The Covered Wagon

It occurred to me somewhere around mile 1000 of our cross country odyssey that we were moving across the country like the settlers in their covered wagons. In our Expedition, indeed a covered wagon, I observed some similarities. The settlers took all their worldly possessions with them on their voyage. Check. They were able to prepare meals out of the back. Check. And they would bunk down in the back. Perhaps not overnight, but at 4am, Alastair and I can "bunk down" with the best of them. So, check.

Many people would not undertake a 2000 mile drive with a 10 month old. We are not these people. We laugh scornfully at them and their substandard spirit of adventure. We are the kind of people that start to get itchy feet when we have lived in the same place for more than 2 years. In fact, Kim and I have now lived in Houston for three years and have not had a good road trip since we moved from California.
(A future Sir Edmund Hilary) Scratch that, as the California trip is referred to in our house as The Trip from Hell. So, we haven't had a good road trip since we left New Hampshire.

If you haven't driven across our country, or at least half of it, in the last 5 years or (gasp!) 10, you need to start working on your itemized packing list and take some time off work. We live in a phenomenally beautiful and BIG place, where everyone speaks the same language (except in Arkansas), and accepts the same currency. Spending a week "in between" instills a sense of scale and appreciation for just how special our country is far better than watching it unfold on a light box in the living room ever will.

Before I start singing God Bless America, we'll flash forward to the present. All of our stuff has been put away, the cooler dried and returned to the garage, and the hiking boots are back in the closet, the last vestiges of Maine dirt threating to crumble down on the shirts hanging below.

The house is quiet and Kim and I are already talking about next year and the ski trip we're going to squeeze in sometime this winter.

And without further delay, the reason that you are all here (and don't try to deny it). The pictures!

The (tired) family atop Saddleback Mountain, third tallest mountain in Maine.

Alastair and Papa, chilling on the porch

Discovering pebbles in the sand

Wading in the water

Preparing to Swim (and before I get letters of complaint, the above child was only submerged to his legs, which was quite pleasant. Full submersion, however, does remind the swimmer that the ice has only been off the lake for 2 months).

Alastair meets his Great Grammie.

"Hey! This isn't an approved child safety restraint!" Alastair tries out my new purse.

Hiking a smaller mountain (but in fairness to Kim, still a mountain!)

Kayaking with Daddy

(This one is for Uncle Billy, one of our most loyal subscribers. Do you know where this is?)