Let it go and just look for the beauty

Oklahoma City, OK

I am one of those people who can usually get through the hard stuff just fine and instead do my falling apart later when things have had a chance to settle, in private, in the dark or the shower. I remember writing and presenting my dad’s eulogy at his memorial service and later thinking “how the hell did I get through that?” The scattering of my mom’s ashes on this trip was much easier for me than writing about it later, in the privacy of my office. But the Oklahoma Bombing Memorial took me so off-guard that I lost it and wept hard, in public, in daylight, in the moment.

We hadn’t even intended to visit the memorial. I needed to mail off albums I had purchased in Boulder, so Denitta googled the post office closest to our hotel after we checked out. She navigated us there and I went in to mail the package while she found directions to our next stop. Back in the car, I started the car and drove out of the parking lot a different way than we had entered. I turned out of the lot, stopped at the red light, and there directly in front of us was a huge slab of bronze.

“Oh my god, it’s the Oklahoma Bombing Memorial,” I said. “You want to go?” Before I even got the words out, she responded “yes.” I made a left when the light changed and an immediate left back into the parking lot we had just pulled out of.

I think I was actually holding my breath when we walked through that bronze entryway. It was sad and powerful and beautiful. There was a lot to take in - a serene reflecting pool, a similar bronze entry on the opposite end of the pool. And then I saw the bronze chairs, one-hundred sixty eight of them – one for every person who died in that horrible beginning of our nation’s own home-grown terrorism. I didn’t know how many chairs were there in that moment, I looked that up later. But what struck me, and struck me hard, were the tiny chairs representing the children in the day care center that died that day.

I barely recall taking most of the images, everything was a blur of tears and emotions. Maybe my combat photography training courtesy of the US Army kicked in, but I immediately went into “get through this” mode, into the “document and move on” method we were taught. I do remember capturing the image of one of the few remaining pieces of the original building framed against a blue sky. It seemed so surreal but striking. It reminded me of the beautiful blue sky on 9/11. I also recall as we were leaving seeing a piece of fencing next to the Memorial entry where people still leave notes, flowers, flags, and toys for the children that were lost. I wish I had remained more level-headed while there because I am sure that I missed the opportunity for some great images, but hopefully some of the impact comes across.

With all the planning, the trip spreadsheet, even google maps which should have told us what was right there under our noses, this surprise encounter in Oklahoma City was the rawest moment of my entire journey. You can plan and try to control things but sometimes things – especially grief, even grief you didn’t know that you had – creeps up on you and shakes the shit out of you. It makes you realize that we truly control nothing, so you might as well just let it go and enjoy the journey because it is all beautiful. Yes, even the sad stuff, in its own way.

If you came to this first through the blog, know that there are more photos on the related Facebook post. 

Google Album for these photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/ig2CHVreznBrjg1V9

Going Home

Various locations

What does home mean to you? The primary definition in the dictionary is “the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.” Sadly, the second definition is “an institution for people needing professional care or supervision,” as in an old folks home. And then to many there is the ultimate “going home.” Honestly, I can’t see that as home in any positive sense, although apparently deeply religious people do. Well, them and the cast of Rocky Horror Picture Show. I never really understood that movie’s peculiar ending either.

I went on this month-long roadtrip (well at least the first part of the trip) to return my mother’s ashes “home” to Michigan. My sister and I first scattered some of her ashes in Owosso Michigan, off a quaint stone bridge in a lovely historical setting, a sort of oddly magical place. Curwood Castle Park in the heart of Owosso has a beautiful yellow castle – yes, a castle -- standing on the banks of the Shiawassee River. This historic home was built by the town’s famous writer James Oliver Curwood in the early 1920s.  

I am not sure how much of an actual home coming it was, in fact I am not even sure that my mother ever returned to the place of her birth. Her early history had been so strange, having found out sometime in her late 50s that the story she had always been told of her adoption was a complete fabrication made it all the stranger. Dying declarations of family members can be insensitive and pointless. Although, Owosso was never truly home to her other than her actual birth, I did feel peace when we spread her ashes there, just in a different way. At the very least, her ashes were carried downriver and eventually out to Lake Huron, which is an awesome journey.

Mom grew up in the tiny town of Cedar Lake Michigan. My sister and I stopped by our grandparents’ house, which although still standing had clearly been neglected for years. Memories flooded back as we stood across the street from the old house. We recalled how when we visited there as kids, our dad would always find a reason to “head into town” to neighboring Edmore. As kids we thought Edmore must have been quite far away as dad always seemed to be gone for a good part of the day. It wasn’t until we were both adults that we found out that Edmore was only 10 minutes down the road, and it was his love of drag racing that was really taking him into town. I still have one of the trophies he won.

We decided that the current owners of mom’s childhood home might not take kindly to a couple of women knocking on their door seeking to spread some ashes, even if it was only at the pond at the back of the property. Something about the “no solicitors” and “weapons on property” signs on the front porch seemed a bit unwelcoming. So, we decided instead to visit the local camp meeting grounds to leave mom’s ashes there. (Trust me, she had left her mark in that town more than a three-quarters of a century earlier, so a little more of her couldn’t hurt!) Thankfully, camp meeting was not currently in session, having occurred in June. A nice stand of tall pines with a patch of Queen Anne’s Lace growing underneath made for a perfect spot for mom’s eternal annual camp meeting; she always loved camp meeting. At least she would be “home” one week out of the year.

One of mom’s favorite places in the world was my Aunt Pat and Uncle Frank’s cabin at Crystal Lake Michigan. For as long as I can recall, she went there almost every summer to bask in the sun, go out on the boat (water skiing when she was younger), but mostly to play cards and laugh in the evening with her dear friend. Aunt Pat was not really related but was my mom’s best friend since second grade. I remember going there when I was younger, and my kids have also been there several times. It is an easy place to slip back into in summer.

My mom and I had spread some of my dad’s ashes at Crystal Lake almost two decades ago, so it seemed right that some of hers go there too. My sister and I scattered some in the garden area by the gazebo and in the small pond under the trees close to the lake. We figured that from there they would run out into the lake which seemed like a pretty cool forever home. Instead, they floated down to a log on the bottom of the pond and sat there, shimmering in the low light. I guess she wanted to stick around a little longer.

Our last planned spot for ashes was at the house she and dad lived in the Chicago suburbs. It was their first real home after they married, a little brown craftsman house that sat at the end of a cul-de-sac next to a forest preserve. I have fond memories of a lovely childhood there with a rock garden out back, wheeling my calico cat Musette in a doll buggy around the front porch, and playing checkers with my grandpa who lived for a while in the upstairs apartment. But my favorite thing about that house was that it was on the end of the street, which meant that the ice-cream truck turned around in our driveway. That all but made one a princess as a 6-year-old! At the entrance to the forest preserve is a huge elm tree that has been there forever. It has a perfect spot for a forever view of home.   

One morning at my tiny house cabin in Hot Springs South Dakota, on my last day there before heading on to Colorado, I encountered a beautiful sunrise while enjoying my morning coffee at the picnic table out back. Actually, I had seen the sunrise every morning I stayed there, and each seemed more lovely than the last. This one was extra special though because I watched a little sparrow carrying food back to her birdhouse atop the fencepost by a stand of pines. Although my mom had never been west of the Mississippi River, except for one flight to visit her sister in Oregon, I suddenly thought how much she would love this place.

I remembered touring a tiny house manufacturer in her tiny town back in 2019. She insisted that they wouldn’t mind at all if we just showed up to look around. She was right, a guy was thrilled to show us their workshop, a cool bus conversion project they were currently working on, and several completed models they had sitting out front. I laughed when mom said she could see herself downsizing to live in a tiny house. I laughed because she had supposedly been downsizing for the past two decades and her home still felt crammed full of stuff to me. I went to the car and got out the box of ashes that had been riding shotgun with me since leaving Chicago. I spread her ashes at the end of the fence row under the birdhouse. I like to think this was the home she had always dreamt of, and she had finally downsized enough to make that happen.   

I have never been strongly attached to place. I have places that I love, but that is plural and for me none has really risen to the level of “Home.” About the closest I ever came was at Burning Man where they greet you at that gate with “Welcome Home.” The second (and third) times I went, it did sort of feel like coming home again. Even so, it was more of a feeling than the place. Maybe that is why I enjoy solo travel where I can try on many “homes” – like the cowboy whose home is where he lays his hat. Home, to me, is any place where the hugs abound and peace is found! Sometimes that correlates with where my family people are, other times, not so much, if you know what I mean.

I see home as a feeling, your spiritual home, a place where you feel that you belong. To take that philosophical notion one step further, home is a vital sensitive core, as in “the truth struck home.” Home gives one a feeling of being safe, secure, loved and accepted. A feeling of truth. It's where you don't have to define yourself, show your strengths, or explain your responses. Home is where you can simply be yourself 24/7, and I even had a little trouble with the 24/7 thing out there at Burning Man. While I love that today is the day that most folks are hitting the playa after a two-year hiatus, I don’t really have a single bit FOMO going on this year. The timing just wasn’t right for me this year, particularly with what has happened in the last two years – I have had my own fires to burn, and some to put out. Maybe this trip helped a little with that.    

 

If you came to this first through the blog, know that there are more photos on the related Facebook post 

Google Album for these photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/2YpZbDFnEiDxv6e89

Footnote: I think that part of the allure of Burning Man involves fire and keeping the home fires burning, be they real or spiritual. Research by anthropologist Polly Wiessner has shown that once our ancestors learned to control fire, in addition to using it for cooking, they began to use it for storytelling as well. By extending the day, fire allowed people to unleash their imaginations and engage others with stories which, in turn, fostered deeper social connections. I hope that the stories I have shared in this blog connect with you. That is my playa gift to you all this year. Happy Burn!  

 

And the theme is … Taxidermy

Various locations

Some people find taxidermy disgusting or at least disturbing. I have always been a bit fascinated by it. Taxidermy is quite diverse, running the gamut from the simple mounted trout above the mantel to appearing as fine art in various mediums. So, I guess it is not so surprising that it was sort of a mini-theme in my travels, especially if it is something you already seem notice.

The first taxidermy I encountered was in Ferndale Michigan, just outside of Detroit, at a restaurant called The Fly Trap. Not only was this establishment bold enough to have a somewhat unappetizing name for a restaurant, but it also even had art on the wall made from tiny taxidermized flies! My sister and I found it hilarious. The place was crazy crowded on a Tuesday at lunchtime (because the food was amazing!) so we took the first available table, although it would have been fun to be a “bar fly” there!  

The next taxidermy encounters took place again with my sister in shops in Chicago, the first at Woolly Mammoth Antiquities and Oddities. Okay, this one was a planned stop. I had always wanted to go into this shop when I lived in Chicago but had only peeked in the window one time when it was closed. That is where we saw the rodeo squirrels, boxing chipmunks, cigar-smoking whiskey-swigging raccoon, and the ubiquitous two-headed calf. Unfortunately, Stinky the Skunk was sold, otherwise I would have purchased him for a certain someone I know who loves skunks. She would have probably killed me. The next day as we were looking for parking we stumbled upon Astronauts and Cowboys, an adorable upscale shop that just so happened to have taxidermies of a whole, well-antlered deer and some beavers in the window along with a complete astronaut suit. Their display worked! We had to go in.

Besides the Astronauts and Cowboys thing, apparently, cowboys and taxidermy have a strong connection, as there were two pieces of taxidermy in a brothel in Deadwood, SD – a mounted peacock atop a piano and a stuffed baby zebra inexplicably wearing Mardi Gras beads. I really wish I had asked about that one; I am sure there was a good story. And I promise you, we will get to that visiting a brothel story … eventually.

I saw lots of deer, elk, and various other heads on walls at practically every restaurant out west. Aside from the usual use of taxidermy as décor or to entice shoppers or cowboys, there are also competitions devoted to the craft of taxidermy. 

Once, long ago, I attended a competition at a museum in Baltimore and that is when I became hooked on the art of taxidermy. (Links to more on that are in the bonus link below from a previous post of mine on taxidermy.) My personal favorite piece from that Baltimore exhibition was the tiny mouse dentist and his patient, with the moose head on the wall and cowboy hats on the hat stand. See, it all ties together.   

It is incredible what imaginations people who do taxidermy have. That became quite apparent when we took in part of the art exhibition at the 21c Hotel in Oklahoma City, where Denitta and I stayed after our long Route 66 haul. I would consider the pieces in this exhibit fine art taxidermy and by far the most bizarre that I saw on my trip. Yes, even more bizarre than boxing chipmunks or rodeo squirrels, because these pieces not just put recognizable creatures into amorphic human situations but created whole new creatures. I loved them, but even I was sort of glad that we had somehow missed that part of the exhibition the previous night when we got into town late and were enjoying the other art pieces after a very late-night dinner and drinks. That might have made for some very disturbing dreams, even for me.   

If you came to this first through the blog, know that there are lots more photos on the Facebook post.

Bonus: During the pandemic, I started writing and posting “My Virtual Smithsonian” and one of my pieces was the Smithsonian Taxidermy edition. If you haven’t gotten your fill of taxidermy from this post, there’s lots more in that Smithsonian post of mine, including tons of links in the comments.

Google Album of these photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/cku1jyeRkRvqSMvCA

Parades and Rodeos and Cowboys, Oh My!

Deadwood, South Dakota

The Days of '76 celebration began in 1924 as a way to honor Deadwood's first pioneers - the prospectors, miners, muleskinners, and madams who poured into the Black Hills in 1876 to settle the gold-filled gulches of the Dakota Territory. Needless to say, it is a BIG deal in the area. Think Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, the Westminster Dog Show, Miss America Competition, and the World's Series all rolled into one! The event even has its own museum. It is an annual five day event, and 2022 just happened to be its 100th anniversary.

The original plan was to do Wyoming and Rushmore during the day and then do the Days of '76 rodeo finals in the evening. Peelee had always wanted to do the Days of '76; I had never heard of it, but am always willing to sign on to something involving cowboys! True confession, I had a terrible crush on Cowboy Curtis from the 1980's Pee-wee Herman Show. (Okay, I still do.) And the day the World Rodeo Finals rolled into Vegas while I was there for Cirque Week, I thought that I had died and gone to heaven! 

Alas, our plan was thwarted when we found out tickets to the rodeo that evening were sold out! It was after all the finals of the event, so those tickets were likely gone months before. So we flipped our plan and decided to do the morning parade instead. Cowboys on parade works too. 

We showed up in Deadwood at the perfect time to snag a sweet parking spot and then parked ourselves in a prime shady spot on the parade route in front of the Silverado Gaming Establishment across from the Franklin Hotel on Main Street. While Peelee went off scavenging for huckleberry ice cream, I chatted up the nice older couple sitting next to us. When I mentioned that we had wound up at the parade because we couldn't get rodeo tickets for that night, she said, "I've got two extra tickets for the 1pm rodeo pre-finals today if you want them."

Peelee came back with his huckleberry ice cream to the good news of our good fortune. We enjoyed the best parade ever with horses and cowboys, mules and cowboys, wagons and cowboys, marching bands and cowboys, pickup trucks and cowboys, motorcycles and cowboys, saloon girls and cowboys, and pageant cowgirls. At one point Peelee looked at me and proclaimed, "this is a legit parade, like legit legit."

After the parade, we killed a little time in Deadwood (more on that another time), and then enjoyed the best rodeo ever with horses and cowboys, bucking broncos and cowboys, steers and cowboys, yada yada yada. You get it.

It was a perfect day. And that was even BEFORE we headed off to Devil's Tower.

If you came to this first through the blog, know that there are lots more photos on the Facebook post. 

Google Album of these photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/EH4kaNwC2PtX9fFKA

Devil's Tower National Monument (Roadtrip Post #5)

Wyoming 

Now somewhere in the Black Mountain Hills of Dakota there lived a young boy named Rocky Raccoon…. Oh, sorry this happens when I am listening to music while writing. What I meant is not too far from the Black Mountains of South Dakota is Devil’s Tower National Monument in Wyoming. After Peelee Clark and I enjoyed a morning parade and an early afternoon rodeo in Deadwood, we headed to Wyoming. When we decided to walk completely around Devil’s Tower on Tower Trail, a mostly paved 1.3 mile trail that circles the Monument, I decided that it was a perfect opportunity to do a full photo study.

Photographers often do studies of a single subject. This helps to teach the eye what to look for and stretches one’s perspective. This great exercise means that you learn to see the world in a different way. The process involves shooting a subject from various angles, whether from walking around the subject, or getting higher or lower than the subject. There are also other manipulations that you can invoke, such as composition, changes in lighting, and advanced techniques like Tilt-Shift, exposure changes, and HDR (high dynamic range).

Ideally, a viewer of the images later can tell that the images were all shot of the same subject. However, a good study will ideally result in images that all have something very different about them. Occasionally the subject might not even be obvious in an image because the photographer zooms in on a small feature of the subject, hides it in a wider angle, or features an aspect tangential to the subject.

I am quite thrilled with the diverse images I captured at Devil’s Tower. I will also say that it is super convenient to bring your own Park Ranger with you on your visits to National Parks and Monuments. I know a great one if any of you are interested (wink, wink). 

Peelee explained that the prayer flags tied to the trees around the monument were placed there by Lakotas who consider the land sacred. You are not supposed to photograph them, so hopefully I edited out any that accidently were in these images.

He also shared the Native American folklore that tells how the striations came to be on the rock. The story is that two young girls were playing in the area when a large bear began chasing them. The girls climbed to the top of a large rock, but the bear climbed toward them. The Great Spirit, seeing the bear was about to catch the girls, caused the rock to grow up out of the ground. The bear kept trying to get at them, but could not climb as the rock grew and just scratched the rock with his claws but fell down to the ground. The claw marks are visible on the rock and according to the legend, the two girls are still on top of the rock.   

Bottom line, this beautiful place should go on everyone’s bucket list. Oh, and thanks Peelee!

If you came to this first through the blog, know that there are more photos on the related Facebook post. 

Google Album of these photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/6TwL3QZZ1Ms8eE1o9

Murals (Roadtrip Post #4)

Various locations

There is no separate blog for this one, as these murals more than speak for themselves. Enjoy the photos at the associated Facebook page:

https://www.facebook.com/tonda.phalen/posts/pfbid02A2zT65FYQzuRfXGdVWKqCR6UB2egbtdYvyD7GcDDsFWQQctsW3qdBHAM63FbUo3hl

Google Album of these photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/deASzEDVhNbZMAkU6

May All Your Days Be Circus Days (Roadtrip Post #3)

Baraboo, Wisconsin

Anyone who knows me, knows that I am a circus junkie. So, leaving Menomonee Falls, WI and headed for Fargo, ND, it was a given that I would have to stop in Baraboo, Wisconsin, home to the Circus World Museum and winter home to the Ringling Brothers Circus in the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries. I made it there right as it opened and had the place mostly to myself for several hours. I was in heaven!

I always loved the circus as a kid and even threatened to run away and join the circus as a teenager. My dad called my bluff on that one, laughingly encouraging me to “enjoy my time shoveling elephant shit.” He was right. I had no real skills to offer. But I knew that circus people were my people. 

As a kid, I loved the movies, Dumbo and Toby Tyler. I adore Water for Elephants, both the book and movie. I deeply identify with the novel, The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, which is in my top 3 books of all time. The first time I read it, I recall reading late into the night for several nights and intentionally pausing for about an hour the night I finished it, so I could finish at daybreak. It was that magical. And if there was ever any doubt, the 2017 movie The Greatest Showman cemented it for me. I cried the first three times I saw it. 

I loved taking my kids to the circus when they were little, so when I accidently found myself in trapeze classes in 2011 – that is a separate story that most of you already know, but I will just say here that Burning Man was responsible – and my girls wanted to join in, I was ecstatic. They actually got quite good at it, and even did some shows. My aerial skills in trapeze and lyra never quite reached the level of joining the circus (I'm blaming my late start in circus life - the mind was willing, the body less so), but I loved every minute of it. The closest I ever truly came to running away to join the circus was when I went to Las Vegas as a VIP for Cirque du Soleil's Cirque Week. That was an amazing experience.

I didn’t know what to expect in Baraboo, but it did not disappoint. I really just expected exhibits and historical pieces, but they had so much more – from dioramas to costumes, live animals to an outdoor trapeze rig, carousel to funhouse, vintage circus wagons to a clown class. There was even an actual show, under the big top tent, and although it was a one-ring circus, the performances were top-notch. 

For much longer than I probably should have, I stayed in my happy place. To quote P.T. Barnum himself, "The noblest art is that of making people happy." Thank you, Baraboo, you done good.

If you came to this through the blog, know that there are more photos in the related Facebook post.

Bonus: During the pandemic, I started writing and posting “My Virtual Smithsonian” on Facebook and one of my favorite pieces, of course, was the Smithsonian Circus edition. If you haven’t gotten your circus fill from this post, you can revisit that 2020 piece. There are tons of links in the comments of that post to circus-related things at the Smithsonian.

Google Album of these photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/aRigA8P6Jg3Jmkb57

Get Your Kicks on Route 66 (Roadtrip Post #2)

 Amarillo, TX to Oklahoma City, OK

That drive from Boulder to Oklahoma City was a schlog! In fact, I am a little surprised that Denitta agreed to join once she was privy to the grueling travel plan. The route took us through four states – Colorado, New Mexico, Texas, and Oklahoma. It logged in at almost 740 miles and over 11 hours of drive time. We did dally a bit at Garden of the Gods, so add another hour there. We also lost an hour with a time zone change, and of course extra time was needed for numerous stops along Route 66 to take in the kitsch. The planned timeline also did not take into account the additional 40 minutes we sat in the car off an exit somewhere near Panhandle Texas during a blinding thunderstorm. Not ideal in a ragtop convertible, I have to say. I swear I felt the hair on my arms stand on end with more than a couple of those lightning strikes that hit close enough to shake the car.

Still, it was fun to visit Cadillac Ranch, even in the mud, and Slug Bug, even in the pouring rain. Luckily, the skies cleared by the time we reached Shamrock Texas and we got to pretend we were rolling into “Radiator Springs” from the movie “Cars.” You can certainly recognize the inspiration. The town has done a great job of embracing the theme and welcoming visitors willing to get off the interstate highway to enjoy a little nostalgia. One hilarious note – look closely at this picture with “Mater” the tow-truck beside the garage and you will see a 21^st century addition with a line of electric Tesla car chargers at the right back of the lot. I don’t remember that in the “Cars” movie; maybe an upcoming sequel?

We decided to skip McLean TX because, by the time we got there, the Devil's Rope Barbed Wire Museum was closed. We just couldn’t bear to hear, “Sorry the moose out front shoulda told ya.” (I am not getting a kickback for movie references, I promise!) We did a quick drive through the Route 66 museum village in Elk City, Oklahoma because the museum there was also closed – that rain delay had really hurt us – but you could drive around and see the vintage village storefronts. I will be back for both of you one day! 

Even as we raced toward Oklahoma City to try to make the last possible dinner reservation at the restaurant in our hotel, we made time for a quick stop at Lucille’s in Hydro, OK, one of the original Route 66 gas stations, and we were rewarded with a gorgeous sunset. We did make it to our dinner reservation in Oklahoma City and had a killer meal, like the best I have had in a very long time! But more on that some other time.

Note: If you came to this first through the blog, know that there are many more photos on the related Facebook post

Google album of these photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/zV4PExc5gkubFENA6

A Plan, My Long-ago Photo Muse, and the Birth of a Mini Girls' Roadtrip (Roadtrip Post #1)

Garden of the Gods, Colorado Springs, CO

Yes, I had a spreadsheet for planning my month-long trip. It was pretty detailed to include driving times from place to place, potential things to do in each stop and along the route, reservation numbers, etc. And, yes I got all sorts of grief about it from those that knew of its existence -- namely from my sister, who was on the front portion of the trip with me, from Detroit, through Michigan, and on to Chicago. But those details sure came in handy. I felt like I had a decent sense of ideas, limitations, and a solid plan, even if I didn’t always strictly stick to it.

I had been planning this trip since March 2022, but one of the last stretches to be added to the spreadsheet was how the hell I was going to get back from the Denver area to “civilization.” My goal was to NOT have to drive across Kansas or Nebraska by myself if I didn’t have to. I had done that before with someone else in the car and that was bad enough. There is not much out there even for just a quick roadside amusement along the way. I literally had found one giant outdoor Van Gogh replica painting on the Kansas route, and outside of the far west slice of Nebraska that was already on my route from Hot Springs SD to Boulder CO and included what Nebraska does have to offer in the way of Toadstool Geologic Park, Carhenge, and Dobbey’s Frontier, Nebraska offered little else except the possibility of prairie madness (https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/prairie-madness-study-silence-great-plains), which didn’t seem like a great souvenir.  

About four days before my trip was to start, I had an epiphany. I would go south, to go east! This way I would get to visit one of my favorite places on earth, Garden of the Gods, outside of Colorado Springs, which had been a photo muse of mine since I first discovered it in the early 80s while I was in the Army and stationed at Lowry AFB in Denver. I used to make that hour and a half drive as often as I could, to document the beauty of GOTG and hike the trials. Different times of the year, and even different times of the day afforded distinctive shadows and light so that it was a constantly morphing and always novel experience. And it was amazing to shoot there.

I did get myself into a bit of a pickle once back in the 80s when I started the slow ascent late one afternoon onto Southgate Rock and by the time I reached the summit it was starting to get dark. I knew that I couldn’t go back the way I came up the trail so decided I would brave it and go for a steep decent down the far end of the rock. Unfortunately, I did not have proper climbing gear and had the added challenge of photo gear in tow. About halfway down, with the light fading quickly, I suddenly couldn’t find holds and started to panic a bit. About that time a couple came around the arch in the path below and spotted me. “You ok up there?” they yelled. “Nope” I said. They geared up and climbed up to help belay me down the rest of the way. These days, that irresponsibly would cost a $500 fine. In the 80s, it just cost me a six-pack when we all got back to the parking lot.

This south-then-east route also meant that I could hit a shortened piece of a Route 66 trip. While the girls and I visited my parents during spring break 2005, my dad and I had hammered out a Route 66 Roadtrip from Chicago to LA, drawing it all out on a paper Atlas and planning stops along the way. We had talked about this trip for years and were thinking of doing it in the late summer or early fall of that year. We never made that trip because he died suddenly the week after we returned home. I still have the Atlas.

Within hours of the birth of this brilliant new eastward route plan, my longtime friend, Denitta, who I was crashing with while in Boulder called to ask if I was heading back through Kansas or Nebraska. She was hoping to catch a ride from me to her mom’s outside of Kansas City. I laughed hard and thought, no way am I going to miss out on another Route 66 trip. Instead, I asked her to join me, with the promise that I could get her as close to her destination as Tulsa, Oklahoma. She said she would consider it. The next morning, she called to say she had a rental car in Tulsa and would be joining me on my mini Route 66 jaunt!

Denitta and I rose before sunrise and headed out to Garden of the Gods. The morning light made the place as magical as I remembered. And the Route 66 part of the trip, it was epic – and so much better to have her along with me for the ride. Add that to the spreadsheet!

 

Note: If you came to this first through the blog, know that there are many more photos on the related Facebook post. 

Google Album of these photos:  https://photos.app.goo.gl/oLbh3fL4PBcqJ3zY6