Elliott has always loved hiking in the desert, so I was looking forward to seeing its appeal through his eyes when we finally got to the West Texas/New Mexico area. Mother Nature, however, had other ideas.  Still, the green desert–unusually verdant for the season–had a stark beauty to it that made me think, “I could live here.” I loved the traditional architecture and the way New Mexico has adapted Mexican and Indian heritages, especially with regard to food (always a happy trigger for me). I could definitely see the attraction.

Then we found our way to a small community just west of Pagosa Springs, Colorado, overlooking the Rocky Mountains. Deer bedded down a few hundred feet away, horses and wild turkeys roamed the area, and I once again thought, “Maybe I could live here.” (Note: I have no intention of moving, but this is a game I play with myself wherever I go. I have no idea why. The grass is always greener syndrome, maybe.) The peace and quiet was soothing after four days on the move. It had a different beauty from the desert, more in keeping with my Midwest and East Coast sense of wilderness. I kept my eyes open for elk, but apparently they’ve moved further upland during the summer.

Driving through the canyon country (which I hadn’t seen since I was maybe twelve years old, competing four? five? probably not six? younger siblings for a view), with nary a homesite in view, I could imagine how the pioneers felt as they crossed the country. I wondered what it would be like to live that far from civilization. I could do it, I figured, though it might be difficult living that far from neighbors, so I added “for a while,” and then, “but maybe not in winter.” Windmill farms occasionally dotted the landscape, and I found myself mesmerized by their gracefulness and purpose. There should be more windmills in the world. “Blowin’ in the Wind” kept tumbling through my brain. We made a brief stop at the waterfalls in North Bend, then headed into the city.

Seattle was amazing, even though we were there for less than a day.  Definitely on my come-back-to list. The overpass parks were such a good use of space, I wish we’d had more time to explore them. More greenspace, fewer cars–thought admittedly it’s ironic that such a thought occurred to me from a car, traversing 3000 miles to volunteer for two months in a different greenspace. Seattle gets far less snow than I had thought, but the traffic jams? I could live without them. Still, I could–yes–live there. I find myself torn between the energy and life of a city, and the relaxing pace and peace of the country. After a hike around the city down to Lake Washington, Kendra and Rod took us to an old Hudson factory for dinner. We hadn’t seen Kendra for about 20 years, but felt like it hadn’t been nearly that long (and of course we hadn’t aged a bit!) and catching up was fun. I held my tongue and never mentioned leather coats and flashing (Ooops!).*

We took the ferry from Anacortes, Washington, to Orcas Island, after a stop at a Fred Meyer store north of Seattle to stock up on unperishables and supplies. We weren’t sure if the refrigerator would work (and it doesn’t appear to–a problem to solve another day), so we held off on fresh vegetables and anything that required refrigeration.

Orcas Island is full of tiny touristy villages surrounded by state parks, and we’ll probably head to a staging campground in the park tonight. We hadn’t been here more than a couple hours before Michel, one of our park coordinators, came over to greet us and make sure we had everything we needed. Julia, our other coordinator, called this morning to verify we had everything too–we feel very welcomed, indeed.

We’re off in a bit to find a part for the water system so that we can have actual connected water (it will make life much easier) as opposed to hose water, and get that system working before rainfall.

We’re settling into the RV–right off the departure end of the local airport–and I can easily see us here for the next couple of months. I could live here, yes indeedy.

*A story for another time…