Sand, sun and water

After descending from the 9000 foot pass, we had breakfast at Sand Dunes National Monument.  Patricia and I were both somewhat tired, but also exhilarated by the scenery.  Breakfast provided ample opportunity to test the new bug spray from Kansas.

The dunes are the most dramatic, fabulous play space.  A magical sand box of steep mountains of sand bounded by a shallow river filled with shifting sand bars that one must cross to reach the dunes.

Miriam and Anna loved the river, and both were very reluctant to leave when it was time to go.  The water at midday had warmed, and both loved plunging themselves into it, reveling in the marvel of the flowing, lovely, and pleasantly shallow water mixed with eroding sand.

Initially we all hiked together up the dunes.  By volunteering to retrieve a run-away sled, I built a connection with a family who had rented one of the dune sleds.  

Eventually it became apparent that Miriam was done hiking up the increasingly hot dunes.  Leah and Patricia stayed on a ridge of sand with Miriam while the rest of us pressed on up the mountain of sand. 

Sometimes I carried Anna.  Sometimes Anna walked.  Sometimes we stopped for a break. 
The view from the top: Water, mountains, and sand dunes.  The soft sand invited flying or sliding down its surfaces, while the succession of higher dunes tempted deeper exploration of this thirty square miles of drifted sand. 

But the sun was hot, and our water bottles were nearly drained.  Leaving David and Sarah to explore just a bit further, Anna and I collected cardboard boxes abandoned by other sliders, and slid hundreds of feet in a slow-controlled descent.  My pockets and wallet were full of sand for days afterwards.

Crossing Boundaries

Some state boundaries pass unremarkably, with no feeling of difference because of the border passed.  Cross from Ohio to Indiana and although the rest areas on the turnpike deteriorate in expanse quality, the landscape and basic feel of the place only shifts marginally.  Other borders are dramatic.  Cross into California and all vehicles must be inspected for agricultural products: the state wants to ensure the integrity and competitive advantage of its produce industry, and they confiscated three good apples, one apple core, and one rather sorry dessicated lemon from our van to prove that point. Cross from Virginia to West Virginia and the roads almost immediately become smaller, more winding.  The houses are soon more likely to be in disrepair. 




The windy desolation of Kansas changed as we entered Colorado.  Even though we were soon in big sky country, the initial impression was of more people.  I stopped at a gas station to buy decaf coffee and candy to help me continue my drive, and continued.

 
One of the grand and defining facts of Colorado is the sudden rise of the Rocky Mountains, the gigantic looming monoliths – 14 thousand foot mountains – that rise from the plains and bisect the state. As dawn rose behind us, we found ourselves in a radically different country.  Sage brush, prong-horn antelope, and colored buttes in a splendidly isolated wilderness of ranch land and wilderness.  So few cars passed on the road that we felt we had it to ourselves. Wild sunflowers grew in places along the roadside.  And before us were the massive monoliths of Southern  central Colorado including straight ahead the 14 thousand foot Blanco Peak and Mt. Lindsay, which together defined our entry into the alpine.
 

Night on the Prairie

From the recreated Little House on the Prairie, we drove west, pausing for a brief sojourn into Oklahoma so that we could add that state to our list of states.  By this point we had been through

1.     Virginia,

2.     Maryland,

3.     Pennsylvania,

4.     West Virginia,

5.     Ohio,

6.     Indiana,

7.     Illinois

8.     Missouri,

9.     Kansas, and

10.  Oklahoma.

Returning to the wide open and rather lonely highways in Kansas, I was struck by the number of trees growing in the eastern part of the state – wind-breaks, young trees in abandoned fields, trees along the river banks.  The last gasp of the great eastern USA forest that had accompanied us since the first miles of our journey.

Kansas is a long state to drive through particularly if you have detoured far away from the interstate highways and are mostly traveling on two-lane roads.  We filled up on CNG in Wichita, and the headed west toward Colorado.  A night drive.  David was strapped into his bed on the top of the load.  Anna and Miriam slept in their car seats.  Sarah and Leah each made the best of the two seats available to them.  Kansas wound onwards for miles.

The thunder and lightning began around Wichita, and continued for most of our traverse of the state.  Sometimes it rained where we were.  At other times we only saw the evidence of it raining elsewhere flash across the sky. 

As we climbed into the high plains, a long string of red blinking lights appeared in the distance.  An airport?  It was hard to tell how far off they were, but as we drew closer the bulk of the lights became apparent.  We entered an absolutely enormous wind farm which stretched on for miles in all directions.  Gigantic wind turbine after gigantic wind turbine.  All turning in the trans-continental breeze. 

A day for Laura

From Saint Louis we changed plans from the original itinerary.  Instead of heading straight across to Kansas City and then on to Denver on the interstate, we turned south on I-44 and then a series of back roads to the Laura Ingalls Wilder homes in the Ozarks and on the Prarie.  Today was a day visiting locations associated with Laura.

Rocky Ridge Farm in the Ozarks is a beautiful spot.  Little wonder Almanzo said that Laura insisted that they buy the property when they arrived as refugees from drought, ill-health, and crop failure in the 1890s.  A few apple trees are planted to represent the acres of trees they had in their orchard, and a small garden reflects the gardens they had planted -- the farm itself is no longer operational.  But the house where Laura lived for much of her time there -- one that began as a two-room farm house and expanded gradually to ten rooms.

My favorite spot was Laura's writing room -- a small space with a desk, seats, lots of light from the windows.  The desk faced away from the windows, toward the living room.  Patricia liked the library alcove off the living room -- a space entered through a doorway defined by the chest-high built-in bookshelves, with shelves built on all of the walls. Miriam didn't like much about the house -- it was BOORING and she was TIRED of being CARRIED and TOLD NOT TO TOUCH, so I explored the grounds with her while the others finished the tour.  We found raspberries, and young apples, and a chicken coop.  The springs that drew the Wilders to Rocky Ridge have gone dry with the declining water table of the region, and they no longer run.

From Rocky Ridge, a beautiful, shaded site in the woods of the Ozarks we drove three hours more-or-less due west to the location of the "Little House of the Prairie" or at least an approximation of its location based upon reconstructions of old census and other records.  A small recreated log cabin built in 1977 is gradually rotting away, and provides habitat for insects and mud dauber wasps.  Two other historical buildings have been moved to the site -- a post office and a school.  The prairie sun was hot, and the wind blew.  Patricia's favorite spot was the school house.  Several of the children seemed to most enjoy petting the residents of the nearby mule and donkey pasture.

Patricia was delighted to find a natural bug repellant mix made locally in Kansas that included all the ingredients she had bee planning to use for her own concoction, and bought a large bottle.  Miriam was delighted to discover some stick candies.  Sarah purchased a bonnet.  After this, it was time to buckle in for a long over-night drive across Kansas and eastern Colorado for sunrise on the outskirts of the Front Range in southern Colorado. 

Two ways to see the same place - departure

guest post by Sarah

Virginia days seem to last on forever.  Hot humidity fries your brains to a fool-hardy stupor, fool-hardy enough to go on a road trip at five in the morning.  Virginia days are so long that the minutes are so long and subsequently the hours are so long, given the minutes length, that in the end 5 am closely resembles 2 pm.

I woke up to the alarm at 4:51 am.  The alarm was at 4:50 am, but I had been reading Anna K until midnight, and am prone to spending too much time asleep with the alarm sounding.  David had, as he proudly told me, been up since four, and he reported in a kind of sleepy chatter, “Mom and Dad said we are leaving later.”  David and I loaded the car, resulting in a missing purple thermometer, and partially blocked rear-view mirror. (The mirror part was easily fixed; the thermometer was Anna’s fault.)  “New plan,” Dad said, “We are going to leave at 9… at 10… at 11… If we go soon we’ll still get to the square dance.  Just help Mommy.  Stop wining.”  “Can I go to my library thing?”  “Yes, we’ll come and get you and then go.”

            I got home from the library program at 1:00 and met exactly what I predicted to Daddy on the car ride: a flustered Mom and kids loafing on the sofa. 

Finally we entered the Richman Express, but that does not mean we were prepared to go.  No, there remained the important issue of what movie we were going to watch.  Anna loudly declared that Liberty Kids was the only movie worth watching.  Miriam voiced no opinions, but we all knew she just wanted Thomas.  She loves trains.   We only actually brought one Tomas video though, because the rest were lost, (and later found in the musical instruments bucket, curtsey of la goose.)  Leah voted Tangled after Little Bear was smudged, and David and I remained neutral as long as it wasn’t Liberty Kids.  Tangled was selected with 20% of the votes, and no strong objections. 

Anna, much to the misfortune of everyone involved, got the end seat on the first brown bench, the seat that formally had the broken buckle, the seat with half door responsibility shared with me in the end seat, back bench.  Leah sits by the window in the back, Miri in the seat right in front of that, and David in the middle, back row.  This leaves the middle, front bench, empty.  But the front end is mostly the go between.  The go between is the portal linking the front seat city to the back roads town.  Our highway hoards popcorn, and can’t take care of the baby.  Anna is NOT a good go between.

Tangled was not finished.  In her middle seat inspired distress, Miriam got bored, and we put on Thomas, Salty’s Stories.  If I never hear that story again I will, following the suit of Cranky in the episode, be very happy.  We did watch Liberty Kids in the end, and someone picked the theme song for a sing along.

States for day one:

#1. The state of my skirt covered in dog drool

#2.  The state of my voice after singing The Wheels on the Bus way too long (the Sarah on the bus goes read, read, read.)

#3.  The state of Mother’s frustration as we sit around and she cleans, not a nice state to be in.

#4.  The state of everyone, fatigue.

States for day two:

#1. The state of Dad’s missing deodorant, it is no longer just a territory.

#2 . The state of Mommy’s life as a 14 year old, (old selfies and cards anyone?)

#3.  The state of a clean van, it was mussed up on the drive.  (lol, Dad [inside joke])

#4.  The state of the adorable kittens’ fate, the stars are not with them.