Last Saturday we began what we thought would be a 3 week road trip to the Dakotas. Plans of activities and destinations had been formulating for months, and excitement mounted as the date of our departure arrived. Day 1, driving to Kansas City to visit friends, camping north of the city in a beautiful lake. Abnormally hot weather didn’t bother us too much as we had electric hookups and could run the AC. The addition of a sandy beach provided a pleasant escape from the afternoon heat, and time spent with old friends warmed our hearts.

We had planned on leaving the KC area Monday morning and starting the next leg of our journey to the Badlands of South Dakota. As we tend to do quite often while traveling, a check of the weather foretold unseasonable heat for both South and North Dakota. With daily expected temperatures reaching into the mid 90s, and since our preferred method RVing, boondocking, meant not having available the use of AC, the next two weeks of our vacation were looking to be everything but relaxing.

That night after the kids had gone to bed, a plan began to form in my mind. After a quick discussion with Alyssa on the desire for cooler weather, we called the kids down out of their bunks for a family meeting on our bed.

What if we scrapped our plans altogether? The question was initially met with confusion. Why would we do that? We’re excited to see and do the things we’ve planned on seeing and doing for months. True, but are we excited to see and do those things in sweltering heat without a way to cool ourselves and our camper? No. No that sounds awful, was the consensus. And so I offered the alternative plan. What if we drive as far north from here as we can? Minnesota.

Minnesota had always just been a state to fly into and abruptly out of en route to somewhere else. Other than the Boundary Waters being described as a great fishing spot and an even greater place to get carried away by swarms of mosquitos, Minnesota was largely a mystery. And while the primary determining factor to considering spending the remainder of our vacation there was admittedly the cooler weather, a quick search through trusted travel guides painted a picture of something much greater. In fact, the information gathered in just a few short minutes provided enough exciting destinations to fill years of vacations. And the more we researched the more destinations became must-sees, until with reluctance we were forced to accept that not all of these destinations would be obtainable on this trip. And so we put together a rough itinerary that would fill our remaining 2 1/2 weeks with beauty, excitement, and rest. Minnesota. Who knew I ever wanted you? Not me. But here I am wanting you oh so much!

If we have learned anything over the years of travel, it is the benefits of remaining flexible. You never know how much or how little a place might speak to your soul, requiring an extended stay or one cut short, or if a completely unforeseen destination may beckon and fill a need you didn’t know you had. However, despite our commitment to flexibility, we have developed a rough itinerary.

I am currently writing this from a reclined position, seated directly outside our camper, in an isolated and mostly empty campground on Moose Lake just north of Grand Rapids, MN. While we have yet to see the lake’s namesake, we have thoroughly enjoyed these last two days of rest, reading, swimming and snorkeling in crystal clear water, and exploring this little slice of heaven. Who knew I needed a few days on a lake I was previously unaware existed? Not me. But I definitely needed it.

Tomorrow morning we leave for Voyageur National Park where we hope to spend a few days paddling and evenings stargazing (we brought along a telescope) in one of our nation’s most remote areas. Who knows, maybe we’ll see a moose, a black bear, a bald eagle, or even the Northern Lights.

After that we plan to travel over to Lake Superior near the highly acclaimed town of Grand Marais, then to the Apostle Islands followed by two nights in a hotel in downtown St Paul in order watch 4th of July fireworks, and wrapping up our trip with 3 nights in Wisconsin Dells. But who knows? Maybe our plans will change along the way to include something else, or somewhere else, we didn’t even know we needed.

Life is funny like that. Sometimes our journey takes us along highly predictable paths that align with our hopes, dreams, and values. And at other times what we think we want, isn’t at all what we actually needed. Sometimes we feel lost and confused along the way. We may even feel frustration when our plans go up in flames. Anger, sadness, and other stages of grief may accompany such a loss. And while such emotions are appropriate and necessary to express, it is also possible that you are experiencing precisely what you need in order to become an even greater version of who you are already.

Embrace the journey, my friends. Remain flexible. Let go of plans that no longer fit you, and lean into experiences you didn’t even know you wanted. You may end up surprised to find yourself being led to a gentle water that will restore your soul.

Today I climbed a mountain. I probably shouldn’t use that word “climbed”, as there was no actual climbing involved. That would’ve required ropes and carabiners and upper body strength. This was hiking but at least by my standards, very strenuous.

My hike started at the base of a mountain next to our valley campsite in the Sawtooth Mountains of Idaho. From our site it didn’t really look that big or tough. But this place has a way deceiving the eyes with its grandness. I’m in decent shape, so i thought I’d make it to the top fairly quickly, maybe 20-30 minutes.

I started climbing, and after the first 100 ft of elevation, I was sucking wind. It should be noted we’re already at 6400 ft here, so the air is considerably thinner than what my lungs are used to. But I had committed to it, and I am more than a little stubborn, so I wasn’t turning back.

The ground beneath was mostly shale that liked to give way under each step, and the dense sage brush made any direct route impossible. After 15 minutes of climbing my lungs were screaming for air and I wasn’t even 1/4 of the way up.

I sat down for a few minutes, taking a look around me. The camper and truck had shrunken significantly but were still easily distinguishable on the valley floor. A few yellow wildflowers hung to the rocky mountainside with shallow roots. A cricket, several shades darker than those back home, jumped nearby. My breathing was getting back under control and my legs felt good to go, so I rose and continued my climb.

The next several hundred feet were no less strenuous than the first, and an additional 20 minutes brought me to approximately the halfway point. Regardless of the slower-than-anticipated pace, I was still enjoying myself quite a bit. On my next break, I noticed a ground squirrel scurry along the rocks and duck into its hole when it noticed my presence. A caterpillar had hitched a ride on my shorts somewhere along the way, and after carefully placing him on the branch of a shrub, I continued on.

Before long the vegetation began to change. Sage became more scarce and was replaced with other shrubs, of which type I have no idea. I did come upon a large patch of what I believed to be laurel. Many of these were taller than I, so I decided to skirt around that patch over to a section of smaller shrubs. At this point the vegetation became very thick. While up to now I had found it easy to navigate footing through or around the plants, here it became quite difficult to find a route forward. It was right around this point I first noticed my lungs becoming more accepting of the lower oxygen levels, for they had stopped burning quite so much. This simple relief in itself provided me enough joy to continue my trek upward. And finally, after nearly 1 hour and 20 minutes of climbing, I crested the top, to be rewarded by the most stunning 360 degree view of the surrounding mountains.

Using gps on my phone I was able to determine I had ascended nearly 1400 ft in approximately 1/2 mile. If my math is correct, this meant the average slope of my hike had been about 27 degrees. I’m not going to pretend that’s some sort of major accomplishment in the world of mountaineering, but for this 36 year old dad who spends most of his time behind a desk, I feel pretty good about it all.

I’m in a bit of a contemplative mood lately, so I couldn’t help but be reminded of a life lesson I’ve been holding to for quite a few years. Just because something is hard doesn’t make it bad. Hard and Bad do not go hand in hand. The climb was hard, very hard, at times quite painful, but I enjoyed the heck out of it! I am so grateful I still have the physical ability to push myself like that. Sure, I’ll be sore tomorrow and maybe the day after, but I hope the soreness only serves to remind me of a time I enjoyed something difficult, stopped to take note of the little beauties along the way, and was richly rewarded for my efforts.

When we first dreamt up this adventure, we wanted to weave into it a focus on mindfulness meditation. If you’ve ever devoted any amount of time to meditation, you know how hard it is. BTW, if you’re one of those natural contemplative types who finds meditation as natural as breathing, keep your pie hole shut. For this guy, it’s still quite difficult and often frustrating. To quiet your mind and to allow yourself to become present fully in that moment can be utterly exhausting, discouraging, and even scary (who knows what kind of crazy stuff might emerge from the deep, dark shadows of our consciousness?).

So far in our travels, I’ve managed to get quite a bit of time to sit. Much of that time has been spent behind the wheel. Pro tip: get your kids DVD players, headphones, and enough movies to open their own Blockbuster. And remember, when one movie ends and they ask if they can watch another, the answer is always YES! While their minds might turn to mush, this is preferable to hearing them fight in the backseat and having to threaten to “pull this car over!” Because let’s be honest, I’m not really going to pull over. Does anyone actually follow through on that threat?

I recall our first few days of travel, my mind still occupied with typical concerns: job responsibilities, finances, house projects (never ending), and all the other mind-clutter we tend to hold onto as a chorus, or cacophony in my case, of concerns vying for our attention.

It wasn’t until our second week of travel that my mind began to clear, and I was truly able to focus on a single moment without be dragged backward by a familiar concern. For the last two weeks I’ve managed to do pretty well at staying in the moment. I’m human, so it’s not been perfect, but I have noticed a significant uptick in the amount of time I have remained fully present. At times I’ve even caught myself realizing how little attention I have given to my typical concerns, inevitably inspiring a moment of panic at the thought of loosening the firm grasp I had on them.

But who was grasping who? (Alyssa is that who or whom? Only Language Arts teachers know this stuff). Was I really in control of these things as much as they were in control of me? How often do we fixate on our “responsibilities” for fear that if we release them, even for just a moment, we might lose control altogether? Are your fixations about finances? Health? Your children? Your career? All of the above? Welcome to the club!

How much do I miss out on when I’m busy fixating on those things? How many happy moments have been squelched by the worries and fears that smother my ability to simply enjoy that moment? And in the end, does it make me happier to indulge in my fixations? Has my quality of life improved at all? Nope.

Today my mind began returning to its old fixations. After a few moments of inner-wrestling, I was able to gently set them aside and enjoy a moment laying in the sun, listening to, and even enjoying, the sound of the kids playing in the camper, the smell of sage brush, and the taste of my favorite sparkling water, without again being interrupted by stressful thoughts.

But it’s easier right now. I’m away from home. The trick will be to keep this up once we return home and I am face to face with the objects of my fixations. Will I then have the mental fortitude to set them aside from time to time? Will I be able to fully enjoy a moment without being snagged by the lure of old, established neuro-pathways?

Time will tell. But I am grateful for this time, the lessons learned, and the hope that I can be better at this whole mindfulness thing than I was.

Better. Not perfect. Never perfect. Just better.

The previous few days have been spent in Washington, mostly at Mt. Rainier National Park. It is a hauntingly beautiful place, where moss covered trees blanket the mountains, which are in turn shrouded by the clouds. Giant ferns tell of the mountain’s affinity to rain (averaging 90 inches per year). The nearly 30 feet of snow that accumulates up top each winter melts and cascades down boulder-strewn streams on its way to the valley rivers below.

One cannot help but to be reflective in this sort of place. It is indeed, as the ancient celts referred to such places, a thin space, where the mystery of heaven is scarcely veiled and the spirit seems to connect to Spirit more easily.

Of the many reflections I had in this place, I will share this now. My hands. For the last two and a half weeks my hands have been dirty. I have showered, no worries there. I have washed my hands regularly, but the general work of keeping camp, running the generator, the grime of truck maintenance , which is seemingly never ending, all contribute to a blackness that clings constantly to the pores of my hands. It stubbornly clings to my nail beds in spite of scrubbing, and must serve to those I meet as a glaring neon sign of a lifestyle in contrast to a more socially acceptable cleanliness.

Over the weeks I have, out of necessity, come in contact with many a stranger. Sometimes a hand shake was exchanged, and other times money. But with each social or financial transaction I was keenly aware of the dirty hands I was extending as a representation of myself.

How many times have I come in contact with someone with grime under their nails or grease-stained hands, and subconsciously, or even consciously, judged them as dirty, unkempt, or perhaps even of a lesser class than I?

Camping like we’ve been doing requires work. We’re certainly not roughing it, but nonetheless a certain amount of work is necessary for basic survival. Whether it’s siphoning water, changing the oil in the generator, emptying the waste tanks, checking tire pressures and fluid levels, or a plethora of other tasks, these tasks must be done. And with many of these tasks, no one else in our family has the ability or know-how to complete them, so for the sake of the family’s survival and comfort, I do them. And I have been happy to do them. Only once, when it snowed in the Tetons (remember my aversion to snow) have I resented being the one on whom these responsibilities fell. And so it has been for the sake of my wife, for the sake of my children, and for the sake of our family I have dirtied my hands daily. And over the weeks, those dirty hands have begun to become something entirely different to me. Rather than a source of embarrassment or a stain on my middle class pride (as if that’s a thing) I have begun to wear them as a badge of honor. My oil-stained nail beds are a reminder of how I’ve kept my family warm. The black grime ground into my pores a symbol of making sure our vehicle was well maintained and safe for the many miles ahead. The dirt on my knees the story of a father who knelt to blow on the coals so his kids could roast marshmallows over a roaring fire. My dirtiness is a badge of honor.

The thing is though, I only have to do this for 6 weeks, and even that was of my own choosing. To all those parents out there who allow themselves to daily get dirty and to seemingly never get fully clean for the sake of your family, I salute you. You have earned my respect from now on.

That being said, after two and half weeks on the road, we determined a break from our 135 sq. ft. home-on-wheels was in order. A swim in the hotel pool, and one long, hot shower later, and my hands are fully clean…for now.

Note to self: teach the kids how to do the dirty jobs.

We’re two weeks in. Four weeks to go. The next few posts I plan on writing are centered around lessons I have learned during this journey. I am sure I have many more yet to lean, but here is one I was allowed to learn today.

Death can be beautiful. While hiking to a waterfall in Mt Ranier National Park, we came upon a dead tree. We had surely passed many dead trees without paying them any mind, but this one stood out from the rest in that it was starkly white in contrast to the hues of greens and browns that lay as its backdrop. I have no idea why it was white, why it died, or really anything of its story. But I do know that even in death it stood straight and tall, contributing greatly to the beauty of the life around it.

I think that especially in our more Western cultures we tend to avoid the topic of death, and it therefore, almost by default, takes on a darkness and a lack of beauty. I don’t mean to discount the pain death can cause for those left to grieve. Certainly death can bring sorrow. I know this fact personally, as this very week marked the one year anniversary of my grandfather’s death. He was one of the single most greatest influencers of my life, and I will never stop missing him. But I think that when one’s life is lived in such a way that they grow straight and tall, that the character they build, the lives they positively impact, and the strength they gain through adversity, that even in death their memorial continues to contribute to the beauty of life.

Thank you for that reminder, old tree. In you I was allowed to see my grandpa once again and was also reminded of the legacy I wish to leave.

Death can be beautiful, but more so when the life was lived straight and tall.

Having never been a woman, I cannot really prove this theory, but I sometimes wonder if there is something about being a man that makes one crave adventure. The feel of freedom, action, and danger all wrapped into one exciting package thrills the soul of the man. In this day and age of political correctness, where we are careful to attribute a characteristic to one sex without also providing the same to the other, perhaps I’m treading on thin ice with some readers. Please trust it is not my intention to offend nor to dive into the complexities of what goes into gender or sexual identity. That’s a different topic for a different day.

I do wonder, however, if perhaps somewhere in our efforts to promote and provide equality to all genders (a very worthwhile pursuit with the greatest of intentions) we’ve stymied the natural/evolutionary desire for adventure in those identifying as men.

This has been a a battle for me in my adult life. As a young man, it was acceptable and even encouraged that I participate in “manly” adventures like camping, fishing, backpacking, climbing, sports, and other stereotypical male activities. But as an adult male, especially in my role as husband and father, that manly identity is encouraged to take on other characteristics, and necessarily so. In our modern age men share in the responsibilities of keeping a home and raising children. And we should! However, when we allow our identity as men to be represented solely by these characteristics and abandon those more traditionally manly ones, I believe we suffer as a result.

I have no data to back this up other than my own experience. I am happiest, more content, a better husband and father, when I provide myself the opportunities of adventure. On the flip side, I find myself more restless, insecure, and short-tempered when I allow the whole my identity to be wrapped up in the more day to day responsibilities of husband and father.

I am sure that even those readers identifying as females can use this as a point of reflection. When each of us humans neglects that part of us that makes us come alive, the whole of our being suffers.

This trip has served as a gulping of cool water for my malnourished man-soul. The freedom from typical responsibilities, the sense of self-reliance, the wildernesses in which we have intentionally placed ourselves; all those things have begun to provide me with an energy I have not felt in a great many years. I feel myself coming back alive and finding again the identity of adventurer I owned as a boy.

I am grateful for the days ahead that will not only continue to nurture this side of myself, but will allow me the time to formulate a plan to continue nourishing my “manliness” once we return to reality.

I wouldn’t consider myself a well-travelled person, at least by many standards. I’ve been to around 40 states and a small handful of countries. In those travels I’ve seen some beautiful places, places that take your breath away, and places for which words serve only an injustice. Today we crossed into Idaho. At first it seemed much like Wyoming. Stunning, but kind of what you’d expect. Picturesque mountains covered by coniferous forests. But then you drive down the final mountain side and seemingly the whole of Idaho opens up before you. In a massive display of plains and prairies, there is only space. Lots and lots of space, the vast majority of which was completely uninhabited, unsettled, and altogether unspoiled by any of the efforts of men. For as far as the eye could see, nothing but barren space inhabited solely by sage brush. We drove 8 hours today, over 5 of which were in Idaho. In the first 4 hours we saw two towns. 2! And I wouldn’t really call them towns. They were more like a handful of mobile homes positioned around a gas station in the middle of the sage brush. How these people eek out a living, I haven’t a clue. There’s no farming. No livestock or crops. No industry. No-thing! For hours!

Something about that landscape was severely intriguing to me. A sense of mystery settled in as mile after mile produced no further answers than had the previous miles. Driving for hours through nothing. We simply don’t see this in the Midwest. You might drive an hour, at most, between towns, but that’s only if you take the backroads. But today’s driving was all highways, although I will say that Idaho’s standards of what constitutes a highway is much different than Indiana’s.

It should be noted that we did discover one interesting thing in the wasteland of south-central Idaho. INL. Google it. Idaho National Laboratories. I first spotted it as a grouping of strangely shaped buildings tucked several miles off the highway. A few minutes later we passed the entrance. For the next hour and a half we saw nothing else. There we would miles and miles of sage brush and then suddenly another location of the INL. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat. I think I’ve watched too many spy movies or read too many conspiracy theories because this place truly wigged me out. I haven’t googled it yet (although I told you to) partially because I’m afraid I’ll get wrapped up in some secret black-site operation and I’ll have to be brainwashed to forget what I know. BTW, CIA people if you’re reading this, I know nothing, saw nothing, and plan to leave it at that.

Okay, so back to Idaho, the non-government conspiracy part. Did ya’ll know there’s a National Monument called Craters of the Moon that is basically just 43,000 acres of old lava formations? You’re driving through the sage brush when all of a sudden you crest a hill and BLAM, black peculiarly-shaped boulders as far as the eye can see. I had to pull over and see these things up close. Here’s an up close look at an ancient lava boulder. Its hard to perceive the scale, but this rock is about 4 ft in diameter. There’s 43,000 acres of these guys, some bigger, some smaller.

So that’s about where the foothills start. You see them a long time before you climb them. Strangely the road just keeps skirting around each one. Never gaining elevation. Just when you think you’ve got to start going up, nope, you just drive around it, and all the ones after it, until what looks like the last foothill before the plains reappear. That’s when the roads decides it’s had enough of the flat land and would like to see something different. And all of a sudden a landscape that seemed so lonesome, eerie, and unwelcoming, gives way to the most vibrant geography imaginable. If you e ever gone through a tough spell only to have that trouble suddenly gone and replaced by blessings, you understand how I felt today. Upon coming into these mountains, I immediately felt a sense of refreshing. There’s something warm and welcoming about them. Compared to the harsh, sharp rocky crags of the Tetons, these mountains appear soft with large sloping faces, each covered in a mixture of sage brush, pine trees, and wild flowers. The snow capped giants come into focus to set a pristine backdrop for the beauty of this treasure.

We turned off the highway just past Ketcham onto a first road saying it was a National Park access road. Once passing a handful of homes, the view opened up into an stunning valley, large sloping mountains on either side lead your eyes to rest on a small but rushing brook winding its way through the bright green valley. A handful of designated campsites are scattered with easily a quarter mile or more between. Following this road back for about 5 miles we found heaven.

It’s been a few days since my last post. Partially because we’ve actually been quite busy, but mainly because I’ve had no signal. How dare they not put more cell towers in these mountains! Don’t they know that all those millennials camping down the road from us (the ones with their camper vans all parked in a circle like a mobile commune) need to post the selfies they took next our camper last night. I kid you not, these dirty hipsters took turns posing with a ukulele in front of the sunset. I’m sure by now they’ve found some local coffee shop to mooch WiFi off in order to post said selfies.

Anyway, back to what you’ve missed. Well Eyan broke in the new truck by puking all over the back seat. If you’ve seen the original Exorcist you know the scene. I swear he managed to get arch in the flow. That takes some serious pressure! Impressive distance from such a little guy. So yeah, that new car smell is overrated anyway. Who wants their car to smell like cleanliness for those first few weeks? Wouldn’t you much rather have a daily reminder of your child each and every time you open your car door? A faint reminiscent odor of that fateful day when you saw your child’s head turn in circles while spewing a vile liquid resembling pea soup. That’s love ladies and gentlemen. That’s when you know your kid means the world to you. At least that’s what I assume. I wouldn’t actually know, because when I open the door, all I can think is “could we just make him ride in the bed?” I mean, it has a cover, and if he blew chunks all over it, I could just hose it off, much like I wanted to do to him two days ago.

Other than that all we’ve done is hike, eat, read, sleep, ride a sweet coaster down a mountain, siphon water into our tanks, and mediate fights between our children. They say arguing with your sibling is good for kids, as it helps them develop conflict resolution skills that will aide them in their future marriage, or something like that. You get the idea. If that’s true, I’m convinced my kids will one day make excellent spouses. Their spousal arguments will be fast and efficient, leaving both parties thoroughly satisfied in the outcome. But seriously guys, the fighting. Holy fighting. As a youngest sibling I have to give Eyan some mad props. The boy has learned to push her buttons like a pro. #prouddadmoment.

We hit the road again in the morning, and should arrive at Crater of the Moon National Monument by lunch. Not sure if we will stay there for the night or simply take some millennial-style selfies in some craters befor journeying on to the lovely Sawtooth Mountains of Southern Idaho. If only I had brought my ukulele!

This guy. I struggle to find words for how important this man is both in the scope of our nation’s history and in regards to the development of our national park system. We owe him a deep debt of gratitude for his pursuit of land conservation for the sake of personal retreat and solitude. Were it not for his efforts, many of the natural sanctuaries in which our spirits are most nourished would not have been rescued from development.

He was wild, perhaps even a little (or a lot) crazy. The adventures he pursued so passionately, and the words he used to describe the importance of the natural world all allude to a man who was uniquely gifted in a way that comes along rarely.

Our world would not survive all of us being like John, for his energy and passion would certainly be dangerous in mass; but as surely as a pinch of salt brings forward the sweetness of a cake, so John’s spirit of worry-less adventure has made each of our lives much sweeter in the assurance of the conservancy of these earthly tabernacles.

Thank you, John.