An image from the place I spend the most time, these days- my wagon. Lots of ladybugs have tried to winter over in here with me.

We went to Staunton to look at a house and stopped by our friend Nikki’s new space that she’s converting into a cidery. It’s still in the beginning stages but it’s going to be a really great spot.

More pictures form the interior- it was originally a creamery and has really cool tiled walls and floors.

This is the house we looked at! It is a great neighborhood, but the house was old and crooked- those aren’t terrible characteristics, actually, but…it was just not quite the one.

Farm life

Yesterday evening on the farm. It’s the place I spend the most time these days.

House Arrest

Snow + A global pandemic of which everyone seems to be bored, therefore it doesn’t exist anymore? = House Arrest

Hopscotch and King! Looking good and happy now that they live together in the same space and share a shelter and can snug each other during unpleasant weather.

A view of the pond.

Firewood stacked so nicely, I love it and want to take a picture every time I walk by even though the stacks rarely change.

Lone sheep, looks like he’s posing in front of a backdrop. This batch of guys is not as shy as the last batch. They don’t immediately run and even humor me for a few seconds while I figure out the picture.

Tough love is this method of sheep farming. They move around a lot and don’t have a shelter and just forage for what’s around. Here they are taking cover under a tree. The only thing that prevents them from falling ill or dying is good genetics and luck. They don’t get much human help here.

Foraging.

Sam! Dave was calling for him to come back and I could hear by the increasing urgency in his voice that Sam wasn’t listening - i turned around a caught him just as he took off running toward me.

The roads. It looks like such a heavy snow but by afternoon they were completely clear.

Adventures with Sam. He seems to find me at some point on my walk around the farm, mostly when I’m passing his house. I often don’t see him and think he’s inside or off somewhere else but as I start the walk up the drive well past his house, I’ll feel a tug on my glove and there he is! Somehow he sees me or hears me and he runs up quietly behind me and surprises me each time.

More adventures with Sam, who found a scent and nose is pressed firmly into the creek bed.

The back of my wagon! The trees in that field are so old and beautiful.

This is a love story in 3 parts. Sam and Nala.

More Sam and Nala but Sam is really the only one advancing, overcome with joy and excitement.

True love. This is minutes before they became a force for evil, combining their strength to separate out and chase a baby lamb around a field, into a creek, and finally under a bush.

This is my favorite field with my favorite tree.

After the Nala/Sam debacle where after much frantic screaming and chasing, I was able to finally catch up to the dogs and the lamb, and hold the little guy in place- he was fluffy with very warm ears- with him not moving, I could keep the dogs away. Dave came and called Sam away and Nala was called off by the neighbor and Dave carried the baby back to its mom and the rest of the flock. However, I didn’t get to see the reunion because I was busy making sure Nala wouldn’t circle back to the sheep - which she was trying to do since her owner was unconcerned and failed to bring a leash and was more interested in seeing the baby lamb rejoined with its mom. So, that was super cool and by cool I mean annoying. I should’ve made him deal with his dog, but I didn’t want to put more stress on the baby. Also, I was kind of disappointed that when Nala separated the baby out from the rest of the sheep, that they really didn’t do anything about it. They didn’t surround her or try to protect their young, they were kind of like, bye baby, good luck. I’ve since checked on them, the little guy is sticking close to the mom and seems to be ok.

That sweet face.

Quaran-Tucson

Wow- this was written pretty exactly a year ago and I never posted it and so I’m doing it now, just because it’s a nice little capsule of time and also I seem so level headed about the whole thing. This past year I’ve become a ball of rage which has mostly but not exclusively been directed at the fucking idiot that was our last president, the assholes that won’t wear masks, and people that park too close to me in the parking lot. It’s been a real rollercoaster:

I was driving around and a funny/poignant blog title came into my head, and I don’t think this is it. So, here i am in Tucson still. I meant to leave at the end of March, so I’m not off schedule, but now with Covid-19 I feel trapped and stuck. And the end of March isn’t even here yet. The goal was to leave at the end of this month, go to Baja for a house sit and now that’s not happening so I rented an airbnb til the end of April, to be in place and ‘see where this all goes’. But after listening to every episode of the Daily, it’s clear that with the current administration and maybe generally our style of government this will drag on in a patchwork fashion for at least a year or year and a half. I would like the government to declare Martial Law for two weeks to one month and get this thing quickly under control. This is probably an unpopular opinion because everyone in America hates military intervention and wants to self govern to an early grave.

Also, while I’m not ready for my trip to be over by any means, I feel a pull to be back in VA while this all goes down and so I’m looking for a place so I can return for a bit. In the mean time, I’m staying inside and then going for walks in the evening to neighborhoods that are empty or with wide enough streets for me to easily distance myself from any passers by. Which is not happening throughout Tucson. It’s not necessarily business as usual but it’s not really that empty either.

All Souls

Well, this was a long time coming. I started it, got interrupted, then all of my writing - not brilliant, but time consuming, got deleted- and then it took me 4 months to return to it.

So, here we are! All Souls Procession- it took place November 3, 2019. Last year. I didn’t know what to expect and also wasn’t sure I was going to go, because sometimes parades and crowds and the things where everyone gathers are not always appealing to me. Why is that? Mostly because of parking, honestly. But, this year I was renting a room in a house that was located only a few blocks from the start of the parade and the entire parade circuit (1.5 miles) was going to begin, middle, and end within walking distance of this house. How could I not go. And also, the lovely neighbor painted my face- another unexpected, sweet, and fun thing.

I have to say I loved this and I’m so happy I went. It’s a beautiful tradition, it’s a way to remember the dead which is something I think in the US we don’t do- we are not comfortable with death or anything that reminds us of death, we don’t actively remember those that have died or keep their spirit alive, the elderly are tucked away in institutions. And that’s unfortunate. Because we’re all going to die and hopefully most of us will get old, and then what? I, myself, don’t have a great relationship with death, or keeping the memory of loved ones alive- it’s cliche- but, this parade, dedicated to death and remembrance gives a space to contemplate and think of those that are no longer with us - it is a somber- and also lively- reminder that our time here is limited. And as hard as it is to get up some mornings, this life is precious.

I loved this lady and specifically asked her to pose in front of that car. This was a mistake. She even tried to move out of the way, but I said, no no- I love the yellow. But now instead of yellow I only see the obnoxious headlights and everything else that makes up a car that is not yellow- an aggressive pile of metal.

This was really nice. I madet two ribbons- one for my uncle and one for our friend Betsy.

Even beloved pets are remembered. I like that this lady has her eyes closed.

This gentleman was getting his face painted, and I have photos of this actively happening- but I liked this picture for some reason, I like how the lady is looking at someone out of the frame and how he’s patiently sitting with his eyes closed. His wife, who was nearby, told me that the photo pinned to his jacket was his mother.

It is always striking when the memorials show someone that died recently. And, I guess that’s a gang sign? Or maybe sign language.

Spectating the spectators! My favorite.

These ladies were intense. They started off the procession and they didn’t like you to block them or get too close.

So, I’ll say that I was moving a lot and not really speaking with anyone, so I don’t know any back stories and when I look at these photos now I see that was a mistake because I’d like some back story. This gentleman’s memorial- it’s very beautiful and there are some interesting dolls along the bottom and a very elaborate shrine on the top…but I don’t know anything and sometimes I think it would be worse to ask because it’s too painful to talk about? Though I think lots of people probably enjoy speaking of their loved ones.

In a hair salon.

I love this photo mostly because I love the way they did the menu.

This is a burger place that was full even as the parade was moving past, I think people peeled off and decided to grab a bite before continuing, or just not continuing- this place is 2 blocks after the start of the parade. Also, that guy is very tall and trying to look innocuous.

This is an interesting photo and perhaps I should post the other one, too- but something changed in the millisecond between the two shots where the woman in the middle was super inviting in the first one, and in the second one there’s a flash of irritation on her face. Yet, I like it the best.

I’m posting two dancing photos even though they are nearly identical. Because I think I like them both for different reasons.

This is a terrible photo of a beautiful instance- I saw this young guy carrying his sleeping baby and gazing at him/her- I wanted to capture that affection- so I didn’t want him to pose- but I did tell him later he looked so nice with his baby.

Me with my painted face in a dirty bathroom!

Not sure what’s happening here, but doesn’t she look possessed?

These women! Holy cow, they looked amazing. As I was walking up they were standing together. What happens in this parade is that many people start at the beginning, but many join in wherever they want. When the parade passed them, the woman in the middle, matriarch, took their hands and did this motion, like ok, here we go. It was a motion of conviction, deliberation and forced strength.

Just some antlers.

This young child was doing a lot of talking into that megaphone.

Spectators spectating! Spectating the spectators!

And when it’s all over, people wait for the bus.

And they get drinks.

And they eat.

And they get makeovers and buy hand bags.

Night walks

Water Drops

So, I’m doing a pretty terrible job editing the photos for this blog. I want them all to be in here so you can experience this trip in real time, but I realize that anything real time including time itself can be torture. The photos aren’t, like, super amazing, but again it’s that thing of every time I find something I want to document it because it’s a trace of a person that moved through that space. And it’s banal but it’s also haunting. These photos are from a Tucson Samaritans water drop which I did last Monday and this Monday (two days ago) I went on another water drop with them which was a little different from filling the water tanks with Humane Borders. Tucson Samaritans works with maps of migrant trails and finds spots along the trail to drop water off which means some hikes with gallons of water - I’ve learned that each gallon of water is 8 lbs- carrying 2 gallons in a backpack makes me tired. We each carry at least 2 gallons, some people, like Bob- wild man- carry 3 in the pack and one in his hand. Bob also doesn’t wear sunscreen and barely drinks any water. He is also an avid bike rider and rides his bike, I think daily, even in the heat. EVEN IN THE HEAT OF SUMMER. I can’t imagine doing anything here in the heat of summer because summer is over, it’s perfectly pleasant upper 80’s and I still want to die most of the time. The sun, it feels like it bores holes into my skull. The sun, it is a killer.

The desert is such a strange place- that super bright sun, the heat, it makes you see things, it makes you hear things.

Sometimes we find these brown jugs that migrants bring with them from Mexico, the color is supposed to be less reflective than the regular white and clear jugs thus making them less easily able to be spotted by border patrol.

We found this jug on the path, pretty far away from the other jugs and not one of ours - it reads ‘Fuerzas amigo!’ which means, I think, ‘have strength, friend!’ which made me pause when I first saw it and makes me cry when I write it. There was also writing on the other side which said “Dios esta contigo”, God is with you. Little notes left for others following the same path meant to give courage.

Our hike into the canyon to fill the water jugs, it was about a mile and pretty level, which was fine in moderate heat- but, again, I have a difficult time imagining any of this activity in the summer. And I say it was fine, but it still wasn’t a walk in the park while carrying 16 lbs of water on my back- and that really doesn’t sound like a lot, but it is. And it’s what everyone should carry with them for one day in the desert. It’s heavy as hell. I can’t imagine carrying a child with you on this journey. Also, our path was fairly straightforward, with relatively few ups and downs, but apparently the migrant path which leads to the water drop location we were hiking to is less straightforward and goes up and over the hills leading into the canyon.

Water bottle. I asked if we should pick up the trash, but Bob’s answer was as I suspected, the debris lets others know they’re on the right path. So we left most things we saw along the way.

It’s always…sad seems too shallow a word- unnerving- to find clothing along the trail. These seemed to be a pair of sweatpants belonging to a woman- at least it seemed like they belong to a woman. Yellow and fun.

Piece of can. Lots of cans along the trail. I think these are the kind of pieces Alvaro uses to embellish his crosses.

Bob!

We’ve arrived at our water drop. Linda is checking how many gallons of water were taken, how many had animal damage, and determining how many to leave. In this case because the hike was a mile, no one wanted to hike back out with water, so we left every thing we had. Bob is examining a food bucket we leave in the branches filled with snack/sock packets for migrants- leaving it in the tree is to keep it safe from animals.

Another water jug left at the site, a sign to the next group that Juan made it that far. A smiley face of encouragement.

Linda marks the jugs with the location number and date so we can keep track of what’s been used and when the last drop happened.

Marked water jugs- this type of water bottle is impossible and annoying to carry for long distances or any distances because of the handle. But those traditional milk jugs seem to have a thinner plastic that’s easier for birds and other animals to destroy and get to first before any migrants have the chance. Also, I asked if migrants were ever afraid to drink the water, if they feared it would be poisoned, because I think that’s what I might suspect in this inhospitable land. The answer was yes. Having them sealed helps to allay some fears.

A sample of the food/sock packet we left in the buckets. It seems that socks are often discarded, it’s not clear why. In addition to the socks, there’s a bag of goldfish, vienna sausages, apple sauce, granola bar, and a juice.

Food bucket hung from a tree.

Discarded socks. Adult socks, child socks - or socks for a very short person.

Still life with water jugs, food bucket, and discarded socks.

Another shirt we found on the trail, it looks like someone’s party shirt. Who knows if this is even true, maybe it was shirt they hated for a long time and were happy for the opportunity to unload it. It’s easy to put a grim reading into all the things found along the way. The journey is grim and one of desperation but there must be bright spots and- my personal favorite- gallows humor along the way?

Scrambling through the narrow rock path.

The grasses, bushes, are so tall and overgrown it’d be easy to lose your group along the way. And difficult to figure out where you are once you do.

We found very clean bones! Someone had a feast, there was a whole pile of them next to this one.

Hey guys, wait up.

Just the landscape which is both beautiful and harsh.

At the next drop the jugs had their tops sliced. This was done by assholes- rednecks, hunters, redneck hunters, or vigilantes. They slice the tops and leave the jugs to show they were there.

Oh, hey Linda.

Recording the water drops in the log book back in the car. An inexact science based on what we can remember.

More still life with water. How this space is transformed. It looks wild and untouched until you look closer and notice the displaced artifacts waiting for more people to pass through and scattered with the those that’ve been left behind. Near one of the water drops were some rocky outcroppings that Bob said an independent group of engineers and other nerds claimed as an area that might have gold - hobby gold miners- which is not a rare occurrence in this area of Arizona, apparently-- it makes me wonder about how this land witnesses all the different kinds of people using it and passing through it on a given day. Each group - maybe purposefully- oblivious of the others, some brave with an inherent entitlement, some hiding from anything that makes a sound.

Bob! Apparently it’s hunting season and I keep wearing neutral colored clothing, thankfully Bob has a red shirt- so I guess we know if a redneck hunter gets him, it was on purpose.

Blurry Bob- I do love this picture.

Ocatillos are so odd and angular and when they’re all together, striking. All the desert vegetation is sculptural.

More found clothing- appears dropped carelessly, hurriedly, flung.

Unattached buttons. Of all the pieces we found, these scattered buttons caused Linda to pause.

A faint path.

Ocatillos!

Bob takes a school group out once a month- usually they’re private schools or Christian schools- from California, Colorado, and Arizona. They visit the border and migrant paths so they can see the devastation of these desperate journeys. And no good immigration policy.

A blanket provided by Tucson Samaritans that’s been used and left behind.

More clothing.

Still life with water bottle.

Tucson and on

This past Friday I went on a water run with Humane Borders to refill water tanks for migrants crossing through the desert. It was my first trip of many to come- not only with Humane Borders- and the reason I’m here. Some things I learned: the thing to fear most when going on these runs is vigilantes- they haven’t hurt any volunteers but make a sport of murdering, raping, generally victimizing migrants. So far there have been no consequences for them doing those things. The 70 miles between Tucson and the border is empty with narrow roads and very few people traveling those roads. There’s a check point about 30 miles before the border which is basically racial profiling, for whites they glance in the car and casually ask if you’re a citizen and let you pass. There were white G4 vans parked on the side of the road- I was told they are mercenaries working for a private company- waiting to grab a migrant and take them to ICE. I was told there are fewer migrants passing through this year and summer than last year.

It was my first experience and as usual, I’m finishing this post about a week after the trip and have since been on a couple of other trips with Tucson Samaritans. Different people report different facts. For instance, on other trips, I heard that the G4 vans aren’t allowed to take migrants directly to detention center, they have to take them to the border first and get them processed. I’m not sure which thing is true. The one thing everyone seems to be able to agree on is that ICE changes its operating procedures nearly every week.

I pulled up at 6AM and they were waiting on me to start the day. We had about 5 stops to make, all south of Tucson (though now I can’t really remember if that number is right- seems right…ish).

First stop was the gas station just outside of the city.

At the first water stop, we found a carpet shoe which is a cloth boot fastened on top of a regular shoe with carpet on the bottom and camouflage fabric on the top to prevent your foot prints from showing up in the dirt/sand.

Another view of the carpet shoe.

A view of the road near the water stop. This isn’t a migrant trail, but passes near one- I kept trying to imagine a view similar to this- sunny, hot, uneven terrain, empty except for hostile vegetation. In other areas, I’d wander off and the breeze with only the hum of insects made me pause to confirm those were insects and not voices, trees swaying and not people in the shadows.

Checking the water. The barrels are about 55 gallons, I think. At each barrel, we’d unlock the top lock and check to see if the water was visibly ok- nothing floating in it, no algae. Someone would always do a taste test, too. A frequent problem was a loose seal between the nozzle and the barrel which would result in a slow water leak.

The blue flag that’s to indicate that there’s a water barrel nearby. Not sure how far a way you can see these flags, from the roads we traveled in the truck, it seemed you had to practically be next to the barrel to see it.

The three guys that went on the trip that day. The volunteers are interesting, from all walks of life, most having a history of doing some kind of human rights work, speaking up, and generally trying to make the world and earth a good place for humans to co exist. They’re all pretty much white and retired or semi retired but they’re not all men.

This sticker of the virgin Mary is on the water barrels. I believe she is the patron saint of the migrant’s journey. It lets them know this water comes from friends and is to help.

A volunteer. He has a Tesla. As we can see by his jacket. And he started his Tesla’s AC from his phone 15 minutes before we returned to the parking lot at the end of the day. He also is a semi/mostly retired trial attorney from Vermont who moved here some years ago and continues to help appeal asylum cases for migrants that have been denied. This man has done and continues to do important work- based on what he recounted- but it was really overshadowed by that Tesla.

After discovering that the barrel was leaking, they decided to unscrew it, let the water out and try to re seal it.

Nice looking berries, probably poisonous.

Hot.

Around these water barrels, every little thing that doesn’t come from nature gets a second and third look- mostly from me. Everything seems to hold significance and be a sign of migrants passing through. This tiny yellow ball that looks like chocolate candy made me wonder if someone had been by recently. Or was it only from a county employee who’d been on the land to check the area. Was it even candy? It looks like it, but maybe it’s, like, a bullet or something.

Some unfriendly vegetation, this is cholla. I know to avoid the large spines, but I always want to touch and press on the spongey part where there aren’t any visible spines. This is a mistake because in those areas there are tiny soft spines that lodge in your fingers and are painful, annoying, and difficult to remove.

Frank found a water bottle, perhaps belonging to a migrant.

On the way and along the road, we stopped at some crosses put up by Alvaro. He has a special weekly crosses trip to put up these wooden crosses that he makes in the red dot spots which indicate areas where migrants have died. I went on this trip a few days after this water trip and it was a bit of a fiasco because of the media that also attended, but the general idea to not let these deaths be invisible, to remind us/the government that thousands of people are dying on our soil due to inability to get the immigration thing together, that we are all somehow complicit in these deaths- is important.

Some crosses are destroyed by vigilantes and general assholes. some crosses are more decorated as time passes. Alvaro puts a couple of pieces on the cross from items he finds in the desert left by migrants, always a dot in the center for the red dots on the map, and then a couple of other metallic pieces he nails on. The rosaries, ribbons, and flowers are added by others.

It’s difficult to see, but through the blurry barbed wire, there’s a colorful blanket covered in sand that probably belonged to a migrant.

Another cross by Alvaro with a red dot and the pieces nailed on to each end of the cross. The rosary made of painted chickpeas was added by someone else.

Chickpea rosary.

You can see the crosses next to the road. There is no good place to die in this migration, but when it is so close to the road it seems extra strange and sad because you wonder if people saw this person and just drove by. Or were they murdered, or were they so dehydrated that they were delirious and wandered into the road at night and were accidentally struck by a passing vehicle.

On our way to another stop.

Trying some water and dumping it out.

A meeting of the minds.

A long hot road. But not a migrant path.

Trying to straighten a drooping water flag.

Water truck in the wild. The white tank closest to the cab is the supply of water. We had extra blue barrels to replace faulty barrels from various locations, extra flags and flagpoles, and extra of everything that we might need to fix a barrel. Sometimes a barrel leaks innocently, sometimes it has been tampered with on purpose.

Just a view. That sharp pointy peak in the middle is Baboquivari and it is where the Tohono O'odhama tribe believe their creator resides, and where all of creation started.

Just a view of heads and a flag.

A view of Baboquivari in the distance.

A flag in the desert.

Refilling the water barrel.

Chitting and chatting.

Water barrel.

A view of the US- with Baboquivari in the distance- from the Mexico side. The razor wire is abundant right here and really just a PR move by Trump because no one would be silly enough to cross right next to the border guards.

So, it's true

Telluride is beautiful. It's also very hot- the temperature is not actually that high, but the sun is very close. I think I had a mild heat stroke today. No photos from today really or much of Telluride so far, so instead I'll post some of the portraits from Toronto.

Jamie, sweet Jamie. And Darby. I hope you got your apartment situation settled.

On my way to Telluride

I’m in Denver- just outside of it- 6 hours away from Telluride. Seems so far, right? I’m not too excited about the drive, it seems windy and loopy, lots of ups and downs, like a roller coaster. A slow, long, vomit inducing roller coaster. Also, I’ll be curious to see this Telluride, a place that so many seem to love but is basically one street in the middle of the mountains with no easy in or out. I already feel trapped. It’s interesting that there’s a successful film festival in a place that’s so difficult to reach. Maybe they’re all in places like this? Is Sundance way off the beaten path, too?

Anyway, I’m sure my update will be glowing and I’ll never want to leave, but for now, I’m only thinking about the drive through those mountains looming ahead. But! If you think the mountains are something, let me tell you about driving into a thunderstorm in the prairie- which I think describes Eastern Colorado. Driving into a thunderstorm in Eastern Colorado is like driving into Armageddon. It is awe inspiring, and it also makes you pray that this is not a tornado wall. Because a tornado wall might be the single worst thing I think I could witness or drive through. It was stunning, lightning flashes across a pink sky- the storm was rolling in during sunset across a few different spots. Just all that space, that wide open space and being able to see so far into the distance and maybe even a couple of different storms or one storm traveling across the sky. And the clouds so low you feel like they’re going to drop down and swallow you- so wide open but also closing in- like the ocean at night. So wide open you can hardly catch your breath.

After the storm.

Portraits from L'Anse Saint Jean

I’m still in Gaspe. Spent the night in a light house parking lot. Was abruptly awakened at 1:30 because Pilot’s alarm went off. It just goes off for no reason out of the blue. It only happens every couple of months, and the only way to make it stop is to put the key in the door lock. It felt like an air raid, I dove from the bed into the front seat and tried to open the door and get out as quickly as possible. All the people in all the neighboring cars were glaring at me this morning. It wasn’t fun for me either, guys.

So, I’m a little tired. I worked in Cabane Cafe- cutest cafe in the world/Gaspe- for most of the day. I hiked a little in the Forillon National Park- which I now know is the draw of the town of Gaspe. Because the town is fine, but it’s really all about that park. I pan to leave tomorrow, just as soon as I go to the boat yard and get my backdrop needle welded on because it fell over in the wind and broke- again. I went by today but they had just finished for the day and I peeked in and saw the boat they were building for the coast guard. It was so cool- a shiny metal shell. They said one boat takes about a year to build.

These are some of the folks whose pics I took at L’Anse Saint Jean:

Nadia. I hardly know anything about Nadia except that she’s new to the area, she must be somewhere from Quebec because she speaks French, she plays guitar, and would like to travel through the US. She waits tables at the cafe where I spent most of the day working, though she didn’t wait on me. She has a really lovely and warm presence and when I saw her later that evening and asked if I could take her photo she did not hesitate to say yes. This was taken on the pier, at the end of which is a covered structure with bathrooms and picnic tables. It was empty when I set up and suddenly filled up with a tour group wanting to eat their lunch right exactly where we were. Normally I crop out any other background stuff, but the wind is really working hard to co star in these photos and whipping my backdrop around. And I kind of like the other stuff back there a little exposed.

Yves B. lives in the village. We communicated- barely- in French because Yves did not speak any English and also did not hear very well. I think he just wanted to help me set up my backdrop but was agreeable to have his photo taken.

Annaka! Sweet Annaka from Kansas City, MO I saw that she had Missouri plates and immediately asked her all about what she was doing in this remote village in Quebec. She worked here for two months last summer and drove up from Missouri to visit friends and the place for a week because she fell in love with it last year. When she found out I was also traveling, she immediately invited me to stay with her on my way to Colorado. Super vibrant and warm, she’s 20, studying preventative health.

Well, this was unexpected

It turns out when one says, you must visit Gaspe, they just mean the peninsula in general, rather than the actual place called Gaspe. Or, maybe they mean, you should visit Gaspe, by which we mean Perce, and see the large rock formation that juts from the ocean because it’s quite striking and beautiful. I think they rarely, if ever, mean you should actually visit the town of Gaspe.

I sped through the town of Perce last night- saw the rock in the very last moments of light, noticed that it was a very touristy town and though to myself, if this is so touristy, Gaspe must be an explosion. Nope. That was pretty much it. In Gaspe, I spent the night again on a beautiful piece of land surrounded by water and am in a small, rather quiet working town, working. I don’t know honestly. I think I need to explore more. This is a puzzle.

I found a shower yesterday- by found I just mean I paid $5 to shower at a camp site- very good plan. Again, I think I could’ve just walked in without paying, I don’t think anyone would know the difference.

Photos from Tadoussac, where I went after L’Anse Saint Jean and the ferry ride to Trois Pistoles:

In Tadoussac, that ferry in the background is only a 10 minute crossing, it acts as an extension of the highway, traversing the mouth of the Saguenay river from Baie Saint Catherine, but it is the swankiest ferry. Super clean, super high tech, super huge, it feels like the Starship Enterprise with sliding air pressure doors. Way more fancy than the 90 minute ferry from Les Escoumins to Trois Pistoles that I feared might sink along the way.

Kind of looks like another planet, but it’s still Tadoussac.

This was my sleeping spot on the jetty in Les Escoumins! The RV on the left and the lamp post on the right mark the general width of it. It gets a little tiny bit wider at the end. How about that bright cross? I kind of like it. There’s no church there, maybe it’s just for the passing ships?

Morning on the sleeping jetty.

Rocks and shells and seaweed!

The ferry that came to take me to Trois Pistoles. I was on the waiting list because I didn’t have a reservation because I’d been on the fence about how far to take this journey, and when I saw the ferry I hoped that it would be too full to take me. I know I could have easily left but as much as there’s a side of me that fears or dreads a thing there’s another half that’s morbidly curious to see how it will all go. So, I waited to see if I’d make it on the ferry and simultaneously prayed it would be too packed for me, and it was looking really good actually, because they turned a camper away. But then they motioned me forward and I repeated over and over that really it was ok and I could just take another ferry or even forget Gaspesie altogether I’d be ok to end the journey here, but they insisted I drive forward and try. So, I did.

And this is how it looked.

Inside- cute, dated, lots of people inside because it was pretty cold and rainy. I did not see any whales on this trip, even though they’re very common up here. And really the only reason I came this far north, actually. I wasn’t super persistent about it when I realized it might be like seeing dolphins in the ocean, mostly just fins in the water.

Isn’t that Abandon Ship notice jaunty? It looks like instructions to a fun game.

Empty inside, nice colors.

And after I exited the ferry. Lots of boats, but this one in particular. Seems so American.

And a closer view, just because.

No mistaking which country I’m in.

Rimouski

So, as usual, I started this entry a couple of days ago- in Rimouski- and it already feels like weeks. I’m currently in Carleton Sur Mer on the Gaspe peninsula- I made it! It’s incredibly beautiful. And today I woke up at 5:30 because my clock ‘caught’ New Brunswick time which is an hour ahead. It was described to me that way and feels like an illness when you wake up that early, so catching the wrong time seems appropriate. Actually, that’s not true- I really like waking up early. I just rarely do it. I have more thoughts on that later.

Deeper I go into Quebec! In reality, I’m probably only a couple/few hours away from where I was yesterday- L’Anse Saint Jean. I guess I’m gonna do this Gaspe peninsula thing. When in Montreal it felt so far away and just too much, but as I’ve slowly trekked north- a few hours here, a few hours there- I suddenly find myself on the verge of doing that peninsula circuit. Also, Quebec is huge. And I read that most of the population lives along the river- which is really only a small part of Quebec.

Last night I slept in Les Escoumins on the wharf. More wharf sleeping! It is so nice to wake up on the water. Even nicer to not spend money on accommodations. Though, I find that I end up spending the money in other places- which I probably would anyway, but maybe I’m a little more free about now- today was a $70 ferry ride from Les Escoumins to the other side of the river to Trois Pistoles- I haven’t looked up the meaning of pistoles because I want it to mean three pistols and would like it to be a cowboy town. It didn’t look like one but I drove through it pretty quickly.

I’m beginning to feel like a homeless person for reasons that may be mostly aesthetic. I haven’t showered in 4 days? 5 days? a lot of days. And, I have to say, I’m ready for a shower, just on principle mostly. I feel like I’m at the point where I should be ready for a shower, but I don’t necessarily think about it all day every day. I wonder if anyone can tell…? It’s probably tolerable- to me, ha- because it’s been a lot cooler. Oh, and to add to the charming visual: I also have a bunch of mosquito bites on my arms and neck- and on my head (ok, so quick aside about these mosquitos. They’re so aggressive, but large and slow which makes them easy to kill, but also- there are so many of them. They swarmed my car like a plague the other night, please take a moment to imagine this horror. And even though I’m wearing long pants and sweaters they somehow manage to get through the layers- and my head! What kind of mosquito lands on your head and penetrates your hair layer?! And they don’t mind the cold or the wind, they could in fact prefer it. (An aside to the aside, a bot fly may have landed on my head and laid its eggs in my scalp. Biggest fears do come true. It grosses me out to describe why I may suspect this. It’s not because I haven’t showered- because it happened on, like, the second day of no shower, and that’s nothing.)). So, imagine an unshowered itchy person with visible red welts- it’s nice, right? Very romantic.

Also, sleeping in the car in unofficial spots makes me feel more homeless than I have so far on this trip- this is possible because there’s a great site that lists places where it’s ok to park overnight making it easy to not stay at campgrounds. I think this is mostly for RVers, in Pilot I could probably park anywhere, but I like being next to other people. But, you know, no shower, no set place to sleep, not knowing what day or time it is- vacation or homelessness? The line is thin.

What follows are photos from L’Anse Saint Jean, not Rimouski. I don’t think I took many/any photos in Rimouski.

This is pretty much the main beach in the village. It was overcast and moody when I go there, my favorite weather.

The other side, the village is quite small, there’s a great cafe with a balcony that looks out onto the river/lake where I sat pretty much all day and worked though the rain. There’s a boutique or two, some houses and hotels, a great grocery store (which is truly great despite buying cherries that I ate without washing and made me sick, either that or the cheese that I left out for 2 days without refrigeration or the almonds I put in an old kefir container that maybe was not properly washed out), and the staple of every town in Quebec- an ice cream store.

Nice life vest colors! Lots of kayaking happening. I didn’t do it because, well, a lot of reasons- but a couple being the aforementioned sea sickness and the weak core and upper body- though, as I look at the variety of people in the class (and I don’t mean this picture, just, overall while I was down there), I mean, not everyone is the specimen of physical fitness, I can’t be the weakest one, right? So, maybe kayaking is for me after all. And, plus, how could you make money if you only accepted physically fit people? That is really probably a minimum of any population.

Along my walk to the waterfalls, where I was attacked by more mosquitos than I’ve ever experienced in my life. Lots and lots of mosquitos out here. So many.

Waterfalls! Beyond the tree line, you can see the Saguenay River.

More waterfalls!

Baby water snake? He wasn’t dead, I touched him.

Tiny mushrooms!

More tiny mushrooms!

This was the trail to get to the waterfalls- so lush, so lovely. So filled with mosquitos. Also, those faint lines on the left of the picture are for harvesting maple- they’re rubber lines connected by nozzles that are attached to the tree.

The view from where I parked my car for the night- the tides are pretty extreme and the landscape changes fairly drastically with their ebb and flow. A good portion of this greenery would be under water during high tide.

More view from my car!

Nice textures!

And, literally, the view from my car in the morning.

All in one night

These were taken a couple/few weeks ago in Montreal. The first set is when Haiti won one of the qualifying games of the World Cup. This was across the street from where I was staying on Boulevard St. Laurent in the Mile End. The excitement caused everyone to spill out into the street with drums, flags- all the things that make a celebration.

And my night ended in a karaoke bar of seemingly professional singers. Everyone was excellent. I was told by my new friend Victoria that people mostly practice their songs before they do karaoke- this is not a spontaneous, drunken affair. Well, definitely not spontaneous, but somewhat drunken. Also the bartender/owner. I didn’t do a good job of capturing how fun he was. If he knew and liked a song, he would sing back up from behind the bar. He also had a tambourine that he played as accompaniment- from behind the bar. And if you didn’t get on stage fast enough after you picked your song, he’d begin singing the song for you. He hi fived or fist bumped most everyone that came in. And apparently the bar is only open three days a week and the rest of the time? Victoria said he was a flaneur- a man of leisure. Also, she said that sometimes there’s an older guy that accompanies on guitar. What sweet and bizarre heaven was this?

Meanwhile, on the other side of the street from the celebration- it was a dinner at a fancy place for fancy ladies.

This guy! Three is probably too many photos of him, but he was like a butterfly that unraveled. Not in his singing- he wasn’t hiding anything there, but in his stage performance. His singing sounded just like what you’d expect from seeing these photos.

The bartender!! Just look at that tambourine action.

New friend Victoria with the excellent voice and song choices.

Also this guy. He was one of the exceptions to the professional singer rule. But he was really into it and also brought a fan base with him.

Check Engine light

Well, I just posted that last post like a minute ago, but truly it’s a week old. It seems like forever ago. I did not end up sleeping on the wharf that night. I ended up staying at new friend Alex’s place- and I stayed with her for the next 3 nights. I’m not sure yet how to describe those days because they were full of curious personalities and situations to which and whom I had very strong reactions and I don’t want to be a total asshole when I describe them, so maybe I’ll wait a minute. Also, there are a lot of pictures and I’ll get to posting those soon.

Now, I’m at L’Anse Saint Jean. It is so beautiful. The whole drive here was stunning, it felt like an Appalachian version of Switzerland- does that even make sense? Cute, tiny villages nestled within mountains smaller than the Alps. L’Anse Saint Jean is a fjord or is it on a fjord? Not sure how to use fjord in a sentence. And it is wonderful even though the weather has been rainy and overcast since I got here last night. And, last night I decided not to stay at a campground! I found a place on the free camping website which is basically just a little spot on the road right on the water and open to travelers passing through. It was perfect. With camping I always feel this pressure to get up at a relatively decent time because you’re surrounded by a bunch of people- it feels like the suburbs of the outdoors where people are judging you on your productivity, or else they’re wondering if you’ve died in your car. So, I feel like I have to make a show of getting up, making it clear I’m alive, look like I’m doing stuff around my car, and then sometimes I go back to sleep. I know, in reality, probably no one is paying any attention to me. But, here, in the wild, it doesn’t matter. It’s very relaxing. And also campsites charge extra to be close to the water and you’re packed next to a bunch of people- the suburb thing again- and here, I was parked next to only one car of two lovely German girls that were here on a work/travel year and were doing the same thing as me.

So, I have to be in Colorado on the 29th and I’m heading farther into Quebec. Obviously at some point I’ll need to turn around. But, today, I’m working outside at a cafe on the fjord and I may stay here one more night before I head a little more up the St. Lawrence to Les Escoumins where apparently I will be able to see whales. Alex, my new friend, said if I was very brave I may even do a kayak ride in the river, but I’m not sure it’s bravery I need as much as core and upper body strength, because the last time I did a kayak ride on a lazy river in Florida, I almost threw up.

A note about my check engine light- it turns on and off whenever it feels like it. Though, in the two places I love the most so far- Florida and Quebec- the light has been mostly off. It is always on in Virginia.

I'm baaaack...

On Ile d’Orleans. I love it here so much I’ve started to inquire about renting a room. It’s a place that feels like everything summer should be. Last week I was in Montreal again. This time the city proper in a wonderful apartment on Boulevard St. Laurent in the Mile End area. The apartment was everything I needed and wanted- as have many of the other apartments and homes I’ve stayed in, but! I think I’m my best self as a car dweller. And this is why: I am constantly battling my inner inertia- which is so, so, strong- if it weren’t inert it would be strong enough to move mountains. If I have the space to lounge and relax, lounge and relax I will, and I will become the number one procrastinator. I will win all the awards in that category. However, in the car, I can’t really lounge and relax- I mean, it’s very comfy and sometimes in the right weather I’ll read a book in my bed with the back open or take a nap- but that’s just it. I won’t watch 10 hours of Netflix back there.

Anyway, so I’m back on Ile d’Orleans, I arrived super late and still had the pass key from the last time I was at the camp ground so I just let myself in and found a spot. I was nervous about whether this was ok, I wouldn’t even care about being arrested (on my bucket list- but just for 24 hours, I’m not interested in a long prison sentence), but it’s the unsettling though of someone banging on my window in the middle of the night and demanding answers or identification or whatever. So, I called another camp ground in Montreal to get their opinion on whether this would be ok and was told that I would probably not be sued. That was a surprising and unexpected possibility to, well, trespassing. Anyway, none of those things happened, and I kind of think I could’ve left before the offices even opened and I could maybe do that every night and never pay to stay there. Tonight, though, I plan to sleep on the wharf. Now that I’ve graduated to car sleeping and enjoy it, I’m most happy when I’m car sleeping for free. And I’ve already met a few interesting characters/friends who live close to the wharf so I don’t feel completely alone.

So, what have I been doing here instead of watching too much TV? I definitely have not been working as much as I should. Instead, I’ve been touring the cideries (non fizzy, non sweet, mostly delicious), eating cheese (just regular old soft cheese that was made somewhere else in Quebec), and lots of strawberries (island specialty, I was told to look for auto cueillette which is, you know, picking them yourself but I’m not interested in that right now- it’s hot and also- been there done that- are the fields different here than in the US? Probably, but I’ll stress that it’s been very hot and I came here to escape the heat so I’ve been buying already picked berries, which are a refreshingly normal size not like the ones from home which are big as a baby’s head). Another thing I love about this island- so many flowers, there’s not as much concern with a perfectly manicured lawn and instead there’s a wild beauty to the landscaping. And also, so many benches and little spots to sit and gaze at the St. Lawrence. The man that first told me about sleeping on the wharf- Paul- he touted the main benefit as waking up on the water, he’s lived here his whole life and similar to others that I’ve spoken with - they share a love and reverence for this river.

Well, there’s probably a ton more to write but I guess I need to get to the work I haven’t been doing all week. Though, I would like to mention the Israeli parking garage owner in Montreal. But I can’t right now, it’s just too much. So, next time.

Paradise

And I don’t think I’m exaggerating. I left Montreal yesterday after extending my stay by a couple of days because the family I was house sitting for went away for the weekend- it’s a big Quebecois holiday here. Or rather it’s a French holiday that the people of Quebec have adopted. I don’t know anything about it, that was what I read bleary eyed before I fell asleep in a parking lot -in my car- just outside of Quebec City last night. Maybe it’s the strange anxiety that’s accompanied me on this portion of my trip- suddenly a province (provincial? that sounds like an insult) holiday threw me into a tailspin, I was going farther north, would be disconnected from people, everything would be closed, I’d be alone, my French is very weak and definitely doesn’t go far in Canada, but it felt like Armageddon was scheduled to strike and I was expecting to be the only survivor. So I went to Wal Mart and bought tampons, chips, and chocolate. And then found out I locked my keys in my car- again. This time the window was low enough that I could just reach my hand in, thank god. But this would be the third time in 3 months that this has happened. Also, I spilled an entire bottle of water on the driver’s side seat of the car. And my phone was in the seat. And they day before that, I sloshed some water onto my computer keyboard. What’s happening? Am I trying to destroy all of the equipment I depend on? Is this stress? Who am I?

Anyway, I woke up to a very bright morning that started very early. I felt pretty gross, there was melted chocolate in my lap and I was sitting on a plastic bag on a soaked seat. I started to drive the 1 hour that was left to this magical spot called Ile d’Orleans. Though I did not know of it’s magic and in fact was sort of not excited about getting here. I stopped in Quebec City to take a lovely and beautiful walk on the St. Lawrence with hardly anyone out and I think maybe that got my head straight. It was 45 minutes to the island and I felt like I landed on a combo Southern France (never been)/ Northeast US (Maine)/ Martha Stewart slice of heaven. This might not sound good the way I’m describing it. But it is. It was exactly what I needed, I mean I’d convinced myself the world was ending but here there were wineries and cidreries (that’s cideries for those that don’t speak French), and pick your own fruit, and fruit stands, and all the cute things. And they’re open! I’m not alone. And there’s even wi-fi at this amazing little campground. The only downfall is that I don’t have my camera- but I do have a phone. With the tiniest bit of storage on it. And I’m seeing some amazing things. Never mind all the things I described before, it is also the land of people sunbathing in 60 degree weather. I feel like I’m in a tiny, funny, Siberian or Eastern European village. They are in hot tubs, they wear great hats, they smoke hookahs. It feels surreal- and I’m sure I look like an alien to them in my sweater and too short pants and boots.

June in Montreal and the start of Cancer season

I’m failing with titles. Also, I just saw in New York magazine that it’s the start of cancer season, which, normally I’m not an astrology person but it seemed important enough to be an article in a regular magazine, so I read it. What I found out was that it was probably a slow news day and apparently this is the time of lots of emotion and tears and feelings and sticking to your loved ones. As usual, the part that resonated with me was the feelings and tears part. I’m doing a lot of crying these days. I love the traveling and I love being in the world but it can be lonely and I am feeling existentially lonely lately. And James (from an earlier post) found a new phone, I guess that’s what the problem was- no phone, old phone- and has been calling from Florida because he says ‘i love to talk on the phone lol’ and this isn’t really helping with my feelings of isolation because, James, you don’t really know me. And if I started talking to you about all the fears and anxiety and panic I have in my heart and mind, you’d probably not be trying to call anymore. lol. Oh, and, my camera is truly dead. So I bought a new used one and I’ll be going to Vermont next week to get it. In the mean time more photos that I’m finally getting around to posting.

This is Patti Chickens, the woman whose chickens I watched in Tampa. She was part of the group that got their photos taken that morning at the Marathon gas station. I watched her house and chickens while she was away for a week and she was super generous to let me stay a couple of extra days after she got back- this seems to be a theme with most of my house sits. I knew it was time for me to go when she announced that she fed my food to the hens.

That same day, after the Marathon gas station, I drove a few miles down the road to Ybor City and set up next to a cigar shop for some photos. This gentleman, who is from Belize and works a the cigar shop- who, honestly looked like the king of the cigar shop.

This couple was heading down the street to host their weekly TV show.

This gentleman was cleaning the windows in the cigar shop. He was a science teacher in Cuba. He’s lived here for a number of years and is trying to bring his children to the States.

Montreal

I’m here in Montreal. It’s miraculous that I made it considering the border patrol was convinced I was trying to immigrate since my car is my house and they thought once they let me in I would never leave. It seems funny now, but there were lots of tears -surprise- lots of rude behavior- not on my part for once! And I believe if I hadn’t had a house sit gig for which I had to show up, I may have turned around and returned to the US. In retrospect, I’m sure there are lots of things happening on their end I’m not aware of, but there was a level of rudeness beyond just doing the job that one does not expect if you buy into the Canadian stereotype. Though I understand that border guards anywhere and everywhere are their own special breed of human. On top of it all, it’s been rainy- though today is beautiful- and I don’t have my camera because that bag of rice was no help in magically fixing the electrical components that were water damaged. I’m heading into the world today and I’m expecting my camera back at the end of the week. In the mean time, I’ve had the chance to catch up on some photos from the past few weeks/months. Below are portraits from Tampa, one late morning at the Marathon gas station on Nebraska Avenue.

I love these guys- Avaya and Jackson. Jackson was up for it and ready to be in a picture, Avaya was less than convinced.

I didn’t catch his name, I love this photo.

My first pic of the morning was with Dequan. He had a bike he loved, and I took a picture with the bike, too, I guess I should post it. Super chatty, these guys informed me a bus driver had his throat slit by a passenger the day before on his bus route.

James! James wanted to take me out to dinner. I gave him my number because I wasn’t sure what else to do, and I realize I maybe give my number out too freely. I’ve been enjoying the occasional texts I get from him, they’re few and far between and often mysterious which leads me to wonder what he’s up to. He never took me out to dinner, but did text a few weeks later to see how I was doing. I wrote back a lengthy explanation of all of my adventures with no response. Sigh. My texts often have this effect. Then a few weeks later an apology for no response. Then one more text telling me not to send his pic just yet to his phone. Why, I asked? Nothing. I emailed his photo today. I hope all’s ok, and also- mystery!

The next stop on the Great American Roadtrip is...

I’m off to Montreal! Camera was not doing well today. It sits in a ziploc bag with five pounds of rice working its magic. Hopefully.

This is Daliz. I set up at the Marathon gas station in Tampa a few weeks ago and met him there. When I looked back through the photos it was obvious that it was really bright because in lots of the portraits it seems painful for these guys to keep their eyes open without squinting. But, I love this picture. I love how he’s looking down, it feels strong because, well, amazing body- but it’s also like he forgot I was there for a minute and he was lost in his own thoughts. In reality he was probably just avoiding the glare.