My kids adore the ocean. So much so that I wonder if they both lived seaside in a past life, instead of landlocked in the hills of Wisconsin.

With this passion for sand and salt and sea in mind I cut our time in Savannah shorter than I would have liked to give them an extra day to play in the Atlantic Ocean. That morning they set an alarm for an unreasonable hour (especially for a sleep-hungry teenager!) so that they could watch the sunrise over the ocean. We headed to the beach as the sky was just beginning to brighten – me with a thermos of coffee and my knitting basket; them in their swimming suits.

Don't be fooled. It wasn't warm out. Maybe 60? Maybe not quite. And there was no one else in the ocean that morning. Just plenty of chuckling passers-by who marveled at these cold-hardy midwesterners shrieking and laughing in the waves.

They found their bliss. 

 

Today is my first wifi connection in nearly two weeks. Being accustom to nearly constant connectivity back home, it has been a welcome break. I feel reset on many levels. I highly recommend it.

From Asheville with friends we wound our way to Savannah, Georgia and the Atlantic Ocean. In a single reasonable driving day we went from cool weather to warm; from mountains (that look and feel much like home) to the unfamiliar landscape of ancient oak trees and dripping Spanish moss.

We could have spent days exploring, but had just a single night before pushing on to St. Augustine and places further south. Even so, I was grateful for the detour.

I'll share more postcards as the week unfolds! Thanks for tagging along with me, friends.

Love,
Rachel 

We started our journey with a two day push from Wisconsin to North Carolina. Asheville was our first pause in the driving, with a long overdue visit planned with some old friends.

Honestly, I don't think we could have chosen a nicer way to start our trip.

Two days to rest, reconnect, visit, and play before it was time to load up our car for the second leg of the journey. It was just lovely. 

Next up we head toward Georgia and a rendezvous with my parents for a few days of camping and exploring together before the four of us go solo for the final leg of the trip, to that little island on the Gulf. 

I'll post a second post card the next time I have a chance! 

Stay cozy, friends. 

Love,
Rachel 

 

So here's the thing.

Homesteading looks romantic and pastoral and magical from the other side of the monitor. And some days it looks like that from here, too. But the bigger truth is that homesteading – like most things – is messier than it looks from afar. 

Messier in manure and work hours and broken down tractors, but in other ways, too.

For example: what happens when we have a trip planned (a 14th Birthday Wilderness Paddle Family Fun Extravaganza) and a calf develops a cough? And what if after that cough comes a sheep down in the pasture with bottle jaw (a swelling indicative of parasites) and two others are showing signs of the same? And then let's say that a flood comes and wipes out all the fences and… you get the idea. 

No, homesteading isn't all magic and soft light on the hills. Sometime's it's far more more train-wreck than romance.

And so just a few days before we departed for the boundary waters – as we packed our dehydrated soups and stews and sauces into labeled zip bags and put the last coat of car wax on the canoe – everything fell apart. 

Pete and I sat outside on the steps and had a difficult, whispered conversation. If we all were to leave on our paddling trip we were confident that we'd come home to dead animals. And while I'm pretty loosey-goosey on some things, I am not when it comes to the life we hold in our hands. We knew we couldn't risk it.

We called the farm sitter and cancelled, and the four of us gathered around the table. We broke the news to our kids. The trip was off.

And then the most beautiful thing happened.

There was so much grace.

Our kids rose up and showed us compassion, understanding and grace beyond anything I could have mustered at 9 or 14. 

And instead of sulking we set to work on making a list of plan-B adventures we might be able to manage instead. It was a proper anything-goes brainstorm and I scribbled our ideas on a scrap of paper. (Because this moment was not the time for a homeschooling spelling lesson.)

Ideas like a weekend trip for the four of us to the City Museum in Saint Louis; a quick jaunt to my parent's cabin in Northern Wisconsin; an epic road trip for the three of us, like we took last fall. We put it all on the table.

And in the end we gravitated toward something we've done so many times before. A simple one week road trip up to the shore. A week on Lake Superior, just an hour or two from the lakes we intended to paddle in the Boundary Waters. And because of a late cancellation at a state park on the shore there was one campsite available. It was meant to be. We were in.

The kayaks we loaded onto the roof of the camper, we transferred dehydrated camp food from our backpacks to the camper pantry and we set off.

And – short of Pete joining us for the journey – it was all we could have wished for. 

Eight days of playing in the Big Lake, kayaking into "sea" caves, searching for agates, and hiking through the forest to waterfalls along the shore. Eight days – just the three of us – exploring, living, and road-schooling once again, while Pete (our hero/road trip enabler) stayed home to tend to the homestead.

During that week some of our friends had their first day of school, and we joked that our first day of school curriculum involved a kayaking trip and a waterfall in the woods. We celebrated Sage's birthday with marshmallows around the campfire beneath the cedar trees.

It was lovely. Perfect? Of course not. (What is?) But a perfect plan B when our plan A unraveled.

Indeed, it was so lovely that it was hard for the kids to aim our rig toward home at the end of the week. Because there was still more to see and more to do! One more paddle. One more visit with friends. One more swim.

And then, at last, we found our way back to Pete, back to the farm, back to the animals (none of which had to die for the sake of our vacation, thank goodness/thanks to Pete).

We still have a Boundary Waters trip on the table for next year, and with luck we'll pull it off then. But if not we know that there is still joy to be found, even if it isn't what we were expecting. 

 

Because, as it turns out, when you go into an adventure with the right attitude it can still be glorious. Even if it isn't the adventure you had planned.

 

This weekend we came home.

Home to Pete, the farm, our animals, the Driftless. Home to the one and only place that has ever truly been home to us all.

And it has been delicious.

As for our time on the road, I can say with honesty that it ended too soon for us all. Four weeks out has us dreaming of six weeks or eight weeks or more, and we are already planning our next adventure.

Yet being home has been beyond lovely. Soft beds, room to stretch our legs, gardens and animals and woods calling us home.

And so… the journey is done.

It's bittersweet.

3718 miles, nine states, and countless adventures are behind us. There was a leaky camper with windows to duct tape against the rain, the ocean churning, new friends to meet, and new paths to explore. There were the inevitable ups and downs of living in a tiny camper and living in the moment of our life on the road. Now that we're home we're finding our deep roots once more.

 

Go with the flow.

Expect the unexpected.

Be kind.

And worry less.

Oh, yes. These things and more.

 

To everyone who welcomed us in our guided us along our journey during the past month – we are so thankful. Know that each of you are welcome here if your own paths wind this way some day. We'd be honored to share our home with you!

Thanks to Chris, Annette, Sam, and Maggie for fresh apples, soft beds, and a trip to the falls; to André, Heather, Marguerite, Cedar, and Ruby for and endless open door and a home for us in Vermont; to Amanda, Steve, Ezra, Adelaide, Harper, and Anabelle for good conversation, kayaks and dress ups, and the soup they won't stop talking about. To everyone who helped us along the way, our heartfelt thanks for food and shelter, connection and community, and bath an laundry services along the way!

So much love.

Also thanks to Jamie and Ginny for nearly (so nearly!) hosting us on our journey before the hurricane rerouted our plans. We'll catch you next time, we promise.

What a journey it has been.

Home sweet home, indeed.

 

Love,
Rachel

 

Before we left Wisconsin I loaded up two ridiculously large bundles to deliver along the way. A giant tote of sheepskins to drop at Vermont Natural Tannery, and three huge bags of sheep's wool to have spun by the lovely folks at Green Mountain Spinnery.

After a few days on the road we were looking forward to dropping off our deliveries, as the camper is small without these additions, and things were smelling a little wooly in there. Yes indeed!

As a spinner, knitter, and lover-of-all-things-wool, Green Mountain Spinnery was a treasure to behold. While I am still playing around with my spinning wheel, I'm very much a newbie and my yarn is still more thick-and-thin than I intend. It's looking ever so hand-spun (which could be good or bad, depending on the project).

Often though I want a more predictable yarn to knit with. And having it spun from our own fiber? Well, that's why we got sheep in the first place! My own yarn is just what I've been waiting for.

So I set aside some wool to continue to play with at home, but the rest we brought here. Within a few months I'll receive a delivery of 25 pounds of beautiful, uniform, off-white yarn to dye, to share, and knit up into projects of all sorts. Oh, I can't wait!

Twenty-five pounds. What was I thinking?

It's time to dig into our natural dyes book, that much is certain!

 

 

When the storms finally passed, we set out on foot to explore the mossy wonderland that is Acadia.

And while a break from the storm alone was delightful, Acadia itself after the rain? It was pure magic.

The earth was springy beneath our feet and every turn in the trail revealed another moss-covered fairy house or fresh mushroom bursting forth from the earth.

A wonderland, indeed.

Magic abounds, if only we open our eyes to look.

 

More note from the road soon, friends! WIFI availability has been rare, thus my infrequent posts.

 

Love,
Rachel

 

P.S. You can follow our journey in more or less real-time over here.

I’m not sure exactly how it happened but just after we arrived in Maine things started to unravel a bit.

Oh, right. The rain. That was how it all began.

With a nod to Robert McClusky, one morning in Maine (our first morning in Maine) I got a message from a blog reader alerting me to a big storm that was blowing in. A really big storm. (Thank you, Hilary!) I woke the kids and we broke camp in a hurry, hoping to arrive in Acadia National Park before the roads started washing out.

We did.

But somewhere in the waking early and hustling up the coast, somewhere in the worrying about hurricane-fuels storms heading our way and feeling the wind bouncing us around on the road, we misplaced our groove.

We got grumpy. We lost our sparkle. The fridge door flew open on a corner and chicken and wild rice soup went everywhere. We got lost in a congested small town just as a cruise ship unloaded hundreds of people to wander out into traffic. I had to clear a clogged toilet with my bare hands.

It was that kind of day.

And then the rains came.

After a week on the road, we lost our groove.

Because you know, a tiny 20 foot vintage RV is quaint and adorable and funky and sweet. Until there are high winds and driving rain for days on end. It got a little tight. It also a little wet. I think it was after the second day of rain that I noticed that the window gaskets were giving way and water was pouring onto our bunk. Um. Yeah. That.

And you can tell me how much more memorable this trip will be because the camper started to leak and you’ll be right. But it also made for really wet pajamas and more grumpies than could comfortable fit in 20 feet.

So I circled back to where this all began.

Go with the flow.

Expect the unexpected.

Be kind.

Worry less.

And then – magically and right on cue – my parents arrived. Nanny and Bumpy to the rescue!

 

While we had not planned on the flooding we had planned to meet my parents in Acadia. And their 23 foot not-vintage RV felt downright luxurious after two weeks in our own. So did watching my kids play Uno with the grandparents and eating my mom’s cooking.

We exhaled.

My parents supplied us with a small heater to help dry out our mattress, bought me an atlas because “really-you-are-driving-cross-country-with-our-only-grandchildren-without-an-atlas?" and also some duct tape, just in case. We spent a few days together, exploring Acadia by car and by trail, and just enjoying the treat of time together on the road.

Did things stop going amiss? Of course not. But for a brief few days I had backup when they did. Say, when our keys got locked in the RV or when our shower overflowed. (Off the top of my head.) And then, like magic, our energy shifted.

Thank goodness.

And now? The sun is shining once more, our bunk is (mostly) dry, and we’re ready to see what unfolds out on the road this morning.

From somewhere in Eastern Maine, wishing you a beautiful Monday!

Love,
Rachel

You can keep up with our journey through my photo postcards here.

There is something satisfying about the belief that who I was at 19 is a pretty decent reflection of who I am at 42.

When I was not yet twenty I met a busker on the street in Milwaukee, playing his guitar out in the cold. I was with friends, heading to a nearby coffee shop. His music hit me in the heart, and I set to worrying that he must be really cold out there in the weather.

So I mustered my courage and went outside and offered to buy him a cup of coffee to give him a chance to warm up. He agreed.

More than twenty years later we are still friends.

My friend André lives with his partner and their three daughters in Vermont. They have visited us in Wisconsin, but this was our first visit to their home. As fellow makers, parents, homeschoolers, and kindred spirits we still have a lot in common, even all these years later. And setting aside some time to connect was truly a gift.

As we spent these days with their family I realized – this might be the closest experience to cousins that my children have ever had. Living far apart, and brought together on occasion not because of their own friendships, but because of the connection between our families, their friendships were destined more than chosen.

It's beautiful and it fills up my heart.

We hiked together, carved spoons, talked, and relaxed. The kids were raucous and got to know each other in no time, enjoying games, conversation, and one impressive cooking contest.

On Monday we said goodbye as we pushed on toward Maine.

And while goodbyes are hard, mostly I'm thankful for putting my nerves and shyness aside and offering a cold musician a cup of coffee so many years ago.

 

 

#wolfwanderings

#expecttheunexpected

We had three themes we carried with us into this journey.

"Expect the unexpected"; "Go with the flow"; and something a little colorful that translates pretty well to: "don't be a weenie" (or more positively: "be kind").

I should have set up a fourth theme of: "Stop worrying. You've got this."

Because the first couple of days were laced with worry. Not constantly, but thick servings when the unexpected did happen.

It's just what I do. Worry is my superpower.

Like when we rolled into our campground late on the first night, only to discover that it's wasn't a campground anymore (we punted and camped in their parking lot); or riding on fumes and fairy dust as we drove mile after endless mile through upstate New York, wondering if we'd make it to the next fuel pump (we did). Oh, and also that concerning noise the Nellie (our camper) made for most of a day. That was my biggest anxiety hit of all. (More air in our tires was a pretty easy fix).

We problem-solved. We punted. We pulled together. We figured it out.

And – so far anyway – everything turned out just fine. Better than fine, in fact.

Of course it did.

 

Wisconsin, to Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, and finally Vermont.

Seven states in the first four days days.

Such a journey! What a gift this trip is opening into.

 

Expect the unexpected.

Go with the flow.

Be kind.

And stop worrying. Because you've got this.

Yeah, I think we'll do okay out here on the road, after all.

 

More soon. I promise.

 

Love,
Rachel

 

P.S. I'm sharing regular postcards from the road over on Instagram. You can find me there as lusa_mama.

#wolfwanderings #roadschooling