Life Notes in the Margin

We stayed overnight at a Pilot Flying J in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. It was our first sleepover at a big-rig oasis. But it wasn’t my first experience with a truck stop. My dad was a long-distance trucker for most of his working life. He retired with over one-million miles behind the wheel. I discovered the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean on a trip to Oregon with him. I explored the big city with a truckload of candy for Brooklyn, New York. I’m forever grateful for our adventures beyond the invisible, seemingly impenetrable border around my small hometown. He showed me places that pull me toward somewhere new tomorrow. Dad, you changed my life’s trajectory. Thank you. The oily scent of diesel fuel hangs in the air, hard-working truck engines growl, and a continual tide of professional drivers ebbs and flows. I hear faint echoes of my big-rig adventures.

I walk along a groomed trail in Mirror Lake State Park, Lake Delton, Wisconsin. The rhythm of my pace fades into subconscious thought. I breathe in calm. I breathe out and smile. The patchwork quilt of nature sounds slowly unwinds into separate threads. The cool wind brushes against my skin. No labels are needed now. I simply notice stray thoughts, then shift my focus to a sound, touch or smell.  My physical, emotional and spiritual fabric has been washed in this nature bath.

Door County, Wisconsin was our destination for the weekend. We once visited this area as newlyweds. Thirty years later we were back, on a random search for good wine. We landed at Simon Creek Vineyard and Winery. I pointed the truck camper down a narrow country driveway, past immaculate grapevines. Inside the store I felt a hushed sadness hovering over the staff. A simple sign behind the bar reminded customers that the store would be closed on Saturday, in honor of Colonel Tim Lawrie. I bought two bottles of wine and asked, “who’s Colonel Lawrie? The host replied, “He’s the owner. He passed away unexpectedly last weekend.” The vineyard that day became a memorial. The hallways held Colonel Lawrie’s collection of combat medals, photos with VIPs and wine industry accolades. Ben Franklin famously practiced thirteen virtues. Each day he began by asking “What good shall I do this day?” Colonel Lawrie left behind the good of delicious wine, a thriving business and a long history...

“Cmon Grandpa, walk with me through the Barefoot Kid Kingdom!” Landon took my hand as we stepped through the mid-summer’s grass at Base Camp K. It was soft on his bare feet, warmed by the sun. He expertly avoided each thistle hazard, as if tracking a carefree guidance system. One lap, two laps, then a third around the yard. I looked at my feet, sensory input muted by manufactured soles. My grandson chose the right foot gear for overland lawn travel. So I joined him! For the first time in many years I walked barefoot through the grass, childlike discovery rekindled.

We are an object in motion, rolling down concrete paths on our truck camper adventure. We stay in motion until we decide to rest. We have a few Base camps around the country, strategically located near friends and family. It’s a chance to refresh relationships and do work that’s piled up on the road. Base camp K is located in Southeast Wisconsin, where Marcia's parents are our generous hosts! I’m reminded of traditional housing benefits and costs at each base camp. We can shower with more than 6 gallons of hot water. We relax our diligence over fresh and waste water conservation. The dining table has more than four seats. I sink into a buttery-soft leather sofa. A big screen lures us with our favorite NetFlix and Hulu television shows. Reliable WiFi is pure luxury. There are many opportunities for accidental meetings and partings. I also see the cost of a sticks and bricks house. Lawn care, cleaning and unexpected repairs are continual challenges. Stuff is carefully acqui...

I love the warm glow of our camper nightlight. It was a farewell gift from our daughter Elizabeth, a little decorating touch with well wishes for safe travels. The soft glow of love and life shines through the heart shaped window. The trailer is off the hitch, symbolizing a home at rest for the night. There we are grounded, held in hearts and thoughts from far away. When I see it, I’m reminded that wherever we are, we are home.

On July 14th we stood at the starting line with thoughts, visions, dreams and goals for this truck camper adventure. We set out to hunt for cleaner air. Phoenix is a geographic basin, not a valley of sun, that swaddles lungs in a fuzzy brown cloud. We intend to be closer to family, friends and places that move our needle. We hold the spirit of adventure while we’re still durable. Our financial compass is set toward a tax friendlier state, to stretch our retirement dollars. We’ll do this truck camper adventure for at least a year, maybe more. We think we’ll find a new home base, build some kind of fixed shelter, and travel during the worst weather to someplace more pleasant. We hope to find our forever place, a place that feels warm, soft and comfortable, like a well-worn flannel shirt on a winter day. We are committed to being present with the adventure, not to worry about where cash flows. We adopted a travel mindset to flex our plan as needed, not to have a fixed destination or c...

Knob Noster State Park, Knob Noster, Missouri Mid-July, 2017, and it’s our first full-stop, extended stay at this tree-lined state park in central Missouri. Nearly twelve-hundred miles from Phoenix, we welcome the sweet relief of nearness to our daughter’s family. The cicadas hum, calling to each other in a patchwork communication grid. We are pummeled on a sweltering day with 112 degree heat index. Some nights the rain falls hard, like staccato punches on the camper roof. The trees create a rainforest canopy, providing much needed shade. The humidity traps moisture on my skin. A dramatic change from the water-wicking, Arizona desert heat. This beautiful park will be our new home for two weeks. Daily campsite fee, $21. Being minutes from our grandsons, priceless.

We passed Gallup, New Mexico about 6pm. It was too early to stop for the night and we did not want to layover in Gallup. Too tired to reach Albuquerque, we turned our rental truck and truck camper caravan toward the exit for Grants, New Mexico. I’ve never been to Grants, nor remember passing it on several trips along US 40. But I was grateful for this oasis in the desert, where we’d do our first Wal-Mart overnight stay. Thank you Sam Walton, for accommodating many weary travelers. The store staff was friendly, the parking lot was level and harbored at least a dozen rigs of all sorts. Cheers for a great night’s sleep in a strange city where nobody knew our name.

Phoenix is like a powerful magnet, attracting thousands of new residents every year with the promise of jobs, economic growth and sunshine. We enjoyed all those things over nearly a quarter century of desert living. I fired up the fully loaded, 22-foot moving truck on departure day, Marcia would be in trail as the pilot-in-command of our Arctic Fox 990 truck camper. But on the day we pointed the rental truck, truck camper and two dogs north, after days of packing and loading in intense, 108 degree heat, it seemed Phoenix would not let us go. One mile down the road the rental truck’s check-engine light came on! I turned into Mayo Hospital parking lot and discovered the tow-able car dolly straps were loose. Oy! I tightened the straps and the light went out after restarting the engine. But, just a few miles further the light came on again! No more than four miles into our road trip we exited the freeway and called Penske roadside assistance. The service technician showed up about an hour ...

Every journey begins with a single step. In our case it was about 50 steps, to stay with our dear friends on the first night of our adventure. It was strange, almost surreal to look across the street at a house that we once owned. I watched the new owner move a few things into the garage as if to plant his flag and claim the property. Yet, I felt little emotion at the passing of our longtime residence. I am grateful for what the house provided, shelter from extreme Arizona summer heat and angry monsoon storms. I am happy about a life well lived there, instead of sad about its loss. I’m glad for the echos of laughter down the hallways and for holidays spent with the people that matter most. Seasons for earning a living and raising a daughter have come and gone. Now a new season for adventure is here. During this transition I’ve learned what’s essential for happiness, that home is wherever we are.

“Y” is a crooked letter that begs for a straight answer. We spent countless hours thinking about, planning for and executing a way toward the people that matter most. We looked to move away from the costly entanglement of house ownership. So we began the process to sell a house we lived in for 21 years. We packed a fraction of our stuff in a moving a truck destined for a storage unit. We took all of our accumulated memories but left the sticks and bricks for the new owner's story. During the process we stayed focused on our why. Why are we subjecting ourselves to the intense pain of selling a house? Our why is centered on our daughter’s beautiful family in a faraway place. Our why is found in Marcia’s aging parents and a strong pull to be nearer to them, We want better air quality and a tax friendly home state. Our new season began in July 2017, moving from a 2,200 square foot house into a 100 square foot truck camper for the next 12 months or more. It is a season for adventur...

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