild places?
I must see my brothers! H! Where have you landed? Are you in the rubber tramp renegade? Have you found a shack? have you pirated a sailing vessel? Moxy will do a happy dance when she sees you!

J! Where the heck are you? I understand you have also succomed to the tug of the homeland. I will be so happy to see you and K and your menagerie.

And Mom of course, also returning, pulled by the same strings of love.

We have to try to catch up with nieces, nephews, new babies and old friends that are dear to us no matter how far we go.

And Bellingham, my sweet little city of subdued excitement. Will Lake Samish still be freezing cold? I know I will appreciate the Robin, the Redwing Blackbird buzzing his electrical sound, the sword fern and moist fragrant soil, the tree covered hills and sweet sap smell of warming woods.
we have noted every returning familiar plant and animal as we made our way home. We have photographed every one  we hadn’t seen before that would pose for a moment.

And on this last boondock day of our return trip, I am so happy we swapped Old Blue ( 89 Ford F 250 for Brutus an 04 350)

Here we are again on top of red mountain between Ellensburg and Wenatchee’ near Leavenworth we followed Forest road 9172 when we didn’t like the proximity of the last campground to highway 97 (brooks memorial state park).
We just kept going (Hoping to God there was enough room to turn at the top of course as we ARE still pulling the cargo trailer) and at the summit was a splendid view, no other cars, a trail head to the fire lookout and another to a rock hounds
quarry of blue agate and crystal finding potential only a mile away!

The heavy clouds come and go, we had a vigorous hike up the logging road so now it’s okay with me if it rains.   My lungs are strong from hiking at altitude in New Mexico, Colorado and Utah. Moxy is happily free to chase squirrels but she is flat out by a fire ring someone left with wood ready to burn if we desire.

We have had some of our best times boondocking and know how many showers we get, when to lay down the wool rugs and put on the flannel sheets, and when to call it quits and head for civilization. A nice rhythm has been established and this includes the rhythm of going home with the weather which seems like such a natural animal kind of thing to do.

I am lucky, I know, and I feel grateful daily to be able to do this. I think that this writing business Is my attempt at taking you with me as much as I can, since you won’t all fit in the old camper (sadly it is drooping down in front now a little, poor old 89 Lance), and maybe when you can, you might try some of our favorite paths and places and make more stories of your own to send to those you care for too.

“End  of the Trail”