tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89910405233876525672024-02-20T18:29:00.749-08:00Couchsurfing across the U.S.Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.comBlogger82125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-76863310744332706142012-06-02T06:18:00.001-07:002012-06-02T06:18:15.859-07:00Missoula: Small city of franchises<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I met Marla at the Idaho Rocky Mountain Ranch last year, and she and I hit it off. We always went out to the bars together to dance. I decided to visit since she lived only four hours from my destination.<br />
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It turns out that where Marla is staying near Missoula is actually only a 2.5 hour drive from Glacier National Park. I guess I could have finished the Lake McDonald hike I'd started after all. Oh well. When Marla got home from work, she and I went out. She wanted to hike to the "M" on the hill next to the university in the city. We started up the wrong trail, and crossed maybe 1/4 mile of very wet grass to find the actual trail. By the time we found it we were exhausted, and Marla said we were a long way off, so we decided to head down instead. It started raining harder anyway. I liked hiking up better than hiking down--although the path was zig-zagged, it was still steep and hard on the knees.<br />
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We went to a Chinese restaurant for dinner. The food made me feel icky, but it tasted well enough. There are no diners or small restaurants from what I saw of Missoula--everything is a chain or a franchise. If Marla started her own restaurant, I think she'd be well off, or she'd have a lot of customers at least.<br />
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Here are three of Mike and Melissa's children and their giant dog, Napoleon. They said he's just over a year old. That's wild. He smelled like skunk and was shedding all over the place. Melissa homeschools the kids and she gave me a banana pudding recipe. She packed me a lunch of leftover baked mac & cheese, her Olive Garden Salad, and her delicious banana pudding. She and Mike have been living in Montana for only a couple of years. They let us sleep in their camper that night.<br />
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This is the house that Mike and Marla are working on. They just finished the roof. Mike has a contractor's license and was working on cabinets before they took on this roofing project. It's been raining in the area for a good week or so, and whenever they come home they're filthy. It was interesting to see Marla at work in an outdoor environment; I've always seen her as housekeeper, server, or kitchen assistant. It suits her, I think. She's going to have experience in every work skill in existence.Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-11673373288217494622012-06-02T06:03:00.001-07:002012-06-02T06:03:39.843-07:00Glacier Drizzle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Glacier National Park. These are the ruins from a forest fire. The trees are ghostly in the fading light; understandable, since they're dead. Because I drove in at night, I got through the gates for free. I also came in on the 14-or-so-mile dirt road. Driving on dirt roads is not fun in a car like mine.<br />
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I applied to work at Glacier this summer, but didn't get the job.<br />
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I woke to this view. I crashed in a parking lot next to the bathrooms in Apgar Village. Although it was only 11 p.m., there was no one around, so I felt no qualms about running out to the bathroom in my underwear. It was the first time I camped in my car and got to use a <i>real flush toilet</i> and <i>a sink, </i>other than outside a store. I loved it. And after I calmed myself and stopped thinking about grizzlies smelling the sweet kielbasa I cooked earlier, I slept soundly.<br />
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An older ranger told me that Rocky Point was a short hike. So I went there and took the trail to the McDonald Lake Campground. I hiked in the drizzle for a good hour, then turned around, because I had to get to Missoula at a relatively decent time, and I thought I had a four hour drive ahead of me.<br />
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The burn is dark as pitch; imagine two deep green eyes staring out at you.</div>
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This view on my return trip through the burnt woods.</div>
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I took this picture at Rocky Point, which I saw on my trip back. </div>
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I saw this on the side of the road somewhere and had to stop to take a picture. There are a lot of things that I got too lazy to stop for, and I kick myself every time I think about them. Like when I saw a calico cat curled up on a rusty hood and didn't bother taking a picture. The cat almost blended in with the rust.</div>Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-90292237582925970002012-06-01T21:42:00.000-07:002012-06-01T21:43:11.403-07:00Seattleites<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I arrived in Seattle just in time for the free FolkLife Festival. There are free concerts, and there are dozens of bands, singers, dancers and hustlers hanging out on the corners. I really like this band--the fiddle is <i>my thing</i>. They played a few modern songs, and also some I'd never heard before. The interesting part is that the entire band except for the man on the far right, are all in their 20s.<br />
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I also saw a two-person band on another corner: a woman playing an accordion, and a man playing a saw, the kind that bends. The saw made the strangest sound I have <i>ever</i> heard, it sounded like it came straight out of a horror movie. I bet it would keep any wild animals at a distance.<br />
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The street bands played all music: jazz, rock, pop, folk, and so on. It was amazing, and by far the best part of the festival.<br />
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This is definitely what I imagine a gypsy would dress like, although I never imagined that her musician would be playing the bagpipes.<br />
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This girl taught me and Sierra some Irish step dancing. This was the only real dancing I've done in weeks. I'm dying to get to Yellowstone and leave for town bars to go swing-dancing again.<br />
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Another thing I NEED to mention about Seattle: pot and drugs. Everyone that I met was very upfront about their personal drug use. One guy was carrying a white rat on his shoulder, and he let me hold it for a second. When I gave her back, the guy said, "Just so you know, I'm selling liquid mushrooms..." at which point I interrupted and said, "Actually, I'm a straight-edge, but thanks." And he was <i>so</i> cute!<br />
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Another guy was spinning a heavy black pole and he let me have a go at it. He told me that the ends were thick because they could be lit on fire and spun in the dark. I thought he was cool. I told him my name and he said he probably wouldn't remember it because he was so high on mushrooms. He tried to get my number, but I told him I don't give it to strangers, and I'm from Massachusetts anyway, which seemed to satisfy his drive.<br />
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Later, some friends of Miguel's invited me to come with them to a heavy metal concert. It was held beneath apartment rooms in a corner of the city. The room was tiny and full of smoke. I stood in the doorway for ten minutes, trying to keep my stomach from churning. After turning down a joint that was offered my way for the second time, I told my group I was heading out, and left. The air outside was clear and delectable. I don't know what it is about me and smoke but I don't think it's going to fade anytime soon.<br />
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I slept in my car in a grocery store parking lot. The wind was loud and it felt like it would be cold the next day.<br />
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Miguel's friend Greg took us to the Wayward Vegan for breakfast. He got two blueberry pancakes and a plate of veggied-up biscuits and gravy (all vegan, of course.) It was delicious! And he wouldn't take my money for it.<br />
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The day following the concert, Miguel didn't want me to leave with awful impressions of the city, so he took me on a tour. This is the gasworks park; it must have been an old mill or something back in the day. Now all the pipes are painted bright colors and posted signs read: KEEP OFF. "Can you tell why this is a great place for Parkour?" He asked. Look at all the places people could climb? I wanted to climb all of it...<br />
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This is the Goblin under the bridge (the Aurora, I believe). That's a real VW bug under its giant hand. It wa built in 1990 for no obvious reason.<br />
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He showed me around the U-District, and other places that I can't remember the name of...we walked down Broadway. From the outside I thought that The Metro Clothing Company might be my scene, and it proved to be: shiny black and red corsets, long dresses, high heels with clockwork cemented to the heel, metal spider rings, and more. I was blissful. However, blessed store or not, I <i>was not</i> dropping $113 on a short red and black dress, no matter how beautiful the design was, or how soft the material.<br />
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This is the gum wall at Pike's Marketplace. It's just as well that the marketplace was closed when we got there, because my camera died right after I took a couple pictures of this wall. Look closely--sometimes there are secret messages in the inches-thick gum.<br />
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Miguel says that this is the marketplace where guys toss raw fish around and yell out prices and sales and stuff.Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-13882484366593501122012-06-01T21:05:00.004-07:002012-06-01T21:05:55.258-07:00Water and Begging<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The drive to the rainforest appeared unfriendly to the homeless and the beggar. I later realized that Seattle is overflowing with people playing on the streets or outright begging for money. Still, I'd never seen a sign like that above before.</div>
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Miguel found the watering hole. People gather here, like it's a cool hangout. A few were working on a mosaic made of glass or pieces of porcelain.<br />
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This person told us that the spring's water is 10,000 years old. We emptied my bottles of store-bought or faucet-filled water, and filled them with some of this untarnished water instead.Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-14237684984288905152012-06-01T20:36:00.001-07:002012-06-01T20:46:23.163-07:00Rain Forest5/24/12<br />
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Miguel and I drove by this cemetery on our drive east to the Olympic National Forest. We had to stop to survey the damage. Along the roads short pine trees were planted and have begun growing in an attempt to hide the destruction. There were miles of trunks and probably hundreds of pounds of tree branches and bark left behind--wood that Miguel considered, briefly, for firewood, until we found that it was wet to the touch. If you're going to cut down the forest, why not take all of it? I felt like a fairy-creature on "Fern-Gully."<br />
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I met Miguel last summer on my drive through San Francisco.<br />
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This is the world's largest Spruce tree. It's 191 feet tall, and 1,000 years old. If you look at where Miguel is walking, you can tell how large the tree is in comparison. It was fun climbing around the trunk, which seemed like it was built for circling, because the base wrapped around like a rough spiral staircase.<br />
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The river is strong, the color like a pale blue flower, nearly white.<br />
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This is a giant dreamcatcher made of barbed wire. I assume it's a dreamcatcher, anyway. We didn't see the "No Trespassing" sign until we were driving away.<br />
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We move closer to the rain forest. Even the air tastes wet. The clouds were overpowering in many spots.<br />
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We drove 14 or so miles down a pot-hole-studded dirt road, looking for a place to pull over and camp out. Finally we found this long U-turn, and pulled in there, hiding my car behind a stand of trees in hopes that it would not be spotted. Our first day there was no rain. It still took Miguel nearly two hours to get a fire started (well, it is a <i>rainforest</i>) with our damp wood, damp sticks, and damp moss, while I dissected onions and stuffed them with hamburger. As difficult as carving the onions was, I preferred my "woman's" task to that of starting the damn fire. </div>
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The second day, just after we got back from our hike, it began to rain. The clouds weren't going away, and it felt <i>heavy.</i> "We better do something," I said, "it feels like it's going to pour." So far, we'd been able to lean under the giant tree behind us, and it kept half of the table dry, but rain was falling faster. I grabbed my tent tarp from the car and we started stringing it up. In minutes, the sagging places in the tarp were filled with puddles. Luckily Miguel had twine and patience, and we had a fairly protected eating-place. </div>
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The bark of some trees reminded me of the fire-resistant bar of the Sequoias, only whereas the Sequoia bark felt spongey, this bark was hard.<br />
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Branches like the weak arms of beautiful ladies, soft green moss dangling from their wrists. </div>
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Crossing a mossy log is easier than crossing one with no moss at all; bare bark has a slippy, dangerous surface. The only problem with moss is than it can hide rot or it can slide off and take you with it.<br />
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This picture shows how large these trees are. They weren't as tall as the Redwoods, but hiking beneath them felt just as majestic.<br />
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That's me. I really liked the giant roots sticking out of the ground. It reminds me of the frill of a triceratops (the back part, which tends to be spiky, much like the pointy roots).<br />
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What does this branch remind you of? Have you ever seen "Rocko's Modern Life?" Remember Heifer?<br />
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<br /></div>Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-78746001264174760562012-05-31T15:45:00.002-07:002012-06-01T20:37:00.533-07:00City of Grunge #2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">5/23/12</span>
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On my drive into Seattle the skies were overcast (go figure) and these lyrics played on the radio as it began drizzling: "Rain keeps falling down, down, down..." It's called "Don't You Forget About Me," by Billy Idol. Although the story has nothing to do with rain, I like that it came on during that time.<br />
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According to many, Seattle has the best beer. I'm not sure how true this is (considering that I HATE beer) but this bar is sure selling a lot!<br />
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My Seattle host, Krys, and I swapped wardrobes for a night at the karaoke bar "Yen Wor", "better known as 'The Young Whore'," Krys said. She braided my hair and I learned to not make sudden movements or risk the plastic boning stab into my ribs. The bar turned out to be pretty dead on a Wednesday night, and I sang six or seven songs, beginning with Faith Hill's "The Way You love Me," and ending with "Hotel California" (I've gotten very good at singing this song).<br />
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There was this guy there alone. He had a wonderful voice, and I invited him to sing "Moondance," with me, which he did. We sounded good, but sometimes forgot where words came in and we pretty much sliced that song into bitty pieces. It was a good time, and there weren't enough people in the bar to be broken up about it. The night was full of meeting stranger-boys and Krys trying to get me to leave, "but I've got one more song!"--and no one danced. I sang "Stray Cat Strut," in hopes that <i>someone</i> would dance. But no one did. I ended up dancing alone for a few songs, but it wasn't the same.Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-291529953591999242012-05-31T15:27:00.004-07:002012-06-01T20:37:24.943-07:00City of Grunge #1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
5/22/12</div>
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We discussed grunge and music and people who conform to nonconformity yet flock together; but we didn't discuss anyone like <i>this</i>. My host in Portland, Oregon had taken us out to a concert to see a few no-name bands. The second turned out to be all right, but not anything much to dance to for me, since I'm so used to goth music now. Meet Guy-in-the-fake-fur-cap. I didn't catch his name since it wasn't offered to me; my host to the right, Arya, heard his name but she forgot it quickly. I had actually dragged us into initial contact with this guy. He was asking us about clubs in the area, so I assumed he was a traveler like me; not so. He said he was from Portland and didn't go out much, which left me immediately disinterested. He talked about poetry and then he and Arya got into a conversation about South America--she stayed there for five months, visiting Ecuador and Argentina, among other places.<br />
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While they talked, I admired the treehouse in the center of the room and the writing on the walls in the bathroom. Writing on bathroom walls, and toilet paper dispensers, and doors, seems to be a passionate passtime for people in the small-town city (Arya's view). It became clear that neither Arya nor myself were interested in no-name-fur-cap, so we got away and left just after the third band got onstage.<br />
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We admired the way these boys were touching this pool table. "It reminds me of 'Gossip Girl'," she said, those books with the active images on the cover, waists and legs walking with shopping bags barely visible in the top corners; no faces visible. Everyone at the concert (maybe they don't call it that?) was dressed <i>down</i>, it seemed: baggy t-shirts and sweaters, pants, messy hair and hats; no one was attractive. I felt out of place, and thought that maybe Arya did too, since she was wearing the lowest top in the building. I never asked.<br />
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Arya likes dancing, but it seemed like no one else did. I am no longer used to the stillness of bodies in a room blaring music, it seems rude, almost disrespectful in a way. It isn't classical jazz or opera, people, it is <i>music</i>, just live a little! I never would have said something like that before last summer.<br />
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Arya studies anthropology in town. She doesn't seem to like it as much as she thought she would, saying that her school is "liberal-arts" based, meaning that there is no doing, that it's all textbooks and studying. However, since she is an anthropologist, and I am a journalist, we got along very well, and talked for hours about everything from major-related studies to our favorite teas. Part of me wishes I had asked to stay just one more night, but I decided to head to Seattle.Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-68185329224418182012012-05-31T15:02:00.001-07:002012-06-01T20:37:48.900-07:00Snow Cap Dream<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">5/22/12</span>
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Of all the places Eric told me I should visit in Oregon, I only stopped at the Painted Hills and here: the Timberline Lodge. I went form the slightly-wet, warm base of this mountain, up to the top where fog rolled in like rolls of fat down an overweight man's waist. The wind was biting and fierce, and I swear that it was driving sleet into my eyes. Finding the famous building which was used as the outside for "The Shining," was not easy in the fierce weather.<br />
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There were many quirky furnishings in the lodge, but this animal-hide lampshade it one of my favorites.<br />
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This is the upstairs bar/dining area. Every table and chair was wooden, although the chairs were all different and there didn't seem to be any order to where they'd been placed. The stone chimney stands in the center of the room; it's as round as some Sequoia trees.<br />
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another suggestion from Eric. I brought my computer and updated my blog while drinking a mug of hot chocolate--specifically named: "Snow Cap Dream." It was hot chocolate with a stick of cinnamon, toffee bits, lots of whipped cream and caramel. It was delicious, although I still can't decide if it was really worth the nearly $5 it cost.Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-53432645646785121912012-05-31T14:43:00.000-07:002012-06-01T20:39:21.204-07:00Burn and Release<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">5/22/12</span>
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My beautiful purple blanket got stuck in the jam of my trunk the night before. The trunk would neither open nor close fully, so I turned the rear light off and decided to leave it for morning. In the morning, I went back to trying to figure it out. I had to sit in the rear end of the car, on top of bags of clothes and my blankets, while trying to come up with a solution. I considered cutting the piece from the blanket...but obviously that wouldn't work; the piece would still be stuck around the jam. So, without really thinking about it, I decided the only way was to burn the blanket out.<br />
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I had my water bottle close by, and wet the part of the blanket that was caught just to be safe. It took several matches, and several attempts at lighting the blanket down under the latch instead of letting it move up toward my hand, but it worked! The flame burned the corner that was caught and the trunk opened with a satisfying click.<br />
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I stayed with Krystine in Bend, Oregon the night I got my blanket caught. She lives in a cute two-bedroom house with her dog Quincy. She has frequent epileptic attacks, and told me not to freak out if she had one in the morning. She tends to fall asleep with the TV on so that her eyes are never completely in the dark, since total darkness can send her into an attack. It sounded scary, and also debilitating. She can't have a license because she never knows when it will happen, and most of her family lives only a few doors away. There wasn't a lot of food in her house since she eats often at work. There was a basket of plastic apples on the counter. On the table there were a few candles that she can't light because of the epilepsy. I wish I hadn't driven for 13 hours and could have talked to her more.Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-25180366086399890632012-05-22T16:47:00.002-07:002012-05-22T16:47:15.451-07:00Banks Lowman Road (from Idaho to Oregon)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The Banks Lowman Road is the route you want to take through possibly all of Idaho. If you like soaring mountains covered in green, with a river running through it, this is heaven. I found it difficult not to take a thousand pictures, and I still wish I'd gotten more.<br />
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It might sound dirty, but this is one crack I want to climb. The problem is, it's right along the road, a very bad place for climbing. And I didn't have a partner to belay me.<br />
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I might have been in Oregon for this picture.<br />
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Welcome to the Picture Gorge. Go look it up.<br />
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I was upset that I was getting to the Painted Hills at such a late time, but this turned out to be a good thing; with the falling sun and the rain, a rainbow had formed stretching from one side of the hills to the other.<br />
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The deep blush on sand looks so much like a rash or a burn that it's almost painful to look at. But it's beautiful as well.<br />
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<br />Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-4863246997869278672012-05-22T16:37:00.001-07:002012-05-22T16:39:32.312-07:00Back in Stanley<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There are the rugged Sawtooths gleaming with snow. Can anyone question why We love this place?<br />
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This is the trail to Bench Lakes, my favorite.<br />
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Bench Lake # 1. The snow was a couple of feet deep up here.<br />
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Redfish Lake.<br />
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I was merely walking back from the Bench Lakes when a shirtless man came running at me out of the woods. I was terrified at first--but before he got to me the face and running style registered: Eric had followed me to Stanley! It was amazing that he found me, since I frequently change my destination and could have been on any other trail than the one I'd told him about.<br />
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He likes his moss.<br />
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Last year the population was 100. This year it's down to 63. My question is: how did they change the sign so fast? And do they do it every year?Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-12710451454867633382012-05-22T16:29:00.000-07:002012-05-22T16:29:10.584-07:00Challis National Forest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The drive from Utah to Idaho was splendid, especially since my GPS decided to send me up 93 through Challis instead of 75 through Ketchum.<br />
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I tried driving to the 21 mile scarp line, the result of 1983 7.3 earthquake, according to the sign. It was somewhere in the Challis National Forest, but I couldn't find it, and found these awesome caves instead. Of course I was incapable of staying in the car, and had to get out to see what was living in this huge holes in the rock.<br />
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That's me, in case you don't know what I looked like.<br />
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This is limestone covered in lichen with mountains in the distance. Yes, there is snow on them.<br />
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I was very happy that no other cars tried coming down this road, because one of us would have been stuck backing all the way down.</div>Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-69009321252376297922012-05-22T16:15:00.000-07:002012-05-22T16:15:30.918-07:00"Ranger Rick"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was somewhat hesitant to stay with Eric this time around, but it worked out well. I stayed for a few days. We had a campfire and hung out for a couple of days.<br />
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Our last night together, Eric made healthy biscuits and gravy which is basically the same as chicken pot pie without baking everything inside the crust.Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-80070503645401992762012-05-22T16:04:00.003-07:002012-05-22T16:04:41.952-07:00Logan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Bear Lake on my way to Logan, Utah.<br />
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Hippy bus in Logan. A rare site. if you look closely, you can see the person sitting in the driver's seat. I want a bus like that, but I think I'd paint it black with bright yellow stars and a crescent moon, perhaps.Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-76268187875701470152012-05-17T13:36:00.002-07:002012-05-17T13:36:44.477-07:00Blueberry Vodka<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I stayed with couchsurfing host Natalie in Fort Collins on the most uneventful night of the week: Monday. Still, she and her friends, Tom and Victor, took me out on the town. We visited several bars, and the night was very warm, especially compared to Denver.<br />
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After several rounds of pool and a couple of other bars, we stopped at this one bar where they make their own shots. They use hard alcohol and let it sit with specific ingredients. For instance, there is rose petal gin, cucumber gin, butterscotch vodka, or--the one I tried--blueberry vodka. Although I'm not a big drinker, it's a cool idea. Upstairs a DJ mixed pop music with dubstep. He wasn't very good, but Natalie and I danced until we couldn't stand it anymore.<br />
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These were one girl's shoes. They were so cool that I had to ask if I could take a picture. And that was my trip to Fort Collins. I don't want to get to know it too well yet, since I'll be living there for a while after the summer.Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-82277412179507437352012-05-17T13:21:00.000-07:002012-05-17T13:21:03.485-07:00The ChurchI took no pictures, and no good ones exist online, so this will be short. on Sunday night I went to a goth night at The Church in Denver. It takes place in an actual church; I thought it was a joke before I saw it. Most of the good music is downstairs; there are two rooms, one for goth and '80s music, and the other for heavy industrial music. When I go back there I'll take pictures and update this entry.Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-31508286253164381572012-05-17T13:17:00.003-07:002012-05-17T13:17:21.330-07:00Bouldering in Boulder<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I spent my Sunday morning hiking in the mountains in boulder, Colorado, communing with nature. I took the well-known Chautauqua Trail. Within 10 minutes my throat was burning pathetically, but don't let this picture fool you--the path is entirely uphill.<br />
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The Chautauqua Trail is relatively short, (.05 mi, I think) and it splits off. This is the Blue-Bell Beird Trail, and therefore I assume the blue flowers in this picture are bluebells. The trees are Ponderosa Pines; I saw a lot of these among the Redwoods last year, though those were far thicker.<br />
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Some trails were off-limits due to birding season. While scrambling over a boulder field, I saw a sign warning that anyone climbing or hiking behind it would be fined $1,000 and spend a certain number of nights in jail. This giant rock outcropping was behind the sign. Of course, I veered right to avoid any possible fines or jail time.<br />
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I lost the trail after climbing through the boulder fields, and started making my own--I just wanted to make it as high as I could. This picture is looking down. I climbed the wall. It was a lot easier and less terrifying than it looks...<br />
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This wall was above that in the above picture. I climbed this too.<br />
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There was a lovely view from the top, overlooking Boulder and other towns.<br />
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I found a real trail and followed it around to the other side of the mountain. I think this trail is known as the second-to-third flatiron trail. This side of the mountain only shows more mountains. At this point, I was beginning to wonder if I should leave at all. I wanted to keep hiking until I was too tired to go on. But the sky was cloudy and rain threatened.<br />
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This is the third flatiron climbing wall, I think. Much of my knowledge is guesswork, since I had no map or anything on me. I wasn't dumb enough to try climbing this. This wall is a lot steeper and scary than it appears.Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-30418165504445819362012-05-13T16:36:00.001-07:002012-05-13T16:36:44.306-07:00Boyling in Thornton (psych!)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It was freezing in Denver, and then Thornton, Colorado. When I was leaving the Wertzs', Kirsten asked me where I was staying, and I said I'd probably be in my car that night. She made a quick call to her friends in Thornton, which is barely a skip from Denver, and I had a place for the night. These are the girls, whose names I can't remember, but I can remember ages. From left to right: 3, 8, 10, 12.<br />
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I stayed up most of the night talking to Wendy and Todd while their girls sat on the couches, quietly reading. The family rents a three-bedroom in an apartment complex. For six people, it isn't much, but Wendy and Todd have been to Honduras several times, and they say that it's way more than anyone out there has. They're fixing to start a boys' orphanage in Honduras next to Lago de Yojoa, a beautiful lake. The girls are just as happy to soon be living in South America. All four girls stay in one room together, and the third room is reserved for guests. Well, technically it is the eldest girl's room, but she likes staying with her sisters instead. The family has guests over a lot. Earlier in the day, before I showed up, Wendy's cousin had just left after spending a couple of days in the room.<br />
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They had cable for a while, until Todd realized that it kept the family separated; the girls would be watching their shows while he and Wendy watched theirs in a different room. They also don't have any internet. Wendy stays home and homeschools the kids. There are Bible verses pinned to walls throughout the house. She told me a lot of amazing stories that I don't have space here to recount. She seems sad in a way that I can relate to, and enthusiastic with sharing all that she knows, which I think I also do. I notice this because Kirsten told me I reminded her of Wendy.Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-68135427571184169722012-05-13T16:06:00.000-07:002012-05-13T16:06:08.698-07:00Monument Rocks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This looks like a dry riverbed. The ground is dry and cracked, just like the rocks themselves.<br />
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It looms like an ancient city. The road to Monument Rocks was much better to drive than Castle Rock. The only problem was...there were people at this one! But they were okay.<br />
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When I saw these kids climbing down the rock, I realized how easy it would be to climb to the top. The following pictures were taken from there. If I wasn't traveling alone, I might have pictures of me on the rock, but there are none.<br />
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Across the road there's another small city of these sandy walls.<br />
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People had carved names and dates into the stone on top of the wall. I didn't bother taking any pictures of those though.<br />
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<br />Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-8437019094123705232012-05-13T16:00:00.001-07:002012-05-13T16:00:28.052-07:00A little town called Quinter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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While I was staying with Naomi in Ohio, I told her that I thought I would have to sleep in my car somewhere in western Kansas if I couldn't find a place to stay, and she said, "I have friends out in Quinter." And that is how I met the Wetzs'. (I apologize if I'm butchering the name!) Kirsten and Brad have four boys and two girls, and they live in a huge house in Quinter, Kansas, population something like 850. Kirsten told me a story of how they saw a tornado approaching a few years ago, and she said it sucks all the air when it's coming. Luckily it turned and didn't hit their family or the new house. Kirsten, like my friend Naomi, is from the Dunkin(?) Brethren Church, and she wears a covering over her hair, because in the Bible it says that women should cover their hair while praying, and she never knows when she'll need to pray.<br />
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The family was very nice. They let me stay in their daughters' room, while the girls had a slumber party down in the living room. They had internet but no cable, and they watch movies. My trip has somehow turned into a self-education of the plain families and their religious views. My voice recorder probably has about 5 hours of Christian people talking about why they do what they do, and what they believe. So far, I think we believe in most of the same things--if not in name, then in existence, at least. I really liked this family and hope to see them again someday.Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-55316878294256379672012-05-13T15:44:00.000-07:002012-05-13T15:44:10.892-07:00Castle Rock<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Castle Rock is located something like 18 miles south of Quinter, Kansas. Don't let this picture of the road fool you--it is NOT an easy drive! It's 15 miles of dirt road, then another four miles of partially-rutted roads, and finally, when you get to this area, the road gets really bad. Look at the pictures below to see.<br />
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The combination of forest green and bleached sand makes castle rock an amazing place. There was a constant wind and no other people while I was there. The solitude made it feel like a sacred place. It's a sacred place that is falling apart every year, so if you want to see it, do so soon.<br />
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I climbed from the base of the rocks up the sand-like stones and through tumbleweed and sharp bushes in just a skirt and flipflops. Birds with nests in the rocks squawked above me.<br />
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Doesn't it look like a giant spider gripping the rock?<br />
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I had to turn my car around on this road when I came to a place I was too nervous to try crossing. For a few minutes, my car was teetering with three wheels on the ground. <br />
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The ruts were devilish in a few places. Most are dangerous for any car other than a jeep or SUV.Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-81999257143252267362012-05-13T15:33:00.000-07:002012-05-13T15:33:41.096-07:00Tree Silos<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I pulled over on the highway to get a picture of these old silos with trees growing out of them. Somewhere in Kansas, maybe.<br />Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-48236893699916518732012-05-13T15:31:00.000-07:002012-05-13T15:31:22.534-07:00Kansas City, Kansas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I drove from Greenville Ohio straight to Kansas City, a 10-hour drive. My host, Cree, showed up 10 minutes after I got to her house. We went out on the town, checking out some bars and talking about the city. We went from a bar that was filled with dodgeball teams (I think) where I got my first jello-shot, to another place where there was a band with two pianos, a guitar and drumset. They took requests, and anyone could come up to sing for open mic. I couldn't think of anything fun to sing, though, and no one was dancing. We didn't stay for very long.<br />
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The floor in the piano bar is very cool.<br />
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This is a picture of Cree's front door, taken from the inside. Her whole house is painted in dark, real colors, like purple. She was married for a few years to a man who spoke only Spanish, and she says that she can think in Spanish now. She has three Masters degrees and a buffet of books in her bookshelf, mostly nonficiton learning guides, like "How to learn Mandarin Chinese," and "Grant Writing," etc. She's a learner. She's also a mechanic. She has a red pair of industrial boots with spikes and thick heels.Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-3985600803190843992012-05-13T15:22:00.004-07:002012-05-13T15:22:53.373-07:00Oh cassettes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've been listening to "Gap Creek" by Robert Morgan. It's approximately 11.5 hours long. I have been going along, listening to it on my downgraded cassette player, when I came to a tape that was nearer dead than alive. I tried to fix it while driving, realized the impossibility of it, and threw it out. I was hoping to give away my books on tape when I'd finished them, but with one tape completely missing, maybe I won't do that with this book.<div>
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<br /><br /></div>Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991040523387652567.post-15210332049618464752012-05-12T06:54:00.001-07:002012-05-12T06:56:21.008-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I met Naomi at Idaho Rocky Mountain Ranch last summer. She lives in a very nice two bedroom house in Greenville, Ohio. She has never had a computer, but loves to write. Here is a picture of her journals--she has more than 60 of them. She's very creative and has a number of self-made blankets, puzzles, and other interesting materials. When I got there she told me about the storm last Friday, where it had been raining gently and suddenly lightning struck the tree in her backyard and she saw as all the bark was stripped from it and the tree was gone. Her mother saw the same thing in a different part of town.</div>
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The next day we went for a walk in the park, and saw this fenced in area where there lived three male peacocks and four or five females. Their feathers were magnificent. When they got all bravo, the guys would puff out their feathers, squawk, and then run after a female; mounting her, he'd grab her crown feathers with his beak and pull. It was nauseating. Some of the females had no crown feathers left at all. I think I prefer the praying mantis, whose female bites the male's head off during mating.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVkjCMC1bTBL0mOEP1H0z5ybKw6OeeP2lHC3EgoOJDtSRdf2hbEb3jt1ZEcIaBrCqGctl4glO6RAhKwcl3N6unTvBPn__zz2JBG_nqrMfD_4Y4xYKY8mfjbrYRF9HYmtCtqpBwNrLPYGd_/s1600/Mass+&+beginning+road+trip+III+048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVkjCMC1bTBL0mOEP1H0z5ybKw6OeeP2lHC3EgoOJDtSRdf2hbEb3jt1ZEcIaBrCqGctl4glO6RAhKwcl3N6unTvBPn__zz2JBG_nqrMfD_4Y4xYKY8mfjbrYRF9HYmtCtqpBwNrLPYGd_/s320/Mass+&+beginning+road+trip+III+048.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
When we were on our way to a hiking spot, Naomi decided to drive by the house she grew up in, since she hasn't been there in a while. Now there is a Mennonite family living there. Mennonites live without electricity. When Naomi had been living there, they'd had power, which means this family must have taken it out for themselves. The woman walking by the front of the house is dressed in typical Mennonite clothing. We saw a sign out front that said "Kitties for free!" and I told Naomi we had to at least see them. So we went to the door and the woman living there--Betty?--let us see the house, and then she took us out to the barn with the pigs and kittens.<br />
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I was immediately drawn to this gray and white kitty, whom crawled up my shoulder and into my hood. She reminded me of all the kittens I grew up with; I always trained them to perch on my shoulder like birds.<br />
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I got Naomi to bring the kittens home! I wanted to keep mine (I named her Travina, for a traveling kitty) but knew that I could not carry her on my road trip and then to Yellowstone. Naomi decided to keep the dark calico--pictured here in the background--and she gave Travina to her friend, who has only ever had wild cats.<br />
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This is Naomi's mother, Naomi, and her 8-pound dog. Her mother is very plain, with no television or computer (although her husband does have one for work). She wears the pony-tail white netting piece that many plain women wear. Naomi just puts her hair in a bun and covers it with a black cloth. She does a few other things, too, that some plain people might not agree with, but she's okay with that.<br />
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Her mother makes mint iced tea from the mint growing by the house, and she can make grape juice from grapes. It is just sweet enough and doesn't taste like chemicals the way so many juices do, especially those 20% real juice products. A family member made apple cobbler and pumpkin cake, and we got to have a bunch. I thought the cake was carrot at first, and the frosting cream cheese, but she said, "I've got you fooled!" and told me that it was not cream cheese frosting at all, but it was made from butter and a bunch of other things. It was delicious.<br />
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If I had to come up with some kind of moral to this visit, it might be something like this: Just because people are different, doesn't mean they aren't similar, and just because they live without some things doesn't make them boring. I don't think I'll ever be plain, but why not live in a house without cable?<br />
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Of course, there's no way I'm giving up internet any time soon.Artemis Savoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320995466019237675noreply@blogger.com0