Homeward Bound......

Homeward bound
We are now
Homeward bound
Home is where our thoughts are escaping
Home is where our music's playing......
Liberties taken with the original by Simon & Garfunkel from 1966


We changed our minds about travelling west along 401 / 402 through the border at Sarnia and then south around Lake Michigan just south of Chicago. That portion of 401 is often referred to as 'Suicide Alley' and last time we drove it, it scared the daylights out of us. A steady stream of semi-trailer trucks in both lanes, leaving no room between them made it hairy-scary to be a little car wedged in between and suddenly one truck ahead of us a ways fish-tailed and caused the ones following to slam on brakes and go out of control. The corridor south of Chicago is another grid-locked highway that is not fun at all. To top it off, the customs officer at Niagara Falls when we entered Canada, told us that the Sarnia border crossing was an exceptionally busy port. That settled it; we decided to drive north to Sudbury, follow the north shore of Lake Huron and cross the border at Sault Ste Marie.

We did not take that expensive toll road out of Toronto but chose local highways which made it a slow exit. So we didn't drive too far that first day....just to Parry Sound. A friendly Walmart, a cup of steeped tea at Tim's and a bit of geocaching made our evening pleasant.


It was a great drive, not much traffic and the road surface fairly smooth except for around Sudbury where the mining trucks and equipment play havoc with the blacktop. However, when we got to Sault Ste Marie, there was a major detour on the main highway that took us off the route to the border bridge. At a stoplight, Fernie called out his window to a city truck asking how to get back on track. They said 'follow us' and pulled ahead guiding us through the narrow winding streets all the way to the bridge entrance. Such a courteous and friendly thing to do.

The border was quiet, just a few vehicles ahead of us. Perhaps that's why they decided to search our motorhome for verboten fruit, plants and veg, having time on their hands. They took my mother's day flowers and three oranges......totally missed the grapefruit, lemon and limes. But they did it in a friendly manner explaining how even though the oranges were grown in the USA, after they co-mingle with Canadian produce, they can bring in contamination. We Canadians are so dirty! They didn't even care that we had ham and bacon......and I thought the 'swine flu' would have them extremely paranoid about pig products. Go figure!


The town across the border in Michigan is also called Sault Ste Marie and there's a large native reservation meaning of course – a casino. We stayed there for the night and never even entered the doors except to talk to security about parking. We geocached instead – it's far cheaper. I was so dismayed that my Verizon stick had no service. I guess it's because the town is almost surrounded by Canada – on three sides. That must cause the locals problems.


Escanaba, Michigan is a pretty town on the west side of Green Bay, an adjunct to Lake Michigan. They have miles of parkland and trails along the lakefront. It started to rain and the wind came up as we were traipsing over to a geocache on the end of a long dock but we had our big umbrella with us and we hunkered down behind it and fought the gale – we geocachers are hardy folk :) The storm abated as quickly as it started and we were able to carry on. Escanaba also has a friendly Walmart.


The terrain changed as we left the isthmus between the lakes and crossed into Wisconsin with larger trees both evergreen and deciduous and a rolling landscape. We skipped through the state on peaceful secondary highways, stopping for the night at the Rhinelander Walmart where Maggie overlooked a beautiful cemetery all dressed in finery for the Memorial Day weekend and another stop at Turtle Lake, St. Croix Casino where we had at least five acres all to ourselves.


We geocache at every stopping point and in Turtle Lake which is a tiny hamlet surrounded by wild land, we ventured out to the forest but Fernie refused to go into the woods.
“Uh, uh” he stated stubbornly “I don't want anymore tick encounters”.
“Don't be such a baby” I jeered sneeringly and I grabbed my walking stick and bag and headed off through the long grass, through the swampy terrain into the woods after the cache. I hadn't got very far before I heard him thrashing along behind me. What a good man! (and what a harridan I must seem to you all). It only took us about a half an hour to hike in, grab the cache and head out again. Next stop was a cemetery cache and being Memorial weekend, there were quite a few cars and visitors there. As Fernie pulled the car to a stop, he slapped his hand out the window knocking something off it and yelled “Tick!”.
“No, it can't be” I said thinking he was making a fuss about nothing and I got out of the car. Suddenly, I noticed some brown spots on the legs of my pants and I was aghast. Fernie was right and I was wrong (It's so hard to have to admit that) I was horrified and picked them off as Fernie was wriggling and slapping his neck as more of them climbed up towards his head. Then I felt something on my neck and by now I was feeling quite frightened about the apparent horde that were attacking us. I picked off several from my neck and then pulled up my pant legs to find four of them clinging on tight to my flesh. Eeeeeeekkkkkkkk! We were both gyrating and shrieking and pulling up our clothes and I wonder what the poor folks who were visiting their dearly departed were thinking. That was it, we had to get back to the motorhome quickly and get out of these clothes. Luckily, Maggie was parked in a quiet location where I hope nobody saw us both disrobe (except for underwear) outside the door, leave our clothes in a pile and jump in quickly. We checked each other over thoroughly finding several more before putting on clean clothes and going back outside to inspect the discarded bundle. We were horrified to find a half dozen or more clinging to the inside of our pant legs and more on our tshirts and jackets. We picked and picked and then still afraid we might have missed some, put all the clothes into a garbage bag, inside a garbage bag, inside another garbage bag and put them in the back of the car. We brushed our hair thoroughly outside before having hot showers and washing our hair. That wasn't the end of it though because the next day, a few of them who had dropped off in the car, attacked us as we were driving. For the next few days, we checked each other for more ticks because we seemed to be constantly itchy but we didn't find anymore. Altogether, we had about twenty five ticks each on us. I will never go in the woods again! Well not here anywayz and not in the south.

Across the St. Croix river to Minnesota, we skirted the northern edge of St Paul/Minneapolis to reach Monticello the home of friends (C&W) that we'd met on our snowbirding forays to Arizona for several winters. They had invited (actually they insisted, which was so welcoming) us to park Maggie at their place and visit with them as we passed through Minnesota on our way home. The Mississippi River runs by just at the end of their street and I expected it to be just a stream seeing as it's not all that far from its source but it was already a good sized waterway. We stayed for two nights and we had a lovely time, getting to know them so much better with lots of reminiscenses and laughter. We had a wonderful meal with them; Fernie is still ecstatic about the baked ham, potato salad, corn and homemade yeast buns topping it off with rhubarb pie – all his favourite things. “C” even packed up some ham and buns for us to take along on our journey when we left.


So now it feels like the trip is over more or less....and we're just going home. We half heartedly explored Fargo, North Dakota on a cold and blustery afternoon. The spring floods in the Red River Valley had finally receded and road crews were busy holding up traffic interminably while they repaired and repaved. The town itself echoed the dismal atmosphere of one of my favourite all-time films “Fargo” and as we wandered aimlessly past the dark brick buildings, I pictured Jerry Lundegaard (William H. Macy) sitting in one of the crumby bars.


North Dakota, Montana, Idaho, Washington and home - all will be passed in a blur. It'll be good to see “the green green grass of home”.

Ties that bind.........

“This land is your land, This land is my land,
From Bonavista, to Vancouver Island
From the Arctic Circle to the Great Lakes waters,
This land was made for you and me.”
The US version written in 1944 by Woody Guthrie; bastardized by the Candian group, The Travelers in 1955


Ontario's Provincial flower, the white trillium; when it starts to die, it turns pink.



Between Erie, Pennsylvania and Buffalo, New York the highway hugs the Lake Erie shore and it's not a particularly good road but they still expect you to pay for it and that was just the beginning of it. A series of bridges both sides of the border came with a price tag too. In total, we put out about $30.


Our destination campground in Toronto which is the only one in or near the city is on the eastern border of Toronto where it joins Pickering. As we didn't want to cross the city at rush hour, we stayed in Hamilton for our first night back in Canada. Does anyone ever stop at Hamilton if they don't have business or family there? I don't think so! It's a highly industrialized city bringing to mind '1984' with its dismal setting and the miles of ugly stacks belching acrid smoke. The impression one's left with is a grey city in an amber haze. My lungs dealt badly with the smog, wheezing and straining for clean air which there was none of. We stayed at Walmart which thankfully was up and over the high ridge which separates the commercial/industrial and lower end residential from the more upscale homes. The smog though knows no class distinction and creeps up and over the ridge smothering the countryside for many miles. We geocached and explored but found no saving graces in Hamilton. It is what it is!


I mapped out our entry to Toronto carefully because with Maggie and our tow car totalling 49 feet in length, dealing with too many lane changes is very stressful ...... and the 401 Trans Canada Highway calls for continuous changes. “Oh, look at this highway #407 skirting the north side of the city. It's perfect!” I exclaimed. It was comfortably away from the built up area and only added a few extra miles to our journey.

It's hard to believe that this is Lake Ontario!

A sign at Burlington just as we were about to enter 407 warned 'ETR' (Express Toll Route) but no prices and no restrictions were noted. It was too late to change our minds so we figured on maybe another $15. The highway was lovely with light traffic and a smooth surface; that should have made us suspicious. As we progressed, signs stated that those without transponders would be billed. No worries there! We travelled the 407 from one end to almost the other end and then it was just five miles south through quiet countryside to Glen Rouge Park and campground which is run by the City of Toronto. It's a beautiful serene oasis in the cement jungle, the multi-lane 401 skirting its south end. Fifty feet in, we forgot we were anywhere near the city. It's tucked into a hollow carved through the hills by the Rouge River.


It was a couple of days later that we checked online to see what toll cost we'd be faced with. I miss my Verizon high speed stick so much but it quit at the border. When will there be an affordable service that covers both countries? But I digress – back to the toll. I finally found the website and there was a calculator to tally the price. I entered the size of our vehicle, where we entered the highway, where we exited and the time of day. It came up to $39 at 35 cents a kilometre PLUS a $50 charge for not having a transponder which if you have a large vehicle is mandatory. Now that just doesn't make sense and it certainly isn't fair. I PROTEST!

I don't know this dog, but I wish I did.

We settled ourselves in for eleven days – what a treat! To sleep in, watch television in bed in the morning, and not move on every day or so. It was heaven! I guess every three months we need to slow down our pace and recharge our batteries – Maggie's too.


I hadn't realized how different Canadians are from Americans especially older Southerners as opposed to Torontonians. What a contrast. On our first night with our son, David and his family, we all walked over to their local 'fish 'n chip' shop for dinner. A popular spot, we had to line up for twenty minutes or so which gave us a good look at the other customers. A mostly older clientele, the 'ladies' were neatly put together, their hair in tightly coiffed curls instead of big blowsy, blowaway, blonde mops; just a touch of colour on their lips instead of puffy collagened irridescent pink pouters; sensible brogues instead of Nikes, Crocs or flip-flops; conservative suits and blouses with scarves and pearls accesorizing, instead of sweat pants, jeans and tshirts; and finishing off the look, tidy little handbags instead of big and bulky carryalls. Obviously the British influence is strong in Toronto with the older generation – the Queen would be proud. I'm obviously more American in style as I've hardly been out of my jeans recently, but then the west coast is more casual. While waiting, I engaged several people in conversation and was amused at how they measured their words before responding quietly and carefully. As opposed to most southerners who are impulsive and boisterously outgoing. Our waitress was a big, strapping woman with a terse and surly demeanour. I asked for lemon in my water twice and never got it. Give me the “How're y'all doin'?” and “What can I getcha honey?” from the American waitresses any day. However, the fish and chips were lip-smacking delicious. Hmmm, I've just sketched out a couple of stereotypes...hope they don't offend anyone.

Our daughter-in-law Janet is a natural born cook and she prepared some wonderful and innovative dishes for us. I call her the 'kitchen goddess'. I'm always in awe because my idea of a home cooked meal is a bag of Bertolli all-in-one pasta where you heat up the wok, put in a bit of olive oil, add bag of 'stuff', stir and heat for about ten minutes. Voila! Add a bit of freshly grated parmesan and it's terrific. Another great 'living in your RV' meal, is a barbecued chicken from Costco, an arugula salad and Idoahan instant mashed potatoes. Ohhhhhh.......can I hear you all groaning out there? And some of you even saying 'Poor Fernie'..... but don't waste your sympathies because he loves it. This trip, we even discovered (thanks to our granddaughter, Myffy) Aunt Jemima pancakes. No more 'from scratch'. I don't have that much time left to spend it on something I hate.


There is no more enjoyable age than eleven or twelve, for a girl in particular before they go through the
'teenage' transformation. I always said that like Sleeping Beauty, girls should be put to sleep when they turn thirteen and woken at nineteen. Myffy (Myfanwy) is eleven and a delightful and stimulating companion. We picked her up from school daily; sometimes we geocached (she loves it), or went to a movie or had her to stay overnight in the motorhome. She's on a softball team and had a game one evening. It was 'deja vu' taking me back 34 years to when our daughter, Tracey (Myffy's aunt) was a pitcher for her team – as is Myffy today.


The latest addition to the family is Molly, a one year old Cairn Terrier, closely related to the Westie. She was the best medicine for us; we took her over Caesar's toys, balls and bones and it brought back memories of Caesar when he was young as she attacked and chased and pulled. She's a cyclone ball of flying blonde hair, two little black ears and a smudgy dark face peeking out under the blonde bangs. If they'd turned their backs, we'd have kidnapped her in an instant.

The eleven days flew by in a whirr and it was time to head home. My heart was a leaden lump as we drove away from Toronto. Only a mother can understand the pain of leaving her offspring no matter how old they are, wondering how long it will be before we see them again. Myffy will be flying out to Vancouver to spend a couple of weeks with us in July so that eased the pain somewhat.



Westward Ho!

Cruising north.........

“Born on a mountain top in Tennessee,
Greenest state in the land of the free.
Raised in the woods so's he knew every tree,
Killed him a bear when he was only three.
Davy, Davy Crockett - King of the Wild Frontier. “
Introduced on the Disney TV miniseries Davy Crockett, December 15, 1954


Sevierville, Pigeon Forge & Gatlinburg form the glitzy commercial corridor leading to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. It reminded me of Branson, the theaters with county western music, religious musicals and hillbilly comedy. No boondocking to be had; the Walmart had dominant signs “No overnight parking”, which was to be expected in such a tourist destination. We settled on a Passport America compground which offers half price to members. Membership is cheap – about $30 a year, so we cheapskate campers belong to it. The timing was good as we needed to do laundry, to dump the sewage and Fernie looked forward to standing under a shower for ten or even twenty minutes instead of the 'navy showers' we do while boondocking. We stayed for three days and sort of learned how the other half lives – those that turn their noses up at us boondockers. It was horrific, as expected. We were eight feet from neighbours each side and behind us. We had to whisper in our own motorhome if we didn't want anyone to hear us. There were lots of people hanging around the social area overlooking the creek; we were our usual antisocial selves avoiding contact at all cost. But we were out most of the time so it was easy to keep to ourselves.

“Rocky Top, you'll always be
Home sweet home to me.
Good ole Rocky Top,
Rocky Top Tennessee, Rocky Top Tennessee.”
The song describes a place called Rocky Top, Tennessee, which is one of the peaks of Thunderhead Mountain located in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.


To beat the heat, we headed up to the Great Smoky Mountains where the leafy canopy and elevation dropped the temperature by ten degrees. A series of virtual geocaches ringed the park and we made them our guide.

I was sure that this tree was going to stand up and walk away.....

The Smoky Mountains are named for the wispy, smoke-like fog that hangs over them. It is caused by rain which falls on average 85 inches per year on the high peaks and the resulting evaporation from the trees. Today, a forest fire on the north side of the park, made the Smokies truly smoky.


Way up in the mountains on a side road is Elkmont an abandoned village of rustic summer cottages which were owned by the elite Appalachian Club, a group of affluent Knoxvillians and built in the early 1900's. The land which was leased from the National Park Service reverted in the 1990's and this lovely resort is now a ghost town.


Hillbilly cabins, deserted farms, ancient churches and tiny cemeteries are remnants of a remote Appalachian mountain society that once inhabited the area. The NPS does a wonderful job of preserving the cultural remains.



“My coat of many colors
That my momma made for me
Made only from rags
But I wore it so proudly
Although we had no money
I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
My momma made for me”
Written & recorded by Dolly Parton, 1971


So, what's in Dollywood? We couldn't imagine that it would be anything that we could enjoy but we had to check it out. $50+ admission made the decision easy. Rides, country music shows, shopping, food and more food....uh, uh, no thank you. They're not getting the usual numbers at the theme park, so they're closing a couple of days a week. The acres and acres of parking was almost empty today – a sign of the times. The swine flu is also keeping people away from events where crowds congregate.

As the day wore on, we struggled to keep going with the increasing humidity. Geocaching was becoming onerous and all we wanted to do was lay around with a cold drink. Can't wait for this heat wave to be over.


We were so happy to move on from Pigeon Forge, to leave that horrid RV Park behind and go back to a lovely Walmart just outside Nashville. Fernie was not at all hyped about Nashville and neither was I, but it seemed we should see what it had to offer as we were passing. The weather cooled and the skies clouded over and we enjoyed it tremendously. But overnight the rains started and they continued all the next day torrentially, complete with the usual-for-the-south, thunder and lightning. Hiking and geocaching were out of the picture; it was even too wet to enjoy a stroll around the old town. As the cars drove by hydroplaning, pedestrians got soaked. So we just did a driving tour around stopping every so often when the rains got so hard we couldn't see to drive.


I was surprised that the Grand ol' Opry wasn't in the downtown core but about six miles away on the perimeter of the city. It's surrounded by hotels, shops and museums...just a great big amusement park. Because we're not country music fans, the mystere was lost on us and we found it all extremely hokey.


Before we left Pigeon Forge I told Fernie “That's it, no more restaurants....I can't get my jeans zipped up”.
“Yes, dear” he agreed amically and we stocked up on salad fixins for healthy dinners.
But Fernie was reading the pile of Nashville travel brochures that we'd picked up at the tourist bureau and he found the one for 'The Loveless Cafe'.
“It's the 'Top Down-Home Dining Spot' in the country according to the USA Today” he wheedled “and........Martha Stewart says 'It was the best breakfast I've ever had'. They make biscuits good enough to sing about”.
So, how could I say 'no'. I'm so weak. On a dreary rainy day it would be so comforting to have hot biscuits and homemade blackberry preserves with a steaming hot cup of tea.


The Loveless was a country cafe from the early 50's famous for its smoked hams, homemade preserves and flaky biscuits. It was situated on one of the major highways entering Nashville and the cafe and its adjoining motel became a favourite stop. Nashville has now grown outwards to almost encompass it. It lived up to its reputation today; according to Fernie “The best waffles I've ever had in a restaurant, coffee to die for and the biscuits and jam are phenomenal”. I had to agree.


We ran into a grocery store to escape a sudden downpour and picked up a few things waiting for it to abate. The cashier was one of the handsomest young men I'd ever seen....along the lines of Denzel Washington. He was Hollywood good looking. I've been called a 'cougar' because of my appreciation of such young men, but I answer 'more like a dinosaur; it's purely nostalgia talking'. He told me he'd travelled the world so he and I started challenging each other about where we'd each been.
“Have you been to New Zealand?” he asked.
“Yup”
“Have you been to Thailand?”
“Yup”
This went on for a while and then he asked “Have you been to Antarctica?” and I finally answered no and reversed the little game and asked him if he'd been to India, to Kenya or to South Africa.
“I was in the navy for nine years – it's not the best way to see the world but you sure do cover a lot of territory” he said.
Fernie just stands back when I get into these long conversations with strangers with a patient but amused look on his face. There was no hurry anyway because the parking lot was flooding.

It makes one think that crime is high here.

“Well, it was on one moonlight night,
Stars shining bright,
Wish blown high
Love said good-bye.
Blue moon of Kentucky
Keep on shining.
Shine on the one thats gone and left me blue.”
Bill Monroe, 1946; recorded by Patsy Cline, Elvis Presley & others

We left the rain behind in Tennessee – thank goodness. Even though overcast, the temperature was perfect and the clouds started to break up in the afternoon so the sun peaked through eventually.

Churchill Downs is in Louisville, Kentucky and coincidentally, today was the running of the Kentucky Derby – the first Saturday in May. Excitement ran high and the roads were congested. Every bar and restaurant advertised 'watch the derby'; women in flowery dresses and big hats adorned with flowers and even fruit flounced about, even in Walmart. One of the women's dress rules for the Derby is: “Choose your hat. Hats go with the Derby like the frosting on a birthday cake. It should be large-brimmed, feminine and frilly - think 18th-century France, and worn low on the brow tilted slightly to one side. Design the rest of your outfit around the hat.”



We spent the night at the little town of Carollton, Kentucky at the confluence of the Ohio and the Kentucky Rivers. The Ohio is a majestic and busy waterway, a steady stream of tugboats hauling long barges of goods down the river. We drove down river and crossed over to Madison, Indiana a beautiful and historic river town. Some geocaching, some sightseeing – sounds dull though as I write about it.

The only time I get my photo taken is for a geocache.

“Ohio is the state that is the heart of the midwest
People living there think that it really is the best
Buck-eyes (Buckeyes) never leave the state
Buck-eyes love O-hio”


Next stop – Cincinnati, which was a pleasant surprise. A city about the size of Vancouver situated attractively on the mighty Ohio River, it reminded me a lot of Pittsburgh since it's been beautified. Mount Adams is a quaint historic district right beside downtown and provided a lovely view of the city skyline. It's a lively town we found out on a Sunday afternoon. A marathon was just over and runners and walkers were disbersing around town. On our stroll around, we bumped into a Cinco de Mayo celebration with Hispanic food, ongoing entertainment, and booths giving away 'freebies'. Fernie jabbed me and said 'Look what I got' and he displayed a bag full of toiletries 'line up and see what you get'. A jovial & rotund African American woman ahead of me heard she could get a tshirt if she tried the hula hoop. 'No no no no.....you're not gittin me to do that! I'm a great grandma' but she really wanted a tshirt so with some prompting from me, she finally gave it a try. She could hardly stop laughing but she got her tshirt.


We left there laden with goodies including two tshirts that we didn't have to hula hoop for. I even had a balloon tied around my wrist. Some young man insisted I have it and just slid it on. Isn't it funny how you'll behave when you're not in your home town. North of town, Walmart had vacated the premises and left a vast plain of treed parking lot open for us to stay. It was just us and 25 acres of pavement. Other than a few trains that sped by not far away, it was as quiet and peaceful as if we were deep in the countryside.

We seldom travel much more than a hundred miles a day or if we do travel two hundred, the next day is usually less than fifty so when we get to our destination for the day, we're refreshed and ready to explore. I chose the small town of Ashland, Ohio as a stopping point because of its proximity to Cleveland, only a fifty mile drive the next day. Ashland had very little to offer and even geocaching didn't unearth any rare and wonderful spots. In the south, we rarely saw any roadkill but as soon as we started to get north again, the carnage was horrific. There were so many deer carcasses at the side of the road, I wondered if there'd been a population explosion. I guess they're hit at night probably by the big semi-trailers that roar through the freeways all night long. So, does a clean up truck come along and pick up the bodies or do they just rot there? The crows try to devour them, but the constant traffic frightens them off.


Last time we were in Cleveland in 2006, it was a hundred and five degrees, Caesar was with us and we wouldn't leave him in the motorhome alone, fearful that there'd be a brown-out and the air conditioning would go off. I missed the 'Rock and Roll Hall of Fame' so it was high on my agenda of things to do this time. Cleveland lies on the south shore of Lake Erie and the museum is on the waterfront right beside the Cleveland Browns' Football Stadium. A modernistic glass pyramid, it's full of mementoes that tear at our nostalgic heartstrings. The first generation of Buddy Holly, Roy Orbison, Elvis, Bill Haley, Little Richard, Fats Domino, Chuck Berry, Ray Charles, and so forth was what caught our attention the most. Small theatres showed films such as the 'Birth of Rock n Roll', the story of Cleveland DJ, Alan Freed who first coined the term and the story of Motown. There was great old film footage and rows of headphones to listen to all the inductees. The special featured exhibit was of Bruce Springsteen. The following generations from The Beatles and the Rolling Stones, through Madonna were well covered too. A great visit.

It takes a secure man to walk two tiny yorkies, especially when one has a pink leash. This guy is a long distance trucker and his girlfriend, who was asleep in his truck bought Huey and Sophie a couple of years ago. She travels with him and they're on the road three months at a time.

"Numbers I've got by the dozen
Everyone's uncle and cousin
But I can't live without buzzin'
Pennsylvania six, five thousand"
Glenn Miller


Erie, Pennsylvania.....a town that most people won't stop at but we did because it was in the right place at the right time. The geocaches along Lake Erie were fun even though repetitive. I think that the best and hardest caches we've ever sought are right in our own backyard. They are far more creative and difficult.

There had obviously been a 'night of love' in this location beside Lake Erie. I wonder if they're coming back tonight.

Erie is a working class industrial city.....steel mills, power plants and humble homes even when they're right on the lake front. It will remain memorable to me because while we shared a snack pack of catfish, I lost a huge filling from my tooth....where it went, I don't know – guess I swallowed it. Now I'm waiting for the pain to start, that is if the nerve is exposed. Cross my fingers that it isn't.


I think this life of moving on is becoming a bit onerous now. We've experienced so much but the memories are getting jumbled in our minds. It's a common thing to hear me say “where was it that......?” We are so looking forward to putting down stakes for a couple of weeks in Toronto; to sleep in late, to watch TV in the morning, to have no agenda. I think it will recharge our batteries.

This Russian Orthodox Church in Erie, PA made us think of our friends L&A and their tiny little church in Rogue River, Oregon.