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Our cross-country journey started in West Palm Beach, FL on February 29th under brilliant blue skies and a blazing sun. We crossed parts of Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, Nevada, Oregon and Washington, reaching Cape Flattery, WA on June 26th, several thousand miles later under a similarly shining sun. When we set out on our quest to find a place to move, we made a short list of preferences to help guide our search:
Hills or mountains for access to nature/hiking/camping.
Proximity to some significant source of water, whether fresh or salty.
A strong network of local sustainable or regenerative food producers for direct sourcing.
Proximity to a town or city for socializing and cultural events.
Pretty broad criteria, beyond which the field was wide open. Allegedly searching for a place to live has been a wonderful excuse to meander accross a large swath of the US, exploring some of the things each state has to offer. We’ve found enjoyment in every place we’ve traveled, and some of those places have left stronger or more favorable impressions than others. Each part of this vast country has its own lovely particularities, from the swampy reaches of the Gulf states, to the arid landscapes of the American Southwest, to the mossy magnificence of the Pacific rainforests. This trip has been a truly remarkable experience of discovery and awe.
Prior to buying our camper and setting off on the road, we spent a lot of time following other RV and van dwellers on social media who were doing what we wanted to do. We read and watched videos in the hopes of not only preparing ourselves for our trip, but also to get a sense of the kinds of challenges we might face along the way. One of the things many of couples in those blogs and videos expressed was the strain on their relationship that comes from spending every second of every day together. Being physically together, in close proximity 24/7 for months on end, we now better understand where they were coming from, as that has probably been the hardest part of this journey for us.
In the interest of our trip we have both forgone some of the things we used to do separately for self-care and that has sometimes made it really difficult to identify exactly what was going on when we’d start to feel friction building between us. After one of our sillier arguments over God knows what, as usual, we realized two things: 1) I need intentional alone time, which I hadn’t been taking and 2) Honey needs to do his super intense workouts on a very regular basis. Could two people have more different needs?! Ha! Take away those two simple things and we have a recipe for two snippy, disgruntled grumps and the discord that ensues. The upside is that without our usual escapes, we’ve found new and better ways to relate to each other and to (more) calmly resolve our conflicts.
One of the things that eases both of us without fail, and doesn’t require our specific forms of self-care, is spending time by the ocean. Frustrated that the surfing conditions in Westport, WA weren’t good enough to draw us into the frigid waves, we kept up our search along the Oregon coast. Summer doesn’t seem to be the best time of year for this activity here and we didn’t see anything that warranted strapping a wetsuit on. We did, however, have a lot of fun in the sand. Cape Kiwanda, pictured above, has a gigantic sand dune with spectacular views to the north and south stretches of the coast. We trudged to the top on a beautifully overcast day and then wandered along the several marked paths along the crest. One family with a bunch of kids raced each other down the dune as we stood there catching our breath. It reminded me of summer excursions to the Indiana Dunes with my cousins when we were teenagers and would similarly climb up and race or tumble down the sandy slopes.
Camping along the coast is really expensive, as is camping anywhere official in Oregon, so we found a dispersed camping spot just beyond the Jones Creek Campground in the Tillamook State Forest about an hour from the ocean that was only $5 a night. One of my college friends who lives in Portland with her family reached out a few weeks ago and we made plans to meet up for a pic-nic near our campsite. We hadn’t seen each other in 11 years, since the first time I visited Portland, and had many things to catch up on. As we sat on rocks near the river chatting, my friend’s partner gave Honey his first fly-fishing lesson, and later that afternoon, her son recounted the stories of their many miscallaneous pets as we walked through the sun-dappled woods. It always amazes me when reconnecting with someone from the past feels as natural and easy as the original (though lapsed) friendship. I find it deeply reassuring when other people in my life have followed a similar path of self-exploration and sense making. We often stumble across some of the same tools and philosophies, and that tends to lend a bit of universalism to the endless individuality that characterizes the human experience.
From the Tillamook SF, we wandered south to our next camping spot through a Boondocker host in Corvallis, about 45 minutes inland. As we drove through town on our way in, I noticed signs advertising the annual Philomath Frolick & Rodeo that very weekend. What luck! Seeing a live rodeo was on Honey’s Great American bucket list, and I’d never seen one either, so it seemed like the perfect occasion. Unfamiliar with the events, their sequence, and their rules, neither of us knew exactly what to expect, but we both found the experience mesmerizing. As we got in line to purchase tickets, I realized I must have missed the dress-code memo because almost every woman there was wearing the stereotypical cowgirl boots + cutoff jean shorts (or tight jeans) + bare midriff + cowgirl hat outfit. My aging flip-flops and Nantucket hoodie felt distinctly out of place!
During the first event, cowboys had to lasso a calf around the neck and then tie three of its legs together in a knot that would hold for at least six seconds. During the second, cowgirls had to lasso a calf, but they were dispensed from the leg tying. The third event was the bucking horses, where male riders attempt to stay astride a gelding whose penis is yanked tight against its belly with a wool-lined belt. The cowboys have to stay on for eight seconds and can only hold the reins with one hand. It was unclear to us exactly how points are awarded for this, perhaps on form and speed of dismount?
After that came a sort of sponsors participation race where teams of three on foot had to direct a heifer around a barrel at one end of the arena and then through a finish line at the opposite end. Unacustomed to handling cattle, this was a total clown show with the heifers entirely uninterested in cooperating with their trios. My favorite event of the night were the barrel races that came next. Cowgirls raced their steeds around three barrels set in a triangle in one half of the arena. Their skill, speed and dexterity were astounding, and it was obvious how much training must go into both horse and rider to develop such finesse. The last event of the night was, of course, the iconic bull ride, which had the crowd gripping the edges of their seats and cheering loudly whenever the cowboys succeeded in riding the bulls for the required time. Rodeos may incite controversy (what doesn’t these days?), but there’s no denying the intensity or thrill of these events.
Fun seemed to be the theme of the rest of our Oregon explorations. We spent another day on the coast driving south from Newport to Florence, pausing at different viewpoints and wandering along chilly stretches of sand. Towards the end of the afternoon we pulled up to a little shack advertising sandboard rentals in front of a giant dune. Naturally we had to give it shot and spent a few gorgeous late afternoon hours slipping and sliding in the dunes. Honey surfs right foot forward and I surf the opposite way, but I used my left foot as my pivot back during my Ultimate Frisbee days, so I figured I could probably adapt more easily if we only rented one board. We started on a very slight dune to get a sense of how to shift our weight and direct the board, gradually progressing onto steeper and steeper slopes. I “got it” faster than Honey, but he improved faster than I did by the end. We probably spent as much time dusting sand out of our various cracks and crevices as we did on the board, but we can only recommend trying to sandboard if you ever get the chance. It really is a lot of fun!
After Corvallis we moved further inland toward the Bend area. We splurged and booked a spot at the Sisters Creek County Campground in Sisters, OR, which was a great base for our time there. The campground is a convenient short walk into town, where our early evening stroll revealed lots of art galleries and assorted shops. Up until that point we had been in the densely humid PNW rainforests but once we got to the eastern side of the Cascades, the flora shifted dramatically to high desert species. Unlike the monocultured pine woods of northern Arizona, these woods harbor a great diversity of species, and the unusually wet spring favored a flush of understory plant growth. These woods had sound and life, so vastly different from the unearthly hush we had experienced earlier on our trip. This is what a healthy forest looks and sounds like, and only the presence of a healthy water cycle makes such a thing possible.
Having been deprived of access to water during our desert sojourn, we filled our cup here, spending all or part of every day swimming in rivers, walking alongside them, searching out waterfalls, or lounging near murmuring creeks. After picnicking on a languid stretch of the Deschutes River one afternoon, we wandered south to Bend for a hike along its southern bank. The sunny warm weather brought out a number of the city’s residents, drawing them to the river for various watery activities like tubing or paddle boarding. They mostly concentrated along the developped river banks, but the further upstream we walked, the fewer people we encountered. Halfway through our hike we stopped at a sunny, shallow cove and gingerly stepped into the water.
My experience of rivers has mostly been frigid and left me goosefleshed and trembling. Somehow this river, or this part of it, was the perfect temperature for dipping, neither freezing, nor tepid and the strength of the current had us wedging our bodies between various boulders and tree trunks to resist the flow. Goya waded a bit in the shallow pool near the bank but quickly lost interest in having wet feet and retired to the blanket we’d set up for her in a patch of sun. When we’d had our fill of river bathing, she was only too thrilled to have us both back by her side where she could more easily keep watch over her little clan.
Having only spent an afternoon in the river in Bend, we wanted to return to get a sense of the city itself. We’d heard great things about the city and not so great things about the city’s residents, many of whom seem to be the techy, work-from-home crowd whose affluence has been dramatically shifting real estate dynamics wherever they plant their flags. I’m not sure we encountered any such people as we strolled through Bend’s very cute downtown, but all of the shopkeepers and hospitality staff were warm and very friendly, which has been our experience in Oregon overall. We had a fabulous meal at the newly opened, and only Korean restaurant in Central Oregon, and although we personally prefer the wetter western Cascade region, it’s easy to see why Bend is such a fast-growing city. Set in a very pleasant region with distant views of the Three Sisters mountains, easy to access rivers, hiking, and winter sports, it’s an ideal location for being outside. Having a swimmable river within city limits and a bustling downtown only adds to the appeal.
The main challenge, as evidenced by the large number of signs advertising for kitchen staff specifically, is the cost of housing, which drives workers for lower paying jobs further and further from the centers of economic activity. Why landlords believe it’s a good idea to continue hiking rents when wages can’t or won’t follow remains entirely beyond my comprehension. So, although Bend is growing, it’s only growing for a certain sector of the economy, and those people will inevitably find fewer and fewer service staff in the area to meet their needs. We experienced a similar dynamic on the island where a general (short-term) cost-benefit analysis convinced many landlords to convert their long-term rentals to vacation rentals. This forced many entrepreneurs and business owners who rented, but couldn’t affort to purchase property, to leave the island in search of a better quality of life elsewhere. In their place now are large corporate restaurant and hotel chains which import cheap, high turnover labor force, and pay a fortune in staff housing. All of this undermines local culture and community, funneling ever more money into the hands of the already wealthy and leaving the average person far behind.
Logically, from here, we should start turning eastward towards the last place on our list of potential places to live. Instead, we will be taking a two week break in Florida from the last week of July until the first week of August. Family and friendship are calling us cross-country to celebrate some joyful events, after which we will return to pick up our travels where we left off. With our departure date fast approaching we turned north, stopping to camp in the Mt Hood NF for a few days before making our way to Mt Rainier. We’ve gotten lucky with free camping this month and managed to squeeze Chérie! into a lovely wooded spot along the Hood river before the weekend packed the place with tent campers and off-roading vehicles.
Our well-stocked fridge had no room for the 5lb watermelon we picked up on our grocery run, so we stuck it in the river to cool off while we set up camp. With all the rain this spring, there haven’t been any burn bans in effect here this summer (yay!) so we got to practice a bit more of our campfire cooking, with delicious results. Aside from waiting out the weekend competition for campsites, we didn’t have a set plan, so we decided to spend a couple of nights there, go on a hike on Mt Hood and then move on. Instead of driving up I-5, which we’d already done, we looped around through Hood River and along the northern bank of the Columbia River Gorge, enjoying the innumerable kite surfers and windsurfers catching rides on the choppy waters. It’s a longer route, but much more scenic, and I was relieved that we had clear enough weather to actually see the views this time.
After a long day of driving, we finally made camp at the Sahara DNR Horse Camp near Mt Rainier NP. DNR camping has been the best deal so far in Washington. The Discover Pass is $30 per year and the campgrounds are all free for 7 days at a time in a 30-day period. (I can’t imagine that anyone actually tracks this since we’ve so far never seen a ranger visit these campgrounds.) The campground was pretty full when we arrived due an equestrian event that week, but over the course of the next two days, it cleared out, leaving us more or less alone.
In the morning we went on one of the most fun hikes we’ve done to Little Mashel Falls, along the Mashel River in Eatonville, WA. Several interconnecting trails lead to the river at different points, and water gathers in a long series of deep rocky pools, spilling down from one pool to the next. The whole thing is enchanting. If it had been 20ºF warmer and sunny, we would undoubtedly have settled into one of these pools since the water wasn’t too cold, but the ambient weather made undressing really unappealing. After our hike we stopped at the local cidery to get a bite to eat. They advertised live music, but the band failed to materialize and after several “bites” and a cider flight apiece, we headed back to camp to rest.
Our neighbors at the campground, a lovely couple from Oklahoma, were not horse people, but travel full-time in their rig. We’d met the woman as we were setting up camp the first day. When we pulled in after our day out, she and her husband were sitting at their campfire. Honey tucked himself into the Casita for a nap and I walked over to our neighbors to chat. The afternoon passed quickly and various other campers joined and left the conversation circle as dinnertime approached. As evening fell, I lured Honey out of his nest of blankets with the promise of s’mores and campfire popcorn. Our new friends showed me how to make stuffed baked bananas, and I realized how much we still have to learn in terms of creative campfire cooking! Perhaps the east-bound leg of our trip will see more campfires and more cooking on said campfires—it certainly means less cleanup afterwards!
In the morning, we gave and got tours of our respective rigs and exchanged contact information and well-wishes for the road ahead. Honey had selected a challenging hike on Mt Rainier for the afternoon, when the sun was supposed to take over and scatter the clouds. Unsure how cold it would be on the mountain, we dressed in layers and filled up on snacks. Neither of us imagined just how hot it would get up there between the unfiltered sunshine and the glare off the snow, but we were really glad we had layers to shed as we hiked.
Fully packed parking lots greeted us when we arrived at the trailhead, and the trend continued on the way up the Skyline Trail. Once we got to the viewpoint, most people turned around and went back down the same way they’d come, so we had much less company moving forward. Honey had read that the second half of the trail was still very snowy and other hikers recommended bringing trash bags to sled down the steeper sections—I’m sure that’s the whole reason he chose this particular trail! After a hard clamber uphill, we faced the descent with gleeful anticipation, starting on small downhill sections of the trail, and gradually moving on to longer and longer slopes. Dressed all in black, with his black backpack in front of him and his legs stuck up in the air, Honey reminded me of a beetle on its back, awkwardly skidding down the hills. I can’t make claims to any more gracefulness, with my stick limbs waving about in all directions, but it was a hell of a lot of fun. As usual, I started cackling as soon as my butt hit the cold snow and didn’t stop laughing until could pick myself up at the end.
My mother-in-law commented this morning that we’re returning to a form of childhood, or childlike wonder, and I truly hope she’s right. What an incredible experience to sled at 6000ft on Mt Rainier on a sunny day in July! If the only thing we gain from this trip is remembering how to have real, enthusiastic fun, we’ll find ourselves a whole lot richer in the end.