Off-Roadin' in the Swagger Wagon

"And now it's time for the REST of the story!" as Paul Harvey always said.

A little recap. We had a fantastic hike up to the Devil's Head fire lookout in Pike National Forest.

We were all pleasantly tired after the hike and loaded back into our Toyota Sienna minivan at the bottom of the trail. I finally convinced Travis to give me the keys and let me drive. I nearly had a nervous breakdown getting to Devil's head in the passenger seat, because Travis naturally hugs the side of the road. Hugging the side of the road would normally be better than hugging the middle line, but when the side of the road is washouts and drop-offs, it's just not the place you want to be. I literally asked him, "Please, for my sanity, can I have the keys and drive?"

He passed me the keys and shook his head with a smile. Little did he know he would spend the next 3 hours as his wife's new off-roading coach when those keys changed hands.

Our maps showed that Rampart Range road, going north-south through the park would take us right back to Woodland Park, where we would get back on a blacktop highway, then we would drive the familiar highway back to the cabin. So we started due south on Rampart Range road.

A washboardy, wide series of switchbacks made Rampart Range Road a bumpy ride back to Woodland Park, but a decent one, nonetheless.

The area of Pike National Forest we were in was a playground for ATVs, motorbikes, Jeeps, etc. The ATV trails followed beside and crossed over Rampart Range Road many times.

The kids and Travis were having a great time, aside from constant vibration from the washboard road, watching the ATV and dirt bikers navigate the trails. I was Sunday driving, not because it was Sunday, but because I couldn't go over about 15 mph due to the condition of the road.

I looked toward several dirt bikers at one point in the drive when I had slowed to a stop to make sure I wouldn't run over any of them crossing the road. One dirt biker stopped his bike and was just STARING at us through under the shadow of his helmet and sunglasses. I pushed the gas again when all was clear and commented to Travis that I was surprised the biker just stared so obviously at us. How rude!

Well, turns out he was the last person we saw for about 5 hours! He was probably wondering what we crazy nuts were doing driving a minivan through the off-roading section of the park.

I used to think people who got lost were just ignorant or didn't have the patience to look at a map. God has a great way of teaching me grace and compassion for others...because now I KNOW how otherwise-normal people can get lost. (Humor me on the otherwise-normal part, okay?)

The road got more narrow and washed-out as we drove, but, according to the map we were still going the right way. Rampart Range Road was the ONLY road in Pike National Forest marked on any of the 3 maps we were frequently checking showed, so how COULD we be going the wrong way? A little hint for anyone planning an off-blacktop Colorado trip anytime soon. Not all Colorado roads are marked on Colorado road maps. Not even close to all of them, actually.


Then, behold! We were at a crossroads. Two signs were posted, both posting mileage to Woodland Park. One said, "Woodland Park 20," and the other said, "Woodland Park, 24." A rocket scientist is not needed to conclude the 20-mile path was the quickest, therefore best, choice. Our maps did not show a crossroads, or any other roads, but there were road signs, after all, and road signs don't lie, right? Another hint. Road signs don't lie, they just sometimes don't tell the WHOLE truth!

"Woodland Park: 20 miles," is the road we chose. Immediate relief from the washboard road came when we turned onto the new road. The softer sand was the perfect ride, smooth and quiet. A great kind of road to finish our scenic trip, we thought. We hardly noticed the fact that 12 mph was the MAXIMUM speed I could drive without losing control on this new-found road.

Speaking of scenery, we hadn't seen more than a trees, mountains, rivers and meadows since we had the stare-down with that "nosy" man on the dirt bike, now 1 1/2 hours in our past. We were only 20 miles from a Wal Mart, though, so we shouldn't worry, right? We conferenced again and, despite the fact there was now NO way or place to turn around now, we were "still in control" and would go ahead and finish the remaining 15 miles on the back road.

Crossroad suddenly became crossroads, and nice sandy road became a narrow sand trail of roller coaster hills with pools of water in-between. I'm not mathematician, but I looked at Travis and said, "Okay, Travis. We can go 10 miles-per-hour now, tops, and we have 20 miles left to go, give or take. That means the 20 miles will take us 2 more hours, right?" Travis is confident in math, so I expected a quick, firm answer. "No..." he said, "Well, [he started laughing and shaking his head as he quickly double-checked his own answer to make sure he wasn't hallucinating] YES!" We both had a good laughed, because it's hard to even fathom 20 miles taking a solid 2 hours.

"Well, we're committed now," Travis said, "We're gonna have to finish up on this road." I was, by now, keeping both eyes on the road, both hands on the wheel, and an eye on the horizon's setting sun. I was also thinking about keeping the minivan's structural integrity, as well. We weren't in an off-road vehicle, after all, and I had to be nice and gentle to the family taxi.

We threw away the notion that a map would be of any help to us at that point, because we knew we were no longer on any plotted road on any of our maps. We were far from any plotted road on any of our maps, for that matter. The minivan does not have a compass, but the sun setting in the west was enough to help us decide if the road we were following was still going south toward our destination. Our only saving grace was these little numbered signs on shoulder-height brown, wooden posts. The numbers were smallish and white and vertical. They had to have been highway signs. Just not any we had ever seen before, right?

Continuing to ignore (or choosing to ignore to keep some kind of peace of mind about the situation) the little red flags that signaled to us that we had no clue what we were doing made no sense, we continued on.

Justis, our little navigator then piped up. I had not heard two words from the back seat for about an hour. The kids all sat wide-eyed and pale-faced in the back seat. Kids don't try to cover up the obvious, which is something I love about little people. "Mom, we're lost!" Justis finally said. The rest didn't have to say anything. Their uneasy faces said it all.

"Kids, the sign pointed this way to Woodland Park, which is where we need to go to get to the cabin, so we have to keep following this road." I was mindfully confident in my delivery, so they would hopefully be convinced. Like I said, kids know and speak the truth. Travis added, "Your mom is doing a good job. We'll be fine."

We were splashing through more and more puddles now, and the little roller coaster hills in the road started to seem like small mountains with lakes on the other side. We passed an odd little pond in a clearing with what appeared to be a dirt track circling around, with roads coming off of the track circle like spokes of a wheel in all directions. We stopped and looked at the little signs marking all of the roads, looking for the one we had been faithfully following. There it was, "251," (whatever that meant).

"What is that smell?" Travis asked?

"I dunno."

"Dad gummit, Jae! It's the brakes smoking! You can't ride the brakes, okay? You've GOT to quit riding the breaks. Stop. Put it in park."

Travis looked around, grabbed a couple full bottles of water, and got out. He then poured water on the breaks to cool them off. Now in my defense, I know brakes are not to be "ridden," but I was on a roller coaster without the tracks and chain to hold us down. So breaks were essential so we did not "catch air" in the minivan. I had never seen breaks "cooled off," though. "Interesting," I thought. Travis was totally gracious, though, and said, "Jae, you're doing a pretty good job, you just can't ride the breaks, okay?"

I was feeling like a pretty confident off-roader after Travis's kind comment, so I started down, or should I say UP, "251." Wait. How deep is that puddle? How am I gonna get around that hill with the rock right beside it? Will I off-center the van if I try to get over that bump?

I was suddenly in a very vulnerable position as an "expert" off-road driver. Haha! I COULD NOT bring the van to a stop, or I would be stuck, yet the terrain was borderline dangerous to take on in the minivan. A pin drop would have sounded like a sonic boom in the minivan. I'm sure everyone was white as a ghost at that point, as I nearly scaled the side of a mountain to avoid a cavernous rut that pretty much took up the whole road and would have swallowed the van wheels whole. I suddenly stopped the van.

Travis was like, "Jae!? What are you stopping for? You need to drive in the road! Keep going!"

"WHAT road!?" I screamed? "I don't think this is even a road! I can't drive through a rut that will suck the van up! I nearly just rolled the van on the side of a mountain trying to keep from getting stuck in the 'road'! The minivan can't go any further or we're going to destroy it!" I said, motioning up the road with my head.

Travis hadn't yet seen the "road" ahead that turned into a series of sharp boulders that screamed, "Try me out if you want to be featured in the new All State commercial!"

"No. No. We can't go any further. That will destroy the van." Travis responded. "You're gonna have to back down."

On that note, I will end today's episode. I know you're thinking, "How could this story get any more unbelievable?" To that, I say, "Oh it will, my friend, it WILL!"

Colorado 2010: Devil's Head

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Dangerous things happen when my unquenchable curiosity meets the first night of vacation at my Grandparent's beautiful Rocky Mountain cabin. The first dangerous thing to transpire is that I think, which is definitely dangerous in its own rite. My grandpa has this big, beautiful, heavy and twisted-looking coffee table at the cabin that has been made from, well, big ol'hunks of logs and wood. Enter the danger of my unquenchable curiosity, for on this big hunk of a coffee table are piles and piles of magazines just packed with new articles to explore.

The kids were in bed. I sat in Grandma's avocado green chair wearing my cozy pink flannel pajamas. The magazines were waiting, perfectly piled "just so" like my grandma always leaves them. "Ah!" I thought. I reached for tried-and-true Country magazine, to which I relate, seeings it's about we country folk and all.

I flipped straight to the index and looked over Country's Jun-Jul 2010 issue's offerings. My eyes caught the word "Colorado" in the list of stories, so I turned right to that article to see what it was about.

My heart smiled as the article introduced readers to a man who lives and works for the U.S. Dept. of Forestry at Devil's Head fire lookout in Pike National Forest. "NOT TO FAR FROM THE CABIN!" I thought.

Let's see here..."We need to be able to hike 1.5 miles to the top of the mountain, so bring water. We can do that. Check. Make sure you come when it's not storming. We can do that. Check. Extra patience and time to get the kids 1.5 miles up the trail and extra, extra patience for Dawson, who is afraid of heights, to climb the final 143 stairs to the fire lookout tower." This sounded like it could be very fun and doable. Devil's Head seemed like an off-the-beaten-path adventure that we would remember.

"Travis let me read this to you. [I read him the article] What do you think? You wanna do it?"

"Sounds good," Travis said. "We need to figure out how to get there, and we can even go tomorrow."

"Yes, I think tomorrow would be great. I will just call the department of forestry tomorrow morning to see where it is and hours it is open."

*************************************************************************************

We woke and read the Country article to the kids so they would get pumped about what we were going to go see at Devil's Head fire lookout. They helped me pack the picnic basket, while Travis graciously washed the dishes from morning breakfast.

I called the Pike Forest Service, got the correct county's forest service contact, and she told me visitors were more than welcome and reminded me to bring water (check) and understand we will be hiking 1.5 miles each way (a hopeful check).

So we were off. A stop in Woodland Park for groceries and a cooler to store the cold groceries would prevent us from having to stop at Wal Mart after the day's journey. Loaded with our picnic, a trunk full of Wal Mart groceries, and happy smiling faces, and a full tank of gas, the swagger wagon (our Toyota Sienna minivan) was ready to go. Due north.

We took a smaller paved county road to a series of turns onto county dirt roads that eventually took us to the heart of the Pike National Forest, Rampart Range Road. Rampart Range is a rougher, washboard road, but wide enough and traveled-enough to be safe. It took us right to the foot of Devil's Head, where we parked and had a great picnic.

Climbing to the top of the "mountain" was lots of fun. The kids were real troopers and we just had a fantastic time of talking, playing, stopping to rest for water often, and admiring the beauty. Oh, and smelling the bear/deer poop. :) We made it within 1/4 mile to the top before the kids started complaining they were too tired to go on. We encouraged them, took some extra breaks, and they ultimately wanted to make it to the top with everybody, despite a little discomfort. Bathrooms (yes!) and a little cabin greeted us at the top of the mountain and at the foot of the steps that lead to the lookout tower.

143 steps. 143 STEEP steps. 143 STEEP steps that ascend to a fire tower 9 thousand some odd feet above the world, on the top of a mountain. Yah. Like Dawson was having any of that crazy business. He is TERRIFIED of heights...wait for it...just like me. So there he and I stood looking up at the scary, steep flights of stairs where, from the top looking down, people look like little ants. I pleaded with him. I bribed him. I used reason. I used threats. I got daddy. Travis came down and grabbed his arm and safely helped drag, er, well, by a few steps he was walking up on his own holding Travis's hand. Jillian who was NOT scared escorted me up the steps, but when the point came that she looked down and FREAKED OUT, I comforted and coached her the remaining steps to the top.

Mountains for miles is a magnificent sight. I could see Pike's Peak, and behind Pike's Peak, the San Gre de Cristo range to the south. To the west was the range that Breckenridge is in, and more ranges to the northwest. The shadowy purple layers of mountain peaks reminded me how big a God I serve, that he would make all of this and he knows ALL the mountains' details. How much more does he know and care about me?!

The Forest Fire lookout guy wasn't there the day we went, but we still walked around the lookout tower looking through the glass walls to see instruments, desks and snacks and personal items that the fire lookouts like to have.

Going down 143 steep steps was just as hard as going up, and when Jillian and I finally got down in one piece I said, "I never want to do that again." Dawson and I were so happy we experienced the top, despite our height reservations!

A few bumps and bruises on the way down were a fair price to pay, considering we were going straight down this time, instead of straight up. We made much better time getting back to our picnic and parking spot coming down.

We got to the car just in time to be inside it when an afternoon sprinkle passed by, but also just in time for the rest (and arguably more entertaining part) of our Devil's Head adventure...getting home.

Retro "Flair"

I feel like blogging about our...wait for it...OVEN!!

I bet you've never seen anything quite like this fine piece of kitchen art!

One thing we've learned about "Grandma and Grandpa Stade," the couple who lived in this farmhouse most of their lives before us, is they were very frugal, creative people who were great at "repurposing" things. They were wise enough to know, however, what to pay a little more for up front to ensure quality and longevity. This oven was one of those purchases for them. Grandma Stade loved to cook and cooked harvest meals, fed her farmer husband and the extended family frequently, so she needed a workhorse of an appliance to keep up with her demands.

The answer to Grandma Stade's cooking needs was a Frigidaire "Custom Imperial" Flair, made by General Motors. I'd say they made a good purchase, considering the fact that it has provided at least 50 years (if not more) of serious use! I don't know the exact age, but from looking around on the internet, the Custom Imperial Flair is considered a '60's model. However, I believe Jeff told me his Grandma purchased it in the '50's.

I did not know how to feel about this fine piece of equipment when we moved into the farmhouse, quite honestly. The fact that it looks like it's right out of a Leave it to Beaver episode and is the quaint, fashionable "burnt orange" that was oh-so-popular back in the day meant that I could consider it either way...play it up as cool and retro, or write it off as another renovation the farmhouse needed to be up-to-date. (Actually, a "Flair" was featured in a Bewitched episode back in the day as the "thing" to have)

And so my love/hate relationship, or should I say hate/love relationship, with the Custom Imperial Flair began.

I used the oven only at first and quickly discovered only the small oven worked, or so I thought, for 3 months anyway. Everyone at the farm came over and looked it over, because Stacy, Jeff and Cheryl (Grandma Stade's daughter) swore both ovens worked. I had discovered to my dismay, in the meantime, that the smaller oven was NOT big enough to cook a Papa Murphy's pizza in...or any other pizza for that matter. And I couldn't fit a casserole dish more than 8x8 or all but one of my pans in that one, small oven.

Cheryl called the one electrician in the are that was handy and knowledgeable enough to fix this oven. Sure that he was going to either fix the oven or tell me it was a lost cause, he called me over to explain the situation. He politely explained to me that the bulb did need to be replaced in one of the ovens, but sometimes the knobs on the top of the oven can get turned the wrong way. When those knobs get turned the wrong way, the oven appears NOT to be working. So there I was this whole time thinking it was broken, when all it needed was a turn of a couple knobs to cook a pizza. I'm sure I blushed when the electrician explained, because I felt completely foolish.

I celebrated that night by bringing home some Papa Murphy's pizzas and cooking them. The Frigidaire Custom Imperial Flair had me when it turned out a perfectly-cooked pizza crust! My despise for this unintentional focal point of my kitchen turned to love. Cooking a big meal is so nice now, because I have two separate ovens to use now. I can cook one dish at a certain temperature, and a second dish at another simultaneously!

The "sneaky" range worked from the get-go, and I like it. You wouldn't know this sleek piece of General Motor glory has 4 burners under the hood...but it does! When you want to cook on the range, you push a button and pull the range out. When done, you just push it back into hiding.

Ovens at eye level are great, too! I like being able to tell if I'm burning something without bending down. The oven doors open "up" instead of "down," which kind of remind me of how the Back to the Future's DeLorean "time machine" doors opened. The only technical drawback is that the doors are stopped short from opening fully because the range hood stops them. But the range hood doesn't work, so it's all okay.

I'm afraid I cannot do the farmhouse's Frigidaire Custom Imperial Flair anymore justice using mere words. If you're over sometime you've GOT to ask for a demonstration. You will surely be...speechless! ;)

Miss Madalynn is 9!

9 years ago Travis and I were in the Manhattan, KS, Mercy Health Center enjoying our 1st newborn, Madalynn Eileen.

Today, we enjoyed our 1st-born at 9 years old!!

The kids slept in a *little* this morning, trying to recuperate from Maddie's birthday party yesterday. We had some friends and family and a couple of Maddie's friends over yesterday to celebrate. Aunt Holly took her clothes shopping on Saturday, which she LOVES to do. Tinkerbell was the theme of her party, and we barbecued, opened presents, ate cake and ice cream. No party of Madalynn's (in her opinion) is complete without a pinata, so the kids tried beating the candy out of a Tink pinata before Travis and I realized a pull-string pinata can't be beaten open!

Maddie, at 9, is continuing to develop her unique personal style and personality. She continues to love art, and she has become particularly interested in designing things. She recently helped me pick some fabric and finishings for Travis's home office. I must say I was VERY impressed at her ability to pick fun, interesting and beautiful combinations of fabric and trimmings. She has a natural "eye" for balance.

Maddie LOVES to read. In the last 3 months, she has read, The Swiss Family Robinson, Moby Dick, Anne of Green Gables, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, and she's reading a Judy Moody book right now. She reads before bed and gets so caught up that I sometimes have to remind her to shut her eyes. She usually responds, "Okaaaaay, Mom. It's so good it's hard for me to shut it right now. Can I finish this chapter?" I never tell her no, because she went from loathing reading and struggling to read in Kindergarten to reading for pleasure on her own. I'm not going to stop a good thing.

Maddie is a loving, model big sister. I see a special compassion in her for her brothers and sister. No matter how crazy they're being or how downright ornery they can be to her. She has a patience with them that seems to never run out. I can sometimes just SEE the compassion on her face sway her to pick up Jillian's blanket, play one more game with Justis, or color a picture with Dawson ONE more time. She also takes little Raegan under her wing almost every time she's over visiting.

Maddie likes to have her stuff in order, which is VERY hard with pillaging siblings and with sharing a room with her 3-year-old sister. She is so helpful in keeping her own belongings in their place, and she's a WONDERFUL and eager little cleaning helper when I ask.

She got her ears pierced for her birthday. She picked out the cutest little pair of rhinestone studs at Claire's and didn't even flinch when the lady pierced each ear. She is diligently following her after-care instructions and marking off her "care calendar" in anticipation of going back to Claire's in 6 weeks to get another piercing pair of earrings. She's also waiting for the 6-month mark, when she can wear any pair of earrings she wants.

Travis and I are in awe that we have a 9-year-old. Seems like 9 years have passed in the blink of an eye, because we can still remember her at 0-8 like it was yesterday. We love you, Miss Madalynn.

For Daddy

These pictures are for Travis to remind him how thankful the kids and I are that he takes time for us (even when he's very tired) despite all of the hard work and effort he puts in for us. He's got tons of responsibilities managing his ADM locations, he puts in many hours of work for us at home, and he's been putting countless hours into completing his master's degree lately.

He is missed at our house when he is gone (or busy working on homework). He is doing "double-time" this week as he's attending his manager's meeting in Kansas City for a few days and finishing up end-of-semester projects for his master's degree. We are praying that God would bless his efforts and willingness to work hard in everything he does while finding time to take "time out" for us!

We love you, Travis, and we can't wait to see you tomorrow night! Yay!

Sold!

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Goodbye double utility payments and juggling the care and upkeep of a home 16 hours away! Today the sale of our Louisiana home to happy new homeowners became final.

We feel extremely blessed to have been able to go from putting our home on the market to completing a sale in about 5 months, considering the very rough seller's market we faced. This is the first time the sale of our home has been our sole responsibility since Travis started working for ADM. The company provided a home buyout option in the past, where we would sell the property to ADM and not have to worry about how long it would take to sell, upkeep, closing etc. ADM was losing so much money making payments on properties that were sitting on the market for months and months (and in light of the economy's current state), the company did away with the home buyout option altogether earlier in 2009. The company helps employees by compensating in other ways now to help offset moving costs.

I wrote the biggest check I've ever written in my life to complete the sale of our home. I wasn't as upset about losing the money as I was happy that the sale of the house provided emotional closure and relief that I've needed for a while.

We are officially ONLY renters for the first time in 7 1/2 years and it's okay with me. I love our landlords (they're family) and the little farmhouse we're renting meets our needs, which is all that matters. Another thing I find very freeing is that I don't so much care about the "house" we live in anymore. I care more about the "home" we make inside of it. We've learned that trusting God for what we need, along with a little ingenuity on our part to make the most of what we've got, is enough.

So, like the song I picked to go with the photo montage, I'll say, "Tis SO sweet to trust in Jesus!"

High Maintenance Hair

There's no task I avoid more than fixing 3 1/2-year-old Jillian's hair. There's no interaction with me that she avoids more than me washing and brushing her hair. No kidding. I think she would rather have a spankin' than me me fix her hair. I think I would rather choose living in the Arctic over doing her hair. Well, maybe not live in the Arctic...but you get the point.

Jillian's hair is like a marvel of the modern world. People don't just gawk, they stare. They point, they giggle, and they come up to touch it all the time. People frequently ask me (in all seriousness) if she's Travis's child. Some are sure she must have some ethnic blood to have received a head full of hair as curly and big as her's. She sometimes covers her head when someone's approaching because she knows what's coming and doesn't want another person messing with her 'fro!

I'm never lacking in strangers' advice in how to tame the 'fro, either. I get all kinds of "free" (and unsolicited) advice (from people with stick-straight hair, mind you) for what to do to tame the 'fro. When these people are standing there giving me all this advice, I'm thinking, "Do you really think I haven't already contemplated this 'magic potion' or fix already?!"

Taming Jillian's hair still remains a mystery to me and, YES, I have tried everything I've been told (within reason) and everything I can think of, short of taking her to the salon for a professional relaxer. I've researched and tried all kinds of homemade potions, ethnic hair oils and creams, expensive conditioners and all shapes and sizes of brushes and combs.

No matter what I do, we get the same result every time. When I comb and fix her hair right after she showers and bathes it looks great. The little curls are all defined, her hair is a "normal" height, and it's just amazing to look at all those tiny curls. THEN it starts to grow. Hour after hour, as it dries and as she plays, naps and sleeps, it "grows" larger and larger. She can look at least 4" taller when she goes to bed at night compared to the way she looked after she got out of the shower that same morning.

Bath/shower time goes a little like this. She screams all the way through. The commotion and screaming is so frantic, I especially dislike having to wash her hair when we're at someone else's house or someone is visiting. I'm afraid someone will think it's child abuse! I wet her hair and work in the a cleansing conditioner (we don't use shampoo anymore) and then brush it through. I let her sit and play to her little heart's content while her hair soaks up as much moisture as it can. I usually let her play a LONG time because by the end of "round 1" I feel terrible that I have to cause my daughter such pain and I need time to muster up enough gumption to finish the job. She also makes up reasons as to why she wants or needs to play a little longer or wash her body off one more time to try and prolong the inevitable. I rinse her hair out and then put in some conditioner to leave in. I also just choose a few squirts out of several of the myriad of bottles of products I have (I've learned it doesn't really matter what product I use at this point...they all give the same results), and then we brush it again.

We use a big, good old fashioned flat paddle brush to brush through her hair. I have decided that hair picks must be something of Satan, and have prohibited them from being used on Jillian's hair. They're not all they're cracked up to be. They're less effective at combing through the mass, and they are more torturous to her because it takes longer and pulls and hurts more. Did I mention her head appears larger than a basketball by the time we're done picking out her hair?

Jillian and I have come to an unspoken acceptance that we have to practice coping with what we've got to work with, instead of wasting time trying finding the magic cure. AND, we practice being thankful for her unique personality and hairstyle that God sent with her to go right along with it. As long as I have my arsenal of products and we only wash and brush her hair every 2 or 3 days, we both can handle the curly hair challenges.