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Colorado road trip: Day six

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The sunshine filtered through the car windows, gentle caressing my eyes open. I sat in my sleeping bag in the car at the same time Joseph sat in his hammock outside. We looked at each other, smiled, and then simultaneously began to pack our belongings.

We packed up the car and drove to a nearby gas station to get ready for the day. It was the nicest gas station restroom I have ever been in, with flowers and artwork to look at while I went to the bathroom. 

We drove next to the auto shop just before it opened. While we waited for the car to be fixed, we decided to walk around town. There wasn’t much to look at or shops to visit; it definitely was not a tourist destination, but we had fun anyway. We turned off the road when we saw greenery, assuming it would lead us to a park. Instead, we found ourselves in a sculpture garden behind a church. The path led us in a circle around the garden. The statues adorning the path told the story of Jesus’ death. At the end, three wooden crosses sat on top  of pile of boulders, and in front of this, three rocks had been used to form the empty tomb. 

While walking, Joseph and I began to talk about the validity of Christianity, what we believe and what others we know believe. Is the Bible truth, or just stories designed to teach morals? The Bible was inspired by God but written by man, so how do we know what was truly ordained by God and what were the musings of man?

“Even if I can’t prove the Bible is true, I know the change that has happened inside me,” Joseph said. “Do you think any other religion has that kind of transformation?” I thought about this for a second. So often, Joseph and I have spiritual conversations like this, where we attempt to tackle concepts far too complex for the human brain to ever comprehend. Despite the fact that we will never truly know the answers our questions, we still enjoy sharing our thoughts and coming to places of respect and understanding for each other’s beliefs. 

Personally, I believe there is validity in other world religions. The idea of Christianity is that Jesus is the only way to be saved, and that is the thought I have always grown up with. But I don’t want to place human limits on my greater-than-human God. The idea that God would send some of his beloved children to hell, especially those who never have the chance to get to know Jesus, is something I have always wrestled with. Deep inside me, I know there must be much more to this story of creation, the universe, and God’s relationship with us than I will ever know. And that’s okay, because my only responsibility is to love others as best I can, not to solve the existential questions of life. 

“Every religion and deeply held belief creates transformation inside us,” I said to answer Joseph’s question. “It’s not just Christianity. I mean, we want answers to existential questions, so anything that fills that hole, we cling to. That’s how cults happen. We can become so attached to an idea that we’re willing to go through terrible things and endure mental trauma. It’s the whole ‘drink the kool aid’ situation where people are willing to take their own lives because of how much they believe something and because they think it will give them salvation. But, I think the difference of Christianity is that it requires nothing of you. A lot of religions and beliefs have stipulations and rules about how to reach salvation, but in Christianity, it’s already been done for you. You don’t need to do anything. And that makes a difference, because if you’re required to love others, it’s not really love. Love has to be a choice. But in Christianity, because God loves you so much, you want to love others, and I think that is what is so transformational.”

“This is a pretty radical idea, but, what if we are all already saved, and we are just supposed to spread the message of peace and loving yourself,” Joseph asked. “Because, that’s what Christianity does. It shows you that you are loved and you don’t have to do anything to achieve that. You already have it. What if Jesus did the work to save all of us, whether we know him or not? But life is better if you do know him because then you have that message of rest and love in your life. And that’s all anyone wants – to be loved and accepted as they are and to be told they don’t have to try so hard.” 

One of the first things that made me sure that Joseph was the person I was going to marry was that our beliefs were so similar. We both define ourselves as more spiritual than religious, which, on our third date, Joseph gave the perfect definition for: Religion is how much you know about God; spirituality is how much you know God. We both were raised Christian, but we like to explore the possibilities of other beliefs, because without knowing what other thoughts exist, how can you know what you truly believe? But what I love most about what Joseph believes is that his priority, like mine, is just loving other people and accepting them as they are. And the way we both know how to do that best is to accept and remember God’s love for us. We do that in tradition of Christianity because that’s what we know, but when other people have other ways of knowing God, we embrace that, too. As deep as our conversations may go, we always come back to that: To be loved and to love others is why we are here and what we are meant to do in this life. 

We continued our walk, and we found a sign about a yard sale. Since we still had not heard from the auto shop, we went to check it out and found a great deal on a French press. Our morning coffee is about to get so much better. 

Since it had been nearly two hours at this point, we headed back to the auto shop to see how things were going. Unfortunately, we found out that the shop did not have the right size break pads, so they had to get them from somewhere else. It was another hour before the car was ready, during which we waited in the shop, zoning out on our phones. 

We still hadn’t eaten a real breakfast, so we ate some cereal at the car and then stopped by a Dunkin’ for coffee because, as Joseph said, “We deserve it after that wait.” At the early hour of noon, we finally got started on our driving for the day.

Our first stop was the Colorado National Monument. Both of us are growing tired of seeing canyons (we both enjoy the mountains more), but I’m glad we decided to go to the monument. Instead of just standing above looking down, there were different levels to the canyon, so there were points where we could gaze up at the red rock and actually admire all the details that we would normally miss. We picnicked at one of the scenic points, and then drove through the rest of the monument, stopping along the way to take pictures and admire the scenery. One of my favorite points was when we were able to see where water normally flows through the canyon because it was the only spot where green trees were growing. They wound alongside the snake-like path where the water sometimes flows, soaking up the nutrients from the ground. As I stepped closer to the edge to admire this, I looked down, and my stomach dropped. It was a straight fall down hundreds of feet into the canyon.

“If you fell, you would for sure die,” I told Joseph, who was just behind me. 

“Yeah, please don’t say that,” Joseph said, grabbing onto the back of my shirt and pulling me away from the edge as if he had me on a leash. “Let’s back up a bit.” 

After the monument, we drove to Aspen. It was stunning how fast the scenery changed. From red and brown rock, the landscape faded in almost an instant to tall, pine-covered mountains and clear, blue lakes. Both of us were excited for our first true hike in the mountains, something we had been looking forward to for all of this trip. We wound so far into the trees on the way to Maroon Bells, the signals were lost on our phones, but we enjoyed the moment just to be present in the beauty surrounding us. 

We arrived at the entrance to the park, where the woman asked us if we had a reservation. We did not. Because of COVID-19, everyone needed a reservation to enter the park. The woman directed us to a website we could try to find a slot of time on, but when we finally drove to where we had service again to check, we found that all the slots were taken until ten o’clock tonight, which was much too late to hike. 

“I thought you checked on all the places to see if we needed reservations,” Joseph said, confused.

“I did,” I said. “This was one of the places you added last minute, after I checked all the parks.”

“Yeah, and I asked you to check on the park to make sure we could get in,” Joseph said.

“You did,” I asked. “I thought you were going to that.”

“No, I asked you to do it,” Joseph repeated.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” I said. “I really thought you had checked it.” 

“It’s okay,” Joseph said, but I could tell he was disappointed. We both were. “I should have checked in with you,” Joseph continued, but I couldn’t help but feel mad at myself. We started our drive back, silent and upset, when Joseph spotted a different trail head. He proposed doing a different hike, so we parked close by and approached the trail. When Joseph looked it up on his phone, we discovered it was a seven-mile round-trip hike – a bit ambitious for five o’clock in the afternoon. But fueled by our disappointment about the last hike, we packed our bag with snacks and started the trail.

Near the beginning, we met up with some locals, who informed us that the trail was not the one we originally thought it was. It was a much shorter hike, but still with some nice views of the lake. Now doubly disappointed about our two failed hikes, we were pretty quiet while walking. It seemed Joseph was blaming himself just as much as I was, because after minutes of hiking in silence, he asked if I was upset with him.

“No, I just…we’ve been to a lot of canyons, and we have a lot more planned for this trip, and I am kind of over canyons,” I said. 

“Well, Tyler, you want to know something funny,” Joseph asked. “I am kind of over canyons, too. I want to be in the mountains. So, why don’t we just change our plan a bit?”

The idea of changing the plan mid-trip was pretty anxiety inducing for me, but after some more talk, we decided to just add in some time at the mountains in Frisco and Boulder, two places we were already planning on stopping, and then possibly doing some more activities around Denver. We have an extra day planned into our trip because we couldn’t get reservations for Rocky Mountain National Park, a place we had planned on visiting, so we have the time to add in some extra activities at our planned stops.

After talking more, we also came to the conclusion that it was probably best that we hadn’t known about the reservations at Maroon Bells. If we had, we probably would have missed our time slot because of our car appointment this morning. And if we had decided to not make reservations, we would have missed the beautiful view we experienced on our drive in. 

On our way out, we discovered another blessing in disguise caused by missing both hikes in Aspen: our next stop was Independence Pass, which was the scariest road either of us had ever driven on. We were both relieved to be traveling it before the sun went down.

At the beginning of the pass, we took a quick detour to visit the grottos, which were more than worth it. The park featured three attractions: the ice caves, the grottos, and the cascades. At the beginning of the trail, we reached the ice caves, which are exactly what they sound like. We climbed down the rocks to the caves to find blocks of ice as big as boulders dripping into a small stream. Joseph climbed up the ice, his feet slipping and sliding, to get a better view. The cave was cool and quiet, so randomly placed in the middle of the woods, a little winter wonderland hidden away from the summer heat just above.

We accidentally took the wrong trail, so we hit the cascades next. The water pounding down the rocks could be heard far before we actually saw the waterfalls. We sat on the rocks above and gazed down at the powerful water, observing with interest how something so gentle and life-giving could also be so strong and dangerous.

We nearly missed the grottos. We stumbled upon them on the way back. What appeared first to be a pile of rocks blocking our path were actually the entrance into the tunnels formed by fallen boulders haphazardly piled on top of one another. We climbed slowly and carefully over the rocks, hoping we had not taken a wrong turn as the path became more treacherous with every step. To our relief, after about ten minutes of hiking, the rocks dwindled away and the dirt path replaced them once again. 

The sun was setting in the distance, so we hurried back to our car and continued our drive along Independence Pass. We drove slowly, letting cars with more experienced Colorado drivers pass us whenever we could. Looking over the cliff edge just inches from our car tires was enough to make my heart rate spike. I cringed as Joseph hugged the tight curves of the road that took us up and down the intimidating mountain path.

The view, however, was incredible. I couldn’t help but look out my window to admire the snow-capped mountains resting beneath the half moon. We were so high in the air that we were looking down on puffy, blue clouds floating beneath the peaks. 

It was quickly becoming another late night, so we settled on the first campsite we found. It was a bit crowded and the people just beside us were a tad noisy, but at this point, anywhere where we could set up our sleeping bags and eat a meal was good enough for us. While Joseph set up the tent, I made dinner. The weather had cooled considerably, so we ate inside the tent, huddled in our warmest jackets and sweatpants. 

Despite the late hour and chilly weather, Joseph still insisted we take a quick walk to admire the stars. Looking up at the night sky, I was once again struck by just how vast and beautiful this universe is. The amount of detail in the night sky, and honestly everything we saw today, is actually boggling. I could have spent hours at any one of the places we visited today, observing every small feature of the landscape, and I still don’t think I would have noticed everything there is to see. We live in a truly beautiful world, in an incomprehensible magnificent universe. 

There are so many questions I cannot answer about life, religion, God, creation, and honestly so many other things. I am normally someone who likes to know as many facts as I can. I fill my head with random information to share at any moment, like the fact that the stars above me tonight are made mostly of hydrogen and helium, or that the Rocky Mountains that stretch from Canada to New Mexico have their highest peak right here in Colorado. But I think my spirituality is the one area I am okay with not knowing everything because that is what faith is truly about. In order to believe something, you have to be willing accept the possibility that you could be wrong, and still jump in with both feet and not look back. 

And as for my personal faith, there are two things I know for sure that give me all the comfort in the unknown that I need. First, I know my God is loving, because how could anyone create something so beautiful without doing so lovingly? And second, that my God is so much grander and more complicated than any human brain could ever comprehend. So, I know no matter what happens in my life, and after my life, no matter whether it makes sense to me or not, I know He has it worked out for good. 

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Colorado road trip: Day five

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Yesterday was not the quintessential Colorado morning I was expecting, and I can’t say this morning was either. There is something strange about waking up in a tent in the middle of the woods, listening to the gentle mooing of cows. But the cool morning air and the mountains in the distance are a step in the right direction. 

Joseph and I packed up our campsite and drove to Mesa Verde for an early morning hike. Unfortunately, most of the trails were closed because of COVID-19 or the fire hazard. We found one loop trail that was supposed to lead us around the canyons and give a spectacular view of  the cave dwellings, but halfway through, we came up to a sign that prohibited us from going any farther. Disappointed, we turned around and walked back the way we came. 

Despite this, the view was still astounding. From a distance, we looked out over the canyons to the homes carved into the rock. People are truly incredible. I can only imagine what it would have been like to build and live in those homes, with the risk of falling down the side of the canyon always a real possibility and living in a tight community where everyone worked together. As far as society has come since then, I can’t help but wonder if we have lost something.

When we returned to the car, we ate a quick breakfast and then headed to a nearby gas station. The tire pressure warning light in the car has been repeatedly appearing, despite Joseph filling the tires with air daily. When he checked the tire pressure today, the amount of air in the front left tire was alarmingly low.

“I just filled it last night,” Joseph said. “There must be a hole.” 

So, in addition to the failing breaks, damaged rotors, and cracked windshield, we now have a hole in one of our tires. Because of the amount of driving we plan on doing tomorrow, we decided it best to get the tire, along with the breaks and rotors, fixed today. Luckily, our next  stop was the main street in Telluride, so we planned to drop the car off in the town while we walked around. 

While Joseph filled the tires with air to get us to our next destination, I went into the store to buy ice for our cooler. The bags of ice I saw in the freezer all looked a little too big, so I went to the cashier, a small woman with long brown hair and impeccable eyebrows, to ask if there were any other sizes available. 

“No, just the eight pound bag,” she told me. “Do you have a small cooler?” 

“Yeah, I just don’t think it will fit,” I said. 

“Would you want half a bag,” she asked. 

“Actually, yes, that would be great.”

“I have a small cooler and I do the same thing for me,” she said. “And I won’t charge you for it.” 

“Oh, really,” I asked. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.” The cashier shrugged it off. 

“Oh, it’s no problem,” she said. “The full bag is only four dollars, so there’s really no point in charging you. Just give me a minute.” She tended to other customers waiting in line, and then she went into the back room, grabbed a fresh bag, and shoveled ice into it from a machine. After thanking her again, I excitedly presented the gift to Joseph, and then we were on our way to our next destination. 

It was almost a two hour drive to Telluride, but after sitting in the car for days, the trip flew by as if we were just driving down the block. We stopped a few minutes outside of the main town to drop off our car at Telluride Tire and Auto Service. The owner, Stuart, told Joseph that it would be about an hour, so instead of going into town, he recommended a scenic spot where we could eat lunch. Joseph and I packed some food, and we walked a short distance to a nearby baseball field adjacent to a clear, blue lake. We sat on one of the benches and gazed up at the snow-capped mountains just a few miles away.

When we arrived back at the auto shop, we enjoyed a cup of complimentary coffee while waiting to be seen. When Stuart was ready, he delivered both good and bad news: The leak in our tire was fixed, but our brakes were not capable of bringing us safely home. He himself did not have the parts to fix them, but he asked where we were headed and then personally called mechanics in that area for us to find out who had the parts and could work on our car first thing tomorrow morning. 

I am not sure we would have had any luck had we not had Stuart’s help. He had personal relationships with the owners and managers of each of the places he called, so we were able to get an appointment with a trusted mechanic when the shop opened tomorrow. And once securing us with that appointment after nearly half an hour of calling other shops, he told us that he was not going to charge us for the tire plug, nor the hour of labor he put in to fix it. We were stunned by his generosity and thanked him profusely, but he shrugged us off just as the  cashier did earlier today. He said that his shop fixes tires for free for people passing through all the time.

“I believe in karma,” he said. “Years ago, my wife was driving to Oregon, and her water pump broke in Idaho. A farmer pulled over on the side of the road and told her that his son had an auto shop. He took her there and fixed her pump for free. I have never forgotten that.”

We thanked Stuart again, and then we left to continue our drive into Telluride. We passed through the main town, searching for what we were most excited about: The gondola ride. We continued down the windy road until it ended, sure at this point that we were driving in the wrong direction. However, the mountains ahead kept us going. We parked and took a few minutes just to take in the beauty of the giants towering above us. A waterfall cascaded down the side of the rock, and beside it, just like in Disney and Pixar’s “Up,” was a house sitting on top of the mountain.

As we drove back toward Telluride’s main street, Joseph spotted the gondola cables stretching up the side of the mountain. We parked in Telluride, and while Joseph paid, I ran to save our spot in line, which stretched down the sidewalk from the entrance. Luckily, the line moved quickly, and soon we were in our own little compartment, floating into the sky, watching the shops and homes grow smaller beneath us. The gondola climbed through tall white trees and over trails that wound down the mountainside, where people were biking. At the top, Joseph and I stared at the mountains in awe. This was the Colorado we had been dreaming of seeing. 

We exited the gondola at the mountain market, a small town that had the feel of an amusement park main square. Despite the fact that people actually did live on the ski resort, the way the buildings were designed to match and connect with one another made it almost seem like a facade. I kept waiting for the people in costume to come out dancing. 

We dipped into a couple of shops, including one filled with animal photographs, paintings, and figurines created from of rope, wire and beads. An older woman with a foreign accent I couldn’t quite identify sat behind a desk at the front of the shop, books filled with photographs of African animals in front of her. She informed us that everything in the shop was created in South Africa, and all of the proceeds were used to help save the elephants and rhinos. 

Elephants are my favorite animal, so obviously I couldn’t stop myself from supporting this cause. I selected a small, beaded, elephant figurine who was in mid-trumpet. The woman behind the desk informed us that she was from South Africa, and she worked with Peace Parks Foundation, an organization that fights to keep the animals in Africa safe. She works particularly with elephants and rhinos. 

“Did you know that 57 percent of the world’s species are extinct, and that happened in just the last forty years,” she asked us. “We need young people like you to help. If you have the chance to put a signature on something, sign it. And if you can volunteer, do it. It’s not easy work, but once you go to Africa, you aren’t ever going to want to come back.” 

The view of the mountain market from the gondola

She grabbed a documentary off a nearby stack of DVDs, peeled the price tag off of it, and handed it to me. 

“This is for you to watch,” she said. “It’s not pretty, but it’s factual, and it’s important.” I promised her I would watch it, and Joseph and I left with moods slightly dampened but adventures still to have for the day. I will have to research more about Peace Parks later. I have always wanted to go to South Africa, but circumstance has kept me here in the United States. However, perhaps I can find other ways to help support this cause. 

Joseph and I rode the gondola back to the main street of Telluride to explore those shops. We bought some Belgian chocolate to enjoy for dessert and another post card to commemorate our experience. Then we returned to our car to start the drive to Black Canyon.

By now, it was getting to late, but we were determined to do at least a short hike in the canyons before the sun set. Just twenty minutes away from our destination, we stopped at a Walmart to pick up a few essentials. As we stepped out of the car, I gazed out at the black clouds in the distance and inquired about the weather.

“I was thinking about that, too,” Joseph said. “But I checked the weather and it said it is supposed to be clear all night.” We went into the store to pick up food and super glue for the crack in the windshield. As we approached the checkout, Joseph received a text from his mom, asking about how the weather was and where we were located. We bought our supplies and then headed to the doors, where we stopped in shock. In the short time that we had been in the store, the world had gone dark and the trees were bent sideways from the power of the wind. 

We hurried to the car, where we checked the weather on our phones again, but the app still said the it was supposed to be clear all night. We decided to head to Black Canyon to see if the weather blew over, and if not, we would head straight to the campsite. 

By the time we arrived at the national park, the weather seemed to have calmed. The wind was still heavy, but the skies had cleared a bit. The air had cooled considerably, so we put on jackets and sweatpants and headed to the trail. But just as we started the trek into the canyons, the rain began to pour down on us. We ran back to the car, where we watched lightning streak down the sky in the distance.

Still not wanting to miss our chance to visit the canyon, we decided to wait again. In fifteen minutes, the weather had cleared, but now we were twenty minutes away from sunset. With the agreement to be careful but to move as quickly as possible, we grabbed our rain jackets and hurried back to the trail.

I am so glad we decided to go. The temperature had warmed again, so we ended up shedding our layers within the first half mile. And the view was incredible. I thought I had completely tired from seeing canyons, but I found this view more magnificent than when I visited the Grand Canyon last year. The canyons plunged deep into the earth, teeming with trees and wildlife. And just as we were finishing the trail, the sun dropped behind the trees and lit up the sky like fire. I have never seen a more incredible sunset in my life. 

As always, the picture does not do it justice – the sunset was absolutely breathtaking in person

Our campsite was just a few minutes away, so we made it there just before dark. The road was a little rough, and there was not enough space to set up our tent, but it was too late to try another campsite. While I made salads for dinner, Joseph cleared out the back seat, and then we ate in the woods. Joseph hung his hammock between our car and the trees so he could sleep beneath the stars, but I wanted protection from the wind and mosquitos, so I slept in the car. 

As I fell asleep, I thought back to all the incredible people we met today. From brief encounters with kind townspeople, to the cashier who gave us a free bag of ice, to the man who fixed our tire for free and helped us to stay on track with our journey, to the woman who has dedicated her life to saving endangered species, we experienced the true gift of kindness and generosity throughout our day. And our experience would not have been the same without it. It’s curious to me that, just this morning, I was pondering if society had lost something since the time when we lived in close quarters in cave dwellings to our comfortable homes today. Then it seemed that every interaction I had today was created to remind me that simply wasn’t true. The spirit of human cooperation and benevolence has not been lost. The challenge now is to be willing to focus on the goodness of people, and to challenge ourselves to extend that kindness to others as well. 

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Colorado road trip: Day four

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When I imagined my first morning in Colorado, I pictured waking to cool, crisp air, surrounded by pine trees, the sun’s rays peeking over distant snow-capped mountains. Instead, I woke up in the back of a car in an RV parking lot, cold and achy. But nothing could dampen the excitement I felt to finally be in the place I have been dreaming of visiting for most of my life. 

Our first stop today was Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve. Driving towards the park, we marveled at the dunes that stretched nearly a third of the height mountains behind them. As we got closer, it became more apparent just how out of place the dunes seemed. With mountains and forests surrounding them, the dunes seemed to have just appeared out of nowhere. It was as if God had dropped a giant sand box in the middle of Colorado for all the humans to play on.

We bought a national park pass, an investment both Joseph and I have been excited about making. Hiking has always been one of our favorite pastimes, and with this pass, not only will all the national parks we plan on visiting on this trip be free, but so will all the others we visit for the next year. The idea of future weekend camping trips and day hikes is something we are both looking forward to. 

We arrived at the sand dunes before the visitor’s center opened, so we headed to the trails first. We walked the half mile from the visitors center to the sand dunes, following the map on Joseph’s phone. However, as we walked across the sand, it became apparent that there was not much of a trail to follow. The challenge was basically to climb the dunes to the highest point; however visitors wanted to accomplish that was up to them.

To say the hike was difficult would be an understatement. Even as active people and experienced hikers, we had to stop multiple times, gasping for air and eagerly guzzling our water. The dunes were steep, and our feet sunk into the hot sand, so we were constantly fighting gravity to keep ourselves from falling. The highest dune stretched 755 feet into the air, and we had to climb numerous other dunes just to get to its base. 

But the view was worth it. Gazing down from the top, the undulations of the dunes were reminiscent of ocean waves. The view of the mountains and Medano Creek were even more spectacular from that height. We watched in amazement as birds soared beneath us, winding between the dunes with enviable freedom. Far below us, the other visitors attempting the hike or sand boarding looked to be as small as ants. It was a moment of both exhilaration and awe as we gazed down at the world that we now seemed so far above.

We reached the top at just about the same time as another couple. Randy and Peggy are from Iowa, but they are currently in Colorado to visit their daughter. We chatted for a short while, and they offered to take our picture (after using hand sanitizer because there is a worldwide pandemic occurring). We took their picture as well and then parted ways. 

I always enjoy having the chance to meet new people and hear their stories. Of the seven billion people on this planet, I have barely even scratched the surface in the amount of people that I know, and even fewer of those do I truly have a relationship with. It always amazes me just how many people there are, all unique and living different lives, all just trying to experience life and find meaning in what they are doing. I wonder how many people at the sand dunes today were searching for that meaning in Colorado. I wonder if that’s partly what I am doing here, too. I wonder if that’s why I am writing this blog. 

We would have stayed at the top of the dunes for longer, but the wind was so strong that the sand it blew felt like small shards of glass cutting into our skin. And whenever the wind did cease, the sun beat down on us relentlessly. So, we began the trek back down, which was blessedly easier than the trip up. It reminded me of skiing as we glided down the sides of the dunes. My shoes filled with so much sand that they felt like weights on the bottoms of my feet. 

Joseph did not want to take the conventional way down. We had not bought a sand board because they were so expensive, but that did not stop him. With the exclamation, “Who needs a sand board?” he leapt off the highest dune and slid and rolled down the hot sand. He told me afterwards that the sand on the sides of the dunes was so hot, he couldn’t stop moving without burning his skin. 

We arrived back at the parking lot, famished and tired. However, we stopped briefly at the visitor’s center to pick up some post cards. Because of COVID-19, the store was operating only from the back door, with wares displayed in the store windows so visitors could choose and point to what they wanted and then have it handed to them beneath a glass partition. I actually didn’t mind this change of pace. It gave the concept of “window shopping” a much more literal meaning, but it was very efficient. We finished shopping in half the time it probably would have taken us. 

We headed back to the car and ate a morning snack on the way to our next destination: Durango. It wasn’t a place on our original itinerary (which consisted mostly of national parks), but Durango was a small town I fell in love with last summer during 4K for Cancer when my team stopped there for the night. When I first visited, I proclaimed it was where I would want to live should I ever finally follow my dream of moving to Colorado. As Joseph and I were making our route for this trip, Joseph saw it was close to Mesa Verde. Knowing how much I loved it there, and wanting to see it for himself after I made him jealous when describing the town to him last year, he insisted that we visit.

The drive to Durango was breathtaking. We climbed and wound through forested mountains, rain pattering against our car like a gentle melody. Joseph and I drank in the view as if it were water. This is the part of Colorado I love. The sand dunes, canyons, and cacti are all fun to see, but the mountains and the forests have always felt like home. 

When we arrived in Durango, the heat of the day had fully arrived. The sun had no mercy for us. Thankfully, dipping into air conditioned shops brought us some relief from the heat. 

We packed a lunch and ate outside a closed shop, and then we walked the main street, visiting stores and enjoying the bustling atmosphere. Durango was just as amazing as I remembered. We watched a train go by and listened to its soothing sound, and the feeling came back just as strong as it did a year ago: I want to live here. 

Even though it is our first full day in Colorado, Joseph and I both bought souvenirs because Durango is a town with both want to remember. It has had that same impression on both of us – this is somewhere special. Joseph bought me a hat, and I bought him a T-shirt and mug. We stopped at a cafe that served the best espresso and cold brew coffee that either of us tasted for a while. We walked the one street for the full three hours allotted by our parking meter, and we still did not have time to visit all the places we wanted. 

On our drive back, I felt the energy in the car, the desire to return, the buzzing question of whether we could. Joseph was the one to bring it up first. Would I consider moving there?

After so many months of him asking me if I would really move to Colorado, today was the first time I answered without hesitation. 

“Yes,” I said. 

“Really,” he asked, surprised. 

“Yes.” The excitement in the car grew. 

“Could we do that,” Joseph asked.

“I don’t know.” Moving at all is intimidating, especially without careers in place and debt from school already hanging over my head; moving halfway across the country is nothing short of petrifying. So, why is it that every time I think of it, my whole body seems light up like electric wires are running through it, making me want to dance on the spot? 

But the idea of leaving family and friends makes me pause. Moving to Colorado would mean starting over and moving away from everyone I love. Plenty of people do it, but plenty of people also do not. 

I am getting ahead of myself though. Right now, I am fulfilling my dream of road tripping to Colorado, that is all. I want to be present, in this moment, not considering possibilities for the future. The future is unknown. The present is the only place anyone can truly live. 

We arrived at our campsite, just twenty minutes outside of Mesa Verde. The gravel road led us to a plot of land surrounded by trees with a valley just beyond them and mountains hovering in the distance. The most interesting thing about this site, though, were the cows. There were dozens of them, grazing and walking around without any apparent home or owner. They walked through our campsite, acknowledging us with a few moos, and then continued their stroll. We didn’t see them for the rest of the night, but we have heard them calling to one another through the trees. 

We showered in our bathing suits with a portable shower Joseph brought. I thought the water would feel refreshing after such a long, sweaty day. However, as soon as we were wet, the evening Colorado air blanketed us until we were shivering uncontrollably. We dressed into warm clothes as quickly as possible and set up camp. Just a few minutes later, we were warm once again and eating a satisfying dinner. 

The sun disappeared behind the mountains, and the stars began to appear. Joseph and I sat outside our tent, mouths agape, staring at the heavens above. The stars in Maryland look nothing like the stars in Colorado. There wasn’t an inch of sky without one twinkling down at us. We gazed at the haze of the milky way that stretched across the black sky, and every so often, we caught a glimpse of a shooting star in the distance. 

The stars weren’t possible to capture with a camera, but here is a picture of our view of the sunset at our campsite.

I can’t shake the feeling that this is where I belong. I can only imagine falling asleep under a sky like this every night, of feeling this close to nature, of feeling this rested inside. As the John Muir quote goes, “The mountains are calling, and I must go.” It’s the pull I felt my entire life. It’s the pull that brought me here, tonight, gazing up at this brilliant sky and wondering if Colorado actually is where I am supposed to find my meaning. Maybe there are people I am supposed to meet here and things I am supposed to do. Maybe this is where I belong. 

It’s something I will have to think about, something I will have to consider in the back of my mind and ponder as we travel through Colorado for the next week. It’s something I will have to discuss with loved ones and honestly pray about. For now, I am just going to experience Colorado as if I am never coming back, and perhaps that will encourage this place to give me a reason to stay. 

The mountains are calling, and I am here to answer them. 

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Colorado road trip: Day three

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The first thing Joseph said to me on the morning of our third day road tripping was the last thing I would ever want to wake up to hearing.

“I didn’t want to wake you last night because I didn’t want to scare you,” Joseph said. 

“Okay,” I said uneasily. “What is it?”  He pulled out his phone, opened his photos app, and clicked on a video recording from last night. When he clicked play, the sounds of at least a dozen dogs barking filled the tent.

“They were everywhere,” Joseph said. “They were so loud they woke me up.”

“We had coyotes around our tent,” I exclaimed. Joseph laughed and nodded. 

Despite that alarming start to our day, we and all of our belongings were fine. The two of us got ready and went for a 5K run to stretch our legs before sitting in the car all day. After the run, we jumped into the lake in our bathing suits to cool off and bathe for the first time on this trip. Despite the murky water and mud squishing between my toes, it was actually quite refreshing, and I felt surprisingly clean afterwards. We made some oatmeal for breakfast, and then we started driving to the destination we have been looking forward to: Colorado. 

I dozed in the car as Joseph listened to a podcast about his enneagram. We stopped in an iHop parking lot so I could teach my yoga class. 

As I was teaching, I watched Joseph with curiosity. He had the hood open and was moving about the car, seemingly hard at work. When I finished teaching, he excitedly showed me what he had been up to.

Do you remember that cigarette lighter we blew on the first day of our trip? We have been struggling to get enough power to charge any of our electronics since then. Today, Joseph had the brilliant idea of trying to fix the cigarette lighter himself, something I didn’t think could be done. He found a YouTube video about where to find the fuse box in his car, which had extra fuses for the cigarette lighter in it. Without any prior experience, he switched the fuse in the cigarette lighter and it worked! Now, we have enough power to charge everything we need for the rest of this trip.

Now, the main concern is the car brakes. We have been hearing a soft grinding noise in the back right tire, and when we looked at it today, we saw rust had covered about an inch of the rotor. After consulting some family and friends who are mechanics, we have decided to let it go for now, but if it gets worse, we will have to get it fixed during this trip. 

The rest of the day was spent driving, driving, and driving some more. Kansas is beautiful, but the long flat roads surrounded by cornfields start to get old after a few hours. 

We found some sunflowers (my favorite flower) on the side of the road. It was a nice break from the corn.

“How are we still in Kansas,” I asked in exasperation. 

“This is how it is,” Joseph said jokingly. “You’re in Kansas for, like, eight days, and then you finally get to Colorado.” 

We stopped at a gas station, where I filled our water bottles with a pump. The thing is, I have never used a water pump, so when I attempted it, the water sprayed all over me. Joseph,  who was filling our tires with air,  started laughing hysterically. But, honestly, after sitting in the hot car all day, it felt so refreshing. I would have sat under that spigot and just let the water run over me if it had been socially acceptable to do so. The heat was so oppressive today that by the time I finished filling the water bottles and returned to the car, my clothes were completely dry.

Two hours outside of Colorado, we decided to revisit the enneagram by listening to podcasts about each of our numbers. I insisted we listen to Joseph’s first. 

But, as we got further into it, his comments began to rub me the wrong way. He would agree with it and point out things about himself, saying, “Yes, that’s what I need!” and “That is so me!” The comments themselves were fine – they are actually what is to be expected when someone is learning more about himself. But I felt like they were directed at me, as if I did not  already know who he was. I felt like he was telling me what he needed because he felt I was not currently giving that to him, and that hurt me. 

These feelings probably came up for me because this was not an isolated incident. Just the night before,  Joseph told me that he felt like his love tank was not full. I was so surprised to hear that, considering we just got engaged a little over a week ago and we have been spending so much time together since then. His top love language is quality time, so it didn’t make sense why his love tank would not be full. Joseph’s secondary love language is physical touch, but I also felt like I had been loving him just as much as usual in this area as well. The two of us have agreed to wait until marriage to have sex, not necessarily because of religion, but because we want to learn all the other ways to love one another before having sex, because we know at that time, sex will most likely become the default way to show love. So, I can’t give him that, but that doesn’t mean I have not been able to show him love in other ways. And this pact is nothing new, so I was confused as to why, after over a year of dating, this was suddenly a problem. Joseph always told me I do a good job of loving him. Why would his love tank be decreasing after we got engaged and while we were on the trip of a lifetime? 

I’m repping my “The Africa Doc” t-shirt today. To learn more about this amazing project by my friend, Mark Perry, visit http://theafricadoc.com/

I’m not sure how it came out. I don’t remember what was said or how it came up, but before I knew it, we were pulled over on a side dirt road, tears running down my face, and both of us yelling at each other. It felt like one of the worst fights we had ever had. Joseph didn’t understand why I wasn’t happy, why I wasn’t enjoying learning more about our personalities and how that manifests in our relationship, and he hated that I was hurt, but he didn’t know what he had done wrong. I was distraught that I had apparently not loved him well; I didn’t understand what I had done wrong, and I was hurt that my fiancé seemed to believe that I didn’t already know how to love him well. And, perhaps, I was hurt that maybe that was true. It had always been one of my main goals to make sure he felt loved, and to hear that I failed in that area was devastating to me. 

We got back into the car and continued our drive, tense, exhausted and hurt. The last few days of sleep deprivation and being stuck in the car all day had taken its toll. We each spoke our minds, but neither of us seemed to have the energy to actually solve the problem. After a few minutes of just sitting in an exhausted and uncomfortable silence, I turned to him.

“Can we just get out of that place and start over from here,” I asked.

“Yes, please,” Joseph said. “I hate this. What is happening to us?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I think we’re tired.”

“Yes, like I so want to talk to you about this, but I can’t even think through what you’re saying,” Joseph said.

“Same,” I agreed. “I don’t want to be mad at you.”

“I don’t want to be mad at you,” Joseph said. “This is awful.”

“Okay, we’ve both said our peace, right,” I asked.

“Yes.”

“So, let’s just start from here. If you don’t feel loved, for whatever reason, you have to tell me. And then we will work through it.”

“And if you don’t feel loved, you have to tell me,” Joseph said. I agreed, and we both took a deep breath. 

“You want to finish listening to the podcast,” I asked. 

“Yes, I do.” Joseph turned it back on, and we listened through the last fifteen minutes. When we finished, Joseph asked what I thought. 

“It’s definitely you,” I said. “It makes a lot of sense. Especially the part about how you have to remind yourself to be a human ‘being,’ not a human ‘doing.’ I have literally heard you say that.”

“Yeah, there’s so many things that I heard that are things that I have said before, without even knowing that it was a part of my enneagram,” Joseph said. “And that whole part about just wanting affirmation. That’s all I want from people – to know that I did a good job.” I paused for a moment, studying him. 

“Joseph, did I thank you enough for our engagement,” I asked. “I mean, did I let you know how much it meant to me?”

“Yeah, I mean, I put a lot of work into it, but you did tell me,” he said. “But, then, I put a lot of work into this trip, too. And I just don’t feel like you noticed.” 

“I didn’t realize you needed to hear that,” I said. “Of course I noticed! You put so much work into this trip. But, so did I, and I didn’t expect you to thank me for it. We did it together.” I paused, thinking. “Are you sure your top love language isn’t words of affirmation?” Joseph stared at me. 

“Maybe,” he said slowly. 

“I mean, you told me your love tank wasn’t full, but we have spent every moment together. And we have had just as much physical touch as we always do. But, I didn’t affirm you about how amazing your proposal was and how well you did at planning this trip, and suddenly your love tank isn’t full.” We were silent for a moment, thinking. 

“Let’s try something,” I said. I grabbed his hand, gave it a squeeze and a long, tender kiss. Then, I looked deep into his eyes and said, “Joseph, thank you so much for your proposal. It was the proposal of my dreams. I could not have asked for more. It was so amazing, I couldn’t even believe it was for me. You love me so well. And thank you for how much thought and preparation you put into this trip. I was so nervous, but you put in so much work to make me feel comfortable and I really appreciate it.” 

“Thank you,” Joseph said sincerely, and I could see his eyes filled with what almost looked like relief. 

colorado sign

“Which thing meant more to you,” I asked. 

“Which what?”

“Did you even notice that I did two different things,” I asked. Joseph stared at me. “I grabbed your hand and kissed it, and then I affirmed you.” 

“I didn’t even think about you holding my hand,” Joseph said, surprised. “What you said meant everything to me. That filled my cup.”

I always thought it was strange that Joseph didn’t have words of affirmation as his top love language. He has always said that what makes him feel loved is when I listen to him and make him feel seen and heard, yet he has always insisted that his love languages were quality time and physical touch. 

Everyone seems to think that when two people get engaged, their relationship is supposed to be perfect, full of smiles and laughter. And it is, but it’s also filled with struggle, hurt, and difficult conversations. The point is that we know we want to spend the rest of our lives together, despite those challenging times. And today’s fight was actually super important for our relationship. We learned how I could better love Joseph, and when Joseph feels loved, it better enables him to love me well. When we were fighting, it felt like something broke between us, and maybe it did. But, an hour later, it was mended stronger than it was before.

There is no doubt that there will be many more fights, even worse than today’s argument. But I  have no doubt that I want to marry this man, because I know we are both dedicated to working through it and learning how to love each other better. That’s why I said “yes” when he asked me to marry him – not because we are perfect, but because we both recognize we aren’t and that actually makes us stronger. 

I would love to say that the rest of the drive was without any more challenges, but that is not the case. As we drove down the scenic highway, gazing out at the mountains in the distance, both of our cups were filled. Our only annoyance were the mosquitos buzzing around our heads. We slapped at them, hitting the car windows and doors and missing nearly every time. I missed one, and it flew over to Joseph’s side and landed on the windshield. Joseph formed a fist and hit the glass. 

The crack shocked us both. We stared, mouths agape, as it spiderwebbed across the glass. For a moment, we were both still. The mosquito flew away between us, triumphant. Joseph  and I looked at each other, and then we both burst into incredulous laughter. I suppose we will have to get that fixed soon, too.

We drove into Blanca, Colorado, and made it to our campsite. The road, however, was far too rough for our car, and the campsite was crowded with people, so we turned around and drove to our back-up choice. By this point, it was late and we were both exhausted. We had not eaten in eight hours, our bodies ached, and we were ready to go to bed. But when we finally made it down the dirt road, the sign read “Camping prohibited.” Discouraged and weary, we drove back into town, searching for an empty parking lot where we could just sleep in the car. By the time we found a spot, it was far too late to make dinner. We each had a small snack and climbed into the back of the car, and passed out, emotionally and physically exhausted.

But we made it. After three long days, we have arrived in Colorado. 

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Colorado road trip: Day two

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Let me just begin by saying that the backs of car seats do not make good beds. My body ached all through the night. The sunrise came far too early. I opened my bleary eyes when my alarm went off, wondering where the night had gone.

Our first challenge this morning was finding a bathroom. Because of COVID-19, a lot of stores are opening later than usual. Luckily, we found a Kroger just a few minutes away. While I was in the bathroom, Joseph cleaned up the car. We got hot water from the Starbucks inside the store for tea and instant oatmeal, and then we were off on our journey.

We drove the first four hours without stopping. We chatted and listened to music, revisiting our playlists from yesterday. The first state line we crossed today was Missouri. From a distance, we marveled at St. Louis and the grand arch. We are planning on visiting St. Louis at the end of this trip on our way back to Maryland.

We stopped just 30 minutes farther down the road because we were in desperate need of coffee and that’s where the closest Dunkin’ was. We sat on a parking lot curb again today for lunch, eating sandwiches and baby carrots. After our meal, we decided to take a walk to stretch our legs before getting back on the road. 

We walked first to the obvious main attraction, a grandiose casino just down the road. When we got there, we walked down the stairs of the parking garage to find an older, abandoned floor with graffiti-covered walls and mounds of dirt caked onto the floor. It was odd to see the stark contrast from the richness just above our heads. It seemed like we had stepped into a city out of a science fiction novel, and we had traveled from where the rich lived up ahead to where the less fortunate lived down below. 

We wandered out of the garage and stumbled upon a biking trail with train tracks running alongside it. With the shade from the trees protecting us from the Missouri summer heat, we continued our stroll to find a county fair set up in a parking lot. 

I absolutely love the county fair. There is just an air of excitement to it that can’t compare to anything else. Fairs are filled with local treasures, games almost no one ever wins (but I try anyway), and fun rides that are practically designed to make people throw up all of the delicious food they ate. 

But I discovered today that the magic of county fairs disappears when they aren’t filled with people. Joseph and I gazed out at barren food stands and empty rides, feeling as though we were looking at a ghost town. It was creepy and unnerving, like something out of a horror film. What reminded me that it was reality were the signs on the pavement instructing people on how to properly social distance when the fair does open. 

“Social distancing,” Joseph began thoughtfully. “How bad do you think the PTSD of this generation is going to be?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Kids are suddenly not able to see their grandparents. They can’t hug their friends. Everyone is wearing masks. That’s pretty scary.” 

“We are living in crazy times,” Joseph said. 

That we are. But the thing is, when has life ever been normal? People attach the word “new” to “normal” to try to make sense of the new situation we are in, but the truth is, “normal” is never a real state of being. I was terrified when the coronavirus began, scared to step foot out of my house. As the months have drawn on, that fear has not dissipated, but I have realized that I can’t stay in my house, petrified of the world around me. Caution is important; our actions should not place ourselves or anyone else in harm’s way. But we can’t wait to live until things are “back to normal.” No one and no thing is normal. And that’s okay, because it’s not the normalcy of a situation that gives us comfort. Normalcy is something we can’t ever truly rely on, as proven by the novel coronavirus. So, how could it possibly bring us peace of mind when it can so easily be taken away? What will truly bring us solace in times like this, and really any time in our lives, is our adaptability and willingness to change. The “new normal” is here; it’s just what we call “normal” now. For me, what is most important now is discovering how I can best love those around me in these new circumstances.

We returned to our car, eager to get back on the road. We briefly visiting Kansas City, but on our way there, we were stopped in standstill traffic for an hour, which delayed us enough to decide to just head on to our campsite instead. To pass the time, we spent a few hours exploring the enneagram. 

The enneagram is a personality test with nine different personality types. According to the Enneagram Institute’s website, it’s normal to find something in common with all of the personality types, but people tend to have one dominant personality and one complementary or contradictory personality, called the wing. Joseph and I have both taken the enneagram assessment in the past, and we both tested as twos. However, Joseph recently began to think that maybe he got the wrong results. 

It’s already a chore to take a long personality test once. Neither of us wanted to take it a second time. Besides, after knowing what we tested as, we thought it might be difficult not to subconsciously have that knowledge influence our answers the second time we took the test. 

Instead, we made a fun activity out of trying to discover our enneagram ourselves. After reading brief descriptions of each of the nine personalities, we listened to the corresponding song from the album Atlas: Enneagram by Sleeping At Last to see if we connected with the music and lyrics. 

It was actually a pretty effective test. Sleeping At Last did an amazing job of adjusting their musical style to fit what I would imagine the different personalities would be most attracted to, and the lyrics were so incredibly empathetic to the way each personality thinks. I felt like, if nothing else, my empathy and understanding for all the other personalities increased. 

I connected with the same song as I tested: two. Joseph, however, best connected with the three personality, and when we read the description, it fit him perfectly. The funny thing is that each of our wing (complementary) personalities is each other’s: Joseph’s wing personality is a two and mine is a three. So, even though we are not the same personality like we once thought, we understand each other well. 

We are staying in Kansas tonight. Our campsite is a beautiful spot of land adjacent to a quiet lake. When we arrived, Joseph started on dinner while I set up the tent. We had turkey burgers and salad for dinner again, but tonight, Joseph got the burgers so hot that the cheese melted on top. 

As the sun set, the trees became silhouettes against the purple clouds floating in the pink and orange streaked sky. As people packed up their fishing gear and left, the lake became as smooth as a mirror. Joseph and I strolled around the lake, listening to the sounds of the crickets as the lightning bugs danced around us. As the world darkened, we gazed up at bright crescent moon. The sky stretched on forever, cluttered with the brilliance of billions of dazzling stars. 

We are so small in this world, in this galaxy, in this universe. Under a sky like that, I couldn’t help but feel just how insignificant I am in the grand scheme of life. 

But, as just a small bit of the universe, that also makes me a part in the most significant thing we know. Just as there are trillions of stars above my head, there are trillions of cells within me. Every day, new cells and stars are created, and every day, cells and stars die. Scientists still cannot fathom the complexities of the cosmic universe, but inside me, and inside every person, is a complex universe of our own, filled with mystery and beauty too wondrous to comprehend. 

Though we may be small, we are anything but insignificant. We are a beautiful work of art, a masterful creation, designed with purpose. 

When we arrived back at our campsite, we had dessert: the Rice Krispies treats I made before this trip. And then, with our stomachs full and dessert cravings satisfied, we climbed into our sleeping bags for some much needed rest. 

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Colorado, baby!

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Since the first date with Joseph, my new fiancé, we have talked about our shared dream of going to Colorado.

At the first mention, he had been there before, first for a skiing trip and then once more driving through the state on a road trip. I had not yet had the chance of visiting, but I had always dreamed of going. That following summer, on a cross country running journey, I found myself falling in love with the majestic mountain ranges. Strolling through Denver, I knew this needed to be a place I returned to one day. I had no way of knowing it would be so soon.

During our impromptu staycation last week, Joseph proposed to me that we take a road trip to Colorado. It was just a musing at first, but then, we both grew more serious about the idea. Because of the novel coronavirus, neither of us are working our regular jobs right now, and his graduate school classes don’t start for another month. When again would we have a chance like this?

I agreed, not knowing that Joseph had even more in mind for this trip. On the last day of our staycation, he bent down on one knee and asked me to marry him. Our Colorado trip suddenly became not just a summer road trip, but the celebration of our engagement.

Photo by Jon Mauler – check out more of his amazing photography and videography on his Instagram at https://instagram.com/jonmauler?igshid=1qcaup49os6gk

We had a week to plan, which was not much considering we had to pack all of our food (I am currently on a very strict diet for my health, so fast food is, unfortunately, not an option), and we wanted to stay within a tight budget. 

Despite this, everything came together this morning. With the car packed full with food, sleeping bags, extra blankets, clothes, and our tent, we bid my parents farewell and embarked on our first long driving day just shortly after sunrise.

The first few hours driving into Western Maryland were reminiscent of the road trip we had taken during our staycation just last week, the day Joseph had proposed the Colorado road trip idea. When we crossed the border into West Virginia, what we were doing became real to both us, and our excitement only grew.

We stopped in a Panera parking lot at lunch so I could have reliable wifi for a video call for work. We sat on the curb eating sandwiches and making bitter instant coffee that neither of us wanted to drink. 

That’s when the first misadventure happened. The power box we bought blew the circuit in the cigarette lighter, so we were stuck figuring out how we were going to charge my laptop during this trip. We scanned desperately through Amazon, but found that most of the chargers we needed to replace it (if we could even get them), would be a hundred dollars at the least.

Without much hope, we stopped by a Walmart nearby. We perused the laptop section without any luck. As a last effort, we went to the automotive section, where we found a USB-A to USB-C lightning cable for three dollars! We eagerly ran back to the car to test it out, and to our delight, it worked. Crisis number one was successfully averted.

We continued our drive through West Virginia, marveling at the scenery and listening to music. I found a Pinterest steal this morning about making a playlist to create a soundtrack for your life, and we both had fun picking songs for that and sharing our selections with one another. 

Kentucky was our final destination for today’s travels. We stopped in a Cabela’s parking lot, our “campsite” for the night, just as it was starting to drizzle. Fighting against time, we rushed to light our portable grill and heat up our turkey burgers for dinner. We jumped in the car just as the rain was starting to pour. The burgers weren’t quite warm; unfortunately, they were about the same temperature as the salad we ate it with (which was also not at its ideal temperature after sitting in the cooler all day). But after such a long day, it felt like a five-star meal.

We’re in the car now, the seats pushed down into the floor and our sleeping bags laid out on top for a bit of cushioning. It’s hot and humid, but Joseph had the genius idea of securing a tarp to the side of the car so we could roll down a window. Now, there’s at least a cool breeze blanketing us. The sound of the rain pattering against the car windows is going to be a soothing lullaby for our first night on the road. Honestly, after sixteen hours of being on-the-go, I don’t think anything could keep me awake at this point.

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Fall Day

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I would love to say that I visited the farm on a cool, crisp, windy day, with colorful leaves blowing past my face and the smell of pumpkin spice hanging in the air, but my visit to Spider Hall Farms was far from the quintessential autumn day. It was hot and humid October day in Southern Maryland, a place where the weather is always unpredictable. One day, you will be bundled up in sweaters, scarves and hats and still shivering; the next, you will be sweating in a tank top and shorts, staring at all the fallen leaves around you and wondering what went wrong.

This was one of those days. With my family in tow, I walked through the freshly shaven grass to Spider Hall Farms, a place from my childhood, and a place where I was hoping to relive some lost memories. As a senior in college, I am about to embark upon a new stage in my life with an ending I cannot predict. This uncertainty made me feel that the sense of home I had always found comfort in to be fading away.

Spider Hall Farms, so named because of the “spider hall” that used to form over the dirt lane leading to it, is a family-owned business run by seventh-generation farmers. David and Susan Cox bought the tobacco farm when their children expressed an interest in reviving the family tradition that had ended with their parents. Now, they, their children, and their grandchildren help work on the land.

We stopped first at the petting zoo, where we were not greeted by the fall smell of pumpkin spice, but were treated to another odor I would have rather left undiscovered. Nevertheless, the animals were adorable. The braying goats stuck their heads through the slats of wood of their pen to nibble, because, as always, the grass is greener on the other side. My brother called me over to pet the fur of the llama, which was softer than anything I had ever pet.

The only concerning sight was the turtle, who was trying desperately to escape his tiny, bucket prison, tears leaking from his eyes over his hot, scaly skin.

“Is he okay to be in there like that,” my mother asked the nearby attendant, a brunette girl who looked young enough to still be in high school. “He looks like he needs water.” The attendant replied that he was fine. My mother’s expression was doubtful, so the attendant explained the turtle was from the desert, and he was desperate to get out to roam around and play, not because he was too hot.

From the petting zoo, we watched the children play in the educational exhibits, where they learned about life on the farm. I was amazed to find myself having to stoop into the playhouses that once towered over me and kept me entertained for hours.  Finding only a bittersweet feeling, I left the enclosure and followed my family to the blissfully cool farm store. By now, sweat was pouring down our reddened faces, and we were ready for some refreshments before we visited the main attractions: the corn maze.

Looking around the store, I was reminded of the old Mom and Pop’s stores that used to fill Southern Maryland before it was built into the bustling counties that have taken over today. Glass canning jars lined the shelves, filled with jellies, jams, salsas and pickles. Bushels of apples from Baugher’s Orchard, a farm upstate, sat on the ground. Local artists had hung their artwork on the walls to be sold, and beside this stood fridges and freezers filled with farm fresh milk, cheese, ice cream, yogurt and beef. On the counter, fresh baked pastries filled with pumpkin and apple tempted our appetites, while individually wrapped caramels beckoned from the register.

We decided upon some honeycrisp apples and cranberry orange jack cheese with chocolate milk (“From the brown cows,” I joked). We sat outside the store in rocking chairs as if we were sitting on grandmother’s porch. The sweet apples paired excellently with the sharpness of the jack cheese, which could have been a meal on its own. With hints of tangy orange zest and sweet bursts of cranberry, it had the tastes of an elegant wintry cheese platter in every single bite.

The hayride was next. The prickly, golden stalks poked at our bare legs; hayrides should only be ridden in weather cool enough to wear slacks and flannel. At the corn maze, we were warned the path was particularly difficult this year. Upon learning this, my mother immediately sought out a map.

“A map!” Jake, my brother, exclaimed. “You can’t do a corn maze with a map. That takes all the fun out of it.”

“We don’t have to use it,” Mom said. “It’s for if we get lost.”

“That’s part of the fun,” said Jess, Jake’s girlfriend.

“We don’t need a map,” Jake said firmly, grabbing Jess’s hand. “We’ll do it without one, and we will still beat you.”

And so the race began. I, fumbling along with a badly sprained ankle, was stuck with the slower pair of my parents, who insisted on following the map, while Jake and Jess ran ahead, hand-in-hand, Jake playing the part of the brave guide in the wilderness, and Jess as the damsel by his side.

Oh, to be young and in love.

The corn stalks towered above our heads. From inside the maze, with the rest of the world hidden from view, I found myself remembering a similar experience. The maze had seemed just as confusing and foreboding then, filled with winding bends and a writhing path that left the mind boggled. Then, too, I had followed my mother’s safe form as my brother ran ahead, always the most daring of the group. It occurred to me then that childhood memories were not the moments I should be chasing. As my brother journeyed ahead with a youthful spirit and curiosity, I realized that life, too, is not something to be scared of, but to be daringly explored. Life is an adventure. Like the maze I was trapped in then, it is filled with twists and turns that can send you down unruly and sometimes erroneous paths, but what matters most is knowing the people I love will always be there to help me find my way back home. 

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