Category Archives: Campground

Blue Ridge Parkway and Bandits Roost

14 Monday Oct 2019

Posted by in Campground, Photography, Travel

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On Sunday morning, I started off bright and early from Otter Creek, on the road by 8AM. I’m not going to say that I was running away from the smell of sewage, but the knowledge that Sunday is often a day when people leave campgrounds, and people often dump their tanks upon departure, definitely factored into my swift escape.

I was glad I did, however, because the Blue Ridge Parkway was absolutely stunning at that hour. I stopped at multiple scenic overlooks, mostly by myself because it was so early, and admired the breathtaking views. I took a bunch of photos, but none of them come anywhere close to capturing the beauty. And I’m starting to think it was a mistake to let the puppy chew on my phone — I’ve cleaned the camera lens, but my photos, eh. Anyway, this is the best of many bad shots of the glorious morning.

scenic panorama
A scenic overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway

I stopped at the first visitors center I came to and read about the history of the road. The ranger there also gave me a map and explained why GPS is so completely useless: apparently, because commercial vehicles aren’t allowed on the parkway, Google has never mapped it. That explains why my phone kept trying to send me other places.

Although probably my phone would have kept trying to send me other places anyway — the parkway is definitely the slow way from Virginia to North Carolina. After four hours, I’d gone about 100 miles. And it was starting to get not fun. Seriously, not fun.

foggy, foggy tree
A very foggy, not-so-scenic overlook

This shot is an excellent representation of what the road was like by noon. Forget the views, I was worried about whether I’d see the curves of the road in time to not drive off the road.

I stopped at a non-scenic overlook — that one with the tree, actually — to see if I could wait it out, but after forty-five minutes or so, that didn’t feel like an option. The fog just seemed to be getting thicker. So I gave up on reaching the campground I’d hoped to make it to (Linhall Falls) and looked for a closer option. And sadly, I had to look for an option with electricity, because the generator wouldn’t start so I couldn’t get the battery to charge. (Sigh. I’m hoping the generator problem was the elevation, which has been the problem every time it’s refused to start in the past (on two separate occasions in Arizona), but I haven’t tested it yet.)

Fortunately, there was an Army Corps of Engineers campground about an hour away, so I headed to Bandits Roost Campground in Wilkesboro, North Carolina. The campground is a typical campground — lots of sites, reasonably close together — but as with all ACoE campgrounds, there’s water nearby. If I had a neighbor, I’d be looking into their trailer window, but as it is, I’ve got a view of the lake (or reservoir, not sure which) beyond some trees. Zelda, for some reason, was super enthusiastic about the smells of this campground: we went for a walk when we got here and it took us half an hour to make it around the tiniest loop. Her nose never left the ground, but her tail was happy, happy. Unfortunately, they’ve got a water pump problem so the showers aren’t working. But the electricity is, so I’m not complaining. I turned the heat on to 70 this morning, and it was so nice to be warm.

My spot was only available for one night, however, so I’m getting back on the road this morning. I seriously debated abandoning my slow route plans entirely and just heading to Florida as quickly as possible yesterday — I was so tired from seven hours on the road and really unenthusiastic about adding any time at all to the driving I’ve got to do in the next week. But I am literally less than three hours away from Asheville, so I am going to persist. Hopefully not too much driving today, followed by a couple of low-driving (or no driving!) days and I will be ready for the long burst back to Florida.

Otter Creek Campground, Blue Ridge National Parkway

13 Sunday Oct 2019

Posted by in Campground

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My first goal when I headed off on Friday morning was not propane: it was cell service/internet. Without GPS, I had no idea where I was going. Serenity has a compass on the dash and I used it to keep myself roughly oriented south-east, since I knew that’s where I would want to wind up, but I wandered around winding back roads of the forest for a while before stumbling into Shenandoah National Park. 

It was a gorgeous day for it. It was foggy in the forest, all shadowed green trees with wisps of cloud hovering between them, a perfect setting for a fairy tale or a horror movie. But as the road wound up, I drove out of the fog and into pure sunshine, with the light reflecting off the bank of clouds beneath me. So beautiful. Like being on an airplane, that moment when you truly feel like you’ve entered the sky, except that my sky was still surrounded by trees and nature. I tried, of course, to capture the beauty by stopping at scenic overlooks to take pictures, but it’s impossible to do it justice. Plus, as with all national parks, half a dozen people or more were always admiring the same view/cluttering up the scene. Oh, well. It was a chance to add to my collection of Pictures of People Taking Pictures. (Someday I will make a slideshow of those.) 

As promised by the National Parks Guide, I saw white-tailed deer and plenty of birds. A blue jay darted across the road with a flash of his blue wings and made me gasp. Literally, because I thought I was going to hit it and that would have been awful. Fortunately, I missed or he missed, and the next second he was gone. Eventually, I found the visitors center, watched the movie about the founding of the park, got a stamp in my parks passport, and spent the next hour on the internet, catching up on my email, posting to my blog, responding to messages, and using my gps and camping apps to figure out my next steps.

How did I forget it was a holiday weekend? It just hadn’t occurred to me. But all the campgrounds in Shenandoah were full, plus I still needed propane, so I headed south, thinking I’d try to make it halfway to Asheville. The Skyline drive in Shenandoah was beautiful, but the search for propane put me on 81 and it was horrible — stop-and-go traffic in spots, always crowded, always a generic highway. Not the worst generic highway, but a highway is a highway is a highway. Within an hour, all of my morning delight was gone in the reminder of why I am sick of driving. I pulled over at the first rest stop I could find and revised my plan. It took another hour, but I got off 81, found the Blue Ridge Parkway, and took the very last spot at the first campground on the parkway, Otter Creek Campground. 

The very last spot is lovely. For parking purposes, it’s tiny — I actually had my doubts whether the van would fit when I looked at it. But there’s plenty of room for a tent or even two, a picnic table, a fire ring, and it overlooks the creek. The campground has a dump station and potable water, so I emptied my tanks and refilled my tanks, and settled in. And super nice people. I chatted with a park volunteer, Bobby, for a solid hour — set up my chairs and everything — about campgrounds in Florida & the Great Smokeys, writing, and the camping life. When it was getting dark, the campground host wandered by to let me know that at 5:30AM, he’d be setting up an extension cord on his picnic table for people who needed a little electricity for coffeemakers in the morning. 

On the other hand, the very last spot does have one rather big problem, so I will say, for the sake of any reader who might actually be using my blog for campground advice: avoid #68.

the van camped right next to the dump station

If I was a Photoshop maven — well, and if I owned Photoshop — I could probably tweak the light balance on this photo so that you could read the words on the sign. But they say Dump Station (or something similar). Yes, the place where people pour their sewage into the ground is a stone’s throw from my campsite and yes, that means the whiff of sewage is a regular guest. Not my favorite natural smell ever.

I had intended not to stop for longer than a night until I made it to Asheville, but given the holiday weekend situation, I changed my plans and paid for two nights. But the Blue Ridge Mountains are apparently just as bad for internet as the George Washington National Forest was — no cell signal or internet at all, not even a flicker — so I’ll probably be posting this on Monday. 

I also discovered something really obvious at Otter Creek — something I should have figured out a long time ago. I always have a hard time writing in parking lots, and busy campgrounds are almost as bad. It’s because they’re busy, obviously. It was a big campground, full for the holiday weekend, and I simply could not settle into my imagination at all. People wandered by, kids played in the creek, the aforementioned dump station meant I got to watch multiple other people’s dumping techniques… and abruptly, the writing was just as bad as when I drove east this summer. I was in the middle of a major scene and I couldn’t find any words. So frustrating. 

But Z and I had a really nice walk through the woods — the longest walk she’s been willing to take for a while. We also waded in the creek, although only she got her feet wet. So I guess I wasn’t wading, I was hopping along the stepping stones. 🙂 

I also spent some time cleaning and organizing the van. Campgrounds in the forest in autumn -> tracking in leaf mulch and more leaf mulch and more of it. But the van felt clean for two or three minutes, anyway. 

And I’m glad to get on the road again. Not sure where I’ll be camping next, but I will definitely be paying attention to where the dump station is before I make any commitments!

Little Fort Campground, George Washington National Forest

11 Friday Oct 2019

Posted by in A Precarious Magic, Campground, Vanlife, Writing

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When I set off from Allentown on Monday, my plan was to take a slow drive south, seeing the scenery along the way. I had my sights on a small National Forest campground for my first night, to be followed by a drive through Shenandoah, then more driving along the Blue Ridge Parkway. With overnight stops along the way, of course. By the weekend, I’d be in North Carolina. I’d explore Asheville and the Great Smoky Mountains, maybe check out the ruby mine in Cherokee, just because I liked the sapphire mine in Montana so much. 

In other words, I’d be a tourist. 

The only problem with this plan is that the book isn’t finished, and I really truly want to get it done. 

I made it to my first destination: Little Fort Campground in the George Washington National Forest. It’s a tiny campground, only nine sites, and it has no amenities. No water, no hook-ups, no showers, no dump station, no garbage service. Also no internet access and no cell service. It’s also free, so you know, you get what you pay for. 

Except not really, because it is beautiful and treed and peaceful. Not a view, exactly — it’s just a spot in the middle of a forest — but out of every window I see trees, just starting to pick up their autumn color. The campground seems to be a base point for people with ATVs, so occasionally the noise of humankind is pretty loud. But mostly it’s crickets. Literal crickets, lots and lots of them. At night, the only lights I can see are the ones created by the van and by nature. Well, and once a campfire from people across the way. 

When I got here on Monday, I had my choice of three sites: one right next to the check-in board that was so tiny the van would barely squeeze in; one relatively sloped site; and one that was the nicest spot in the campground — a pull-through spot, with steps up to a level square with a picnic table, fire ring, and paved tent spot. 

I feel like it would be good to explore my reservations about taking the nicest spot with a therapist sometime — really, why did I hesitate? Why did I feel like I should leave that spot to some person with a bigger camper who would need a pull-through? Why did I feel guilty, in a first-come, first-served campground, about choosing the best option of the available options? I don’t know, but I did. However, I overcame the guilt and took the good spot. 

And then I stayed. Because honestly, I feel like I should see the National Parks, since I’m so close. And I feel like I should take the long scenic drives, and admire the beauty of our autumn countryside. And I feel like I should explore Asheville, a town that I’ve been told I’d love so many times. 

But what I want to do is finish writing APM. So for the past two days, I’ve played with words and stared into space and eaten nice food and taken occasional brief walks with Z and enjoyed my life. Ever so much, enjoyed my life. 

I’m writing this on Thursday, but you’re not going to read it on Thursday, because I have no internet access. When I went to sleep last night, I was thinking today was the day I’d drive on. Shenandoah, Blue Ridge Parkway, etc. Also internet access for checking email and messages, posting blog posts. But I’m not going to. Maybe tomorrow if I run out of water or propane or finish writing the book. (The first is possible but unlikely; the second is possible and somewhat likely; the third is highly unlikely.) Instead, I’m going to keep playing with words and appreciate the sounds of crickets. 

Spot #1 at Little Fort Campground.

Updated to add: propane was the deciding factor. But before I left, I had such a nice experience. I realized I was going to have to go late Thursday afternoon, while heating up some soup for dinner. I was a little bummed, but accepting. Obviously, it was still a choice: I could have stayed without propane. But I would have had to run the generator to make coffee in the morning and I am not capable of being that rude to my neighbors. No one likes being woken up by a growling gas generator when camping.  

So I packed up the van so I could be ready to go first thing in the morning. Everything was stowed, I was mostly all set to go… and a late arrival drove into the campground. A truck, pulling a trailer. Not huge, but the only site in the campground that he might possibly fit into was mine. He drove in, took the loop, was making his way out, and I hopped out of the van and flagged him down. Ten minutes later, I was moved into the tiny site across the way, the one next to the check-in board, and a very happy camper — who’d been on the road for eleven hours — was settling into my site. He was grateful and the serendipity felt like the universe telling me it was time to move on. It was such nice timing. 

And no, the book isn’t done. It took another unexpected turn, which… well, it’s an unexpected book, I guess. But I spent quite a bit of time wavering about this unexpected turn. A paragraph that sums up the dilemma: 

“Fen fumbled for the crystal in her pocket, unable to tear her eyes away from Ghost. Clearly, she had fallen asleep and woken up in some bad B movie from the 1950s. This couldn’t possibly be real.” 

Fortunately, I eventually decided that bad B movies can be highly entertaining and I might as well stick with enjoying the ride. “Still giggling” remains among my favorite reader feedback ever, after all!

Wells State Park, MA

30 Friday Aug 2019

Posted by in Campground

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I left for Maine on Wednesday and I made it as far as the Target/CostCo parking lot. I needed gas. And snacks. And toothpaste. And lunch. And by the time I was done with all those useful things, the sky was gray, rain looming, and I had a sinus headache and wanted a nap. So I drove to the garden house and took a nap. I enjoy rain so much more sitting in Serenity than driving Serenity. By the time the rain stopped and my headache eased off, I had no inclination to start driving, so I spent the night in the garden house driveway.

On Thursday, I really drove to Maine. Well, no, I didn’t. I really drove, but I mostly drove to Connecticut. And around Connecticut. And more around Connecticut. Note to self: never take Serenity to Connecticut.

I guess the problem is not “to” Connecticut as much as it is “through” Connecticut. Route 15, aka the Merit Parkway, has bridges that are too low to take Serenity under. Vehicles over 8′ are not allowed on it. But nothing I could do would convince either of my GPS systems — Apple maps on my phone or the GPS in the van — to let me avoid it. I wound up wandering surface streets in random towns and trying not to be obsessive about how much time I was wasting. Ironically, every time I’ve driven this direction before, I headed north to Albany and then across MA because even people driving cars think CT is a nightmare. The only reason I didn’t yesterday was because Apple Maps was convinced that CT was faster and I decided I was perfectly competent to deal with traffic, even NYC traffic. Traffic, yes. Low bridges, no.

I didn’t stop at all until after 1PM, and by the time I’d finished eating my lunch, traffic had added another hour to my journey. Five more hours to my destination in Maine, meaning an arrival at 7PM, not including stops for dinner, gas, and walking the dog. And further delays as rush hour traffic really got underway. I decided against. Or rather I decided I would let fate decide. If the state park right next to the highway was full, I’d keep going. If it wasn’t, I’d stop for the night. Such a good decision!

Wells State Park was not universally loved on the camping apps: narrow roads, sloped spaces, no hook-ups or amenities. But it is gorgeous. The host gave me a site “overlooking the water”, which is an apt description — I’m high on a hill with a steep slope down to the water, so there’s no playing in the water. But the site faces east and the sun is shining on my laptop as I write this, and I’m surrounded by trees and the smells of nature. Also, plenty of traffic noise, but distant enough that I can pretend it’s the sound of the ocean. (That is what happens when you aim for a state park right off the highway!)

This morning there was an orange note on the van. I was puzzled by how it had appeared sometime in the night, but I think I was asleep by about 8 with the front curtains drawn, so it was no surprise that I hadn’t noticed someone putting it there. Anyway, the note warned me that the town was closing activities between the hours of 6PM to 8AM because of the risk of EEE caused by mosquitoes, and warning me to use insect repellent, cover up, etc. I was reading this at 7AM, comfortably within the time of mosquito bite danger, so of course, I walked Zelda feeling absolutely paranoid about bugs and itching like crazy. But it was so pretty with the fog rising off the water as the sun shone on it that I still took dozens of pictures.

blurry scenery shot of water with fog rising on it
Wells State Park

None of them turned out very well, unfortunately. I had a brief moment of wondering, “What’s happened to my phone camera? Did I mess up the settings somehow?” And then I remembered that my favorite game with Oscar, the Best Brother Ever’s puppy, was letting him steal my phone out of my pocket and then run away with it. He was so cute and determined as he tried to drag it away. I’m willing to bet that my camera lens has a bunch of dog saliva on it. Time to clean it. (Also, Dad, I am planning to stick it in the mail today – I haven’t forgotten, I just needed the gps for one more trip first!)

If I was staying a few more days, the first order of business would be to drag my ever-so-rarely used inflatable kayak out from under my bed and start inflating. It’s a beautiful day for kayaking and this is a perfect place for it. But Apple maps is steadily adding time to my route to Maine and on the Friday before Labor Day weekend, I think it’s only going to get worse. So I’m going to pack up and get on the road. But I would happily stay in this campground again, mosquitoes and road noise and all.

Saint-Gaudens National Historic Site & Blackberry Campground

10 Saturday Aug 2019

Posted by in Adventures, Campground, Travel

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Augustus Saint-Gaudens was the son of immigrant parents. His father became a shoemaker in New York City, and Augustus became one of the most famed American artists of the late 19th, early 20th century. His bronze statues of Civil War era politicians and military generals are the artwork of public spaces in big cities, instantly recognizable. At Teddy Roosevelt’s request, he also designed the art on some of the classic coins of the era. 

He had a retreat and studio in Cornish, New Hampshire and after his (untimely, early) death, his wife worked to make sure he was remembered, part of which entailed giving the land to the nation and turning it into a national historic site, New Hampshire’s one and only national site. 

I, of course, knew none of this before I drove up and parked in a pretty grassy field for RV parking. I felt like I should have, though. Many times during this journey I have been confronted with my ignorance — about wildflowers, bird identification, geography, geology, plumbing functioning, electricity… Yeah, moving into a camper van is a good way to discover how very much you don’t know. But it’s also a great way to learn unexpectedly. 

The house at the Saint-Gaudens National Historic Site
The historic house

I had a lovely hour at the historic site watching the video about his life, wandering around the studios and admiring art, and appreciating the gorgeous gardens. I especially liked the honesty of the historical information: Saint-Gaudens had an affair with his model, an illegitimate son, and a strained relationship with his wife, all of which was openly addressed in the displays about his life. Even though my opinion of him immediately plunged when I found out he’d cheated on his wife, the details made their story much more interesting than a generic recitation of dates would have been. They became a story, real people, not just history. 

Post the historical site, I headed into the mountains of New Hampshire. I’d been told that the Kancamagus highway was worth the drive, so even though it was far from being the most direct route to my destination in Maine, I headed that way. 

It was a nice highway. I am, however, lamentably spoiled. I think I should drive it sometime in the middle of autumn to be truly impressed, because I mostly drove along it thinking about all the other beautiful highways I’ve driven on in the past three years. Sure, it was pretty, but it was no Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

But I stopped at Blackberry Campground, a National Forest campground, around 3PM and paid $25 for a dry camping spot for the night. My spot was huge, had a cement pad and a nice fire pit and was surrounded by trees. I would definitely give it solid marks for pretty and secluded. But I totally picked the wrong side of the campground. Even though I couldn’t see the road, I could hear it. And sadly for me, big trucks drive that road making big truck noises as they go up the hills. 

Even more sadly for me — well, sort of — the weather had gone quite dire. Fantastic thunderstorms and pounding rain. I say “sort of” because it’s still really fun for me to be in the van when the rain is pounding down. Even after my intense winter of California rain, I love the music rain makes on the van roof and the punctuation of thunder rumbles makes it all the better. But it did mean I didn’t wind up exploring the campground at all. I’d picked the campground because it was a Conservation Corps Campground and most of them have some beautiful old stone structures. This one had a nearby hike to a covered bridge, too. In better weather, it would have been a fun place to wander around. So it goes. Maybe next time. And maybe next time in autumn, when the leaves should be splendid and the mosquitoes should be frozen. 

Winhall Brook Camping Area, Ball Mountain Lake

09 Friday Aug 2019

Posted by in Campground, Travel

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I headed out on Tuesday morning with last hugs all around — the hugs that said, “I am a world adventurer venturing forth on a daring and risky excursion that will last for months,” instead of what would have been far more accurate casual waves of “See you in a couple weeks/months.” I wasn’t sure how far I was going or where I would spend the night, but I needed to dump the tanks, after having spent most of a month sitting still in PA, and I wanted to spend at least a night in New Hampshire on my way to Maine and a meet up of fellow Travato owners.

Along the way, it started to storm. So many beautiful days in PA, and once I’m on the road, rain? Really? But I stopped at a rest stop and waited it out, because why not? As a result, I didn’t make it all the way to New Hampshire, but I decided that was fine, because instead, I stopped at an Army Corp of Engineers campground in the Green Mountain National Forest of Vermont.

Now that I’ve (almost) been to every state, I’ve been contemplating other travel goals and one of them might be to visit all the national forests. I’m not going to try to get to all the national parks; there are too many of them, and they’re too crowded. But I like the idea of visiting all the national forests, as much because I’ve never heard of lots of them, so it would be adventuring in the unknown a lot of the time. I had heard of the Green Mountain National Forest, though, and it was just as lovely as expected. Also very green.

The campground had a spot available in the hook-ups section, which I took because I needed water, so it was a good opportunity to fill up my water tanks. It was a great deal, too — dry camping (ie camping without electricity or water) was $20/night and with hook-ups, it was $26. Getting to fill my tank and charge my computer for $6 felt like a bargain. If I ever go back there, though, I will definitely aim to dry camp, because the campsites with electricity were a little more parking lot than I like. A nice parking lot, on grass, with trees, but sites close together. I spent the late afternoon listening to kids running around playing and my neighbors chatting. Perfectly nice, but all things being equal, one of the quiet spots overlooking the river in the much more secluded dry camping section would have been more my speed.

Serenity’s campsite: lovely for $26, but those neighbors are pretty close.
The view from the back of one of the dry camping sites.

I didn’t use any of the facilities except the dump station, so I can’t provide a shower report, but it was a beautiful place. No internet, though, so I couldn’t research my next day’s travels. Oops.

The next morning I headed out early. I knew I was going to spend the night in New Hampshire, but I didn’t know where. Instead of picking a destination for the night, though, I let S’s voice (imagined, in my head, not her real voice) influence my destination. New Hampshire has exactly one site listed in the National Parks passport, the Saint-Gaudens National Historic Site. I had no idea what it was, knew absolutely nothing about it, but off I went.

Trout Lake & Wagner Lake

23 Sunday Jun 2019

Posted by in Campground, Travel

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My campsite at Trout Lake

I could blame the weather or the bugs, but I think I should have thought twice about staying at Trout Lake Campground when the campground host casually mentioned that they were expecting a full house on the weekend because they were hosting a big off-road vehicle rally. I’d already handed him my credit card for two nights, however, and I really wanted a shower. If I’d known that the showers were the type were you have no control of the water temp and that the mosquitoes were sharing their meals with the black flies, I would have snatched my credit card back out of his hand. It was, however, only for two nights, so I will stop complaining now. And I’d had a long day before getting there so I really was ready to stop driving.

I hadn’t gone all that far, but I’d been driving through Pictured Rocks National Park and stopping regularly. Lots of scenic views. Also lots of bugs. I saw one guy wearing a mosquito net hat — clearly the apparel of the experienced northern Michigan hiker!

waterfall
Waterfalls and rushing streams!
trees and lake view
Admiring the distant views — the deep blue in the background is the lake.
forget-me-nots in green grasses
Admiring the close-up views — the forget-me-nots are an invasive species apparently, but they’re really beautiful.

After a quiet (and grumpy) rest day at Trout Lake, I got back on the road again on Thursday with relief, but no real destination in mind. It turned into a day of minor errands — Aldi and Walmart and gas — followed by a somewhat ridiculous, but rewarding persistence.

I only had one night to spend wherever I decided to stop, so there was no reason to look for someplace special. A parking lot would have made sense. Maybe a night in a motel, so I could actually have that really nice shower? I was so indecisive. But it stays light really late in Michigan so instead of stopping, I just kept looking. I rejected one campground — too hilly. I rejected a second campground — nice for tent campers, but a parking lot for a van. (But while I was in the parking lot, I ran the generator and cooked some InstantPot chicken and rice for dinner.) I got lost while looking for a third campground and missed it entirely. Apple Maps sent me in a ridiculous direction for the next campground and I wound up in a dead end dirt road with minimal room to turn around. I still didn’t find myself a nice Walmart for the night. I don’t know why I was so determined, but at that point, I’d been looking for someplace nice for so long that I wasn’t going to stop until I was happy. Or exhausted, I suppose.

Fortunately, happy came first. At about 7PM, I found myself at Wagner Lake Campground in the Huron-Manistee National Forests.

Private, quiet, peaceful, beautiful. I could have stayed there for days (despite the mosquitoes, which were pervasive but not insane). Instead, I enjoyed a completely relaxing morning, and got back on the road around noon. For once, I knew exactly where I was headed — a weekend with friends that I hadn’t seen since college!

Bay Furnace Campground

17 Monday Jun 2019

Posted by in Adventures, Campground, Travel

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Foggy water and green grass
The morning fog on the water, as seen from the back of my campsite

I failed to call my dad on Father’s Day, because I had no cell service. I feel like that was bad planning on my part, but by the time I realized that my phone was lying to me — that the 1 bar of Verizon service really meant responses like “message failed to send” and “call failed” — I’d already paid $40 for two nights at Bay Furnace Campground. And not just that, I’d gotten one of the four nicest sites, the ones on the lake with water views and their own tiny private beaches. I was not minded to walk away for the sake of an internet connection.  (Sorry, Dad. I hope you had a Happy Father’s Day!)

Even if I hadn’t gotten such a nice site, I would have loved this campground. All the sites are reasonably spacious, with good separation between them. I can see my neighbors — and actually overhear some of their conversations — but my site still feels private. I left the shades up to watch the night sky when I went to sleep last night, which I don’t always do, if it feels like people might be driving or walking by. 

Although speaking of night skies… Michigan is very far north. I know this not because I can read a map or know anything about American geography (although I actually can and do) but because it stays light ridiculously late and gets light ridiculously early. My instincts are to stay awake for a couple hours after it gets dark and then wake up with the sunrise. That’s not giving me nearly enough sleep in Michigan. If I lived in Alaska, I don’t think I’d get any sleep all summer long. 

A pair of mallard ducks.
The ducks didn’t seem to mind the cold.

Back to the campground — it’s dry camping, no electricity or water hook-ups, but there are bathrooms and a dump station and places to get fresh water. Also unexpected ruins and fog on the water in the morning. Also, I am fairly sure, forget-me-nots growing wild in the forest. Seriously, forget-me-nots and fog together make me feel like I’m living in L. M. Montgomery novel. 

The writing is still not going well (translation: not going at all), but Amazon finally gave the Kindle app a useful organizational tool: the ability to mark books as Read, and then filter by Unread and Read. I’ve been working my way through my Kindle library, finding the books that I downloaded on impulse, when they were on sale or free, and then never got around to reading. I currently have 302 unread books, which is probably enough to keep me reading for quite a while, although I suspect that plenty of them will eventually wind up in my DNF collection. I was surprised to discover, though, that of the 800+ books on my Kindle that I have already read (or tried to read), only 104 were in the DNF collection. I would have thought that number would be much higher because I give up on books easily these days. If my interest hasn’t clicked by the 10% mark, I move on to the next book. 

There are some exceptions, though, usually the ones that I think will be good for me in some way. The virtuous reading. Most of those are about writing, marketing, or self-publishing. The current one that I’m working on is about newsletters. It’s entertainingly written, the author has a great voice, and reading it makes me feel like Sisyphus. The fundamental concept is using your newsletter as a way to connect with people — you don’t want to simply inform people when you have a new book for sale because that’s asking them to buy something, instead you want to charm them and turn them into your friends. Be authentic, be real. Send kitten pictures! … So that they will then buy something from you.  

I get the concept. I even understand that if I ever hope to earn a real living at writing books, it’s part of the job. It doesn’t even make sense that I think of it as pretending to be a nice person, because my authentic self is, in fact, nice. But it feels so fake. I might have to pick one of you and write you an email every month and then send it to the rest of my mailing list as well. That might work better for me. Ha. 

An old stone wall with a pigeon flying in front of it and trees growing out of the top.
The unexpected ruins: an iron furnace that burned down in the 1800s. Many, many pigeons make their homes on top, so in the early evening it was loud with cooing and twittering. The white spot is a pigeon flying off.

Moving on, I’m currently writing this on my phone while sitting outside, using a tiny Bluetooth keyboard and a lap-desk that I bought a year ago, and my newly beloved camping chair. I love this chair. It was so worth the quest. I’ve been thinking about a post — or maybe a FB post to the Travato group — about what I’ve learned in my almost three years of van living. There’s an industrial concept about the virtues of constant incremental optimization. It’s got a Japanese name — kaizen, maybe? Anyway, it applies to life in a van, too. Three years and I’m still discovering ways to be more comfortable, to make life easier or more pleasurable.  Being able to sit outside in the sunshine while I write is lovely. Lovely enough that I think I will now try to work on Fen for a while. Maybe I can break through my travel-inspired inertia and actually make some progress.  

Oh, but one final note about Michigan’s upper peninsula — it was 38 degrees this morning. 38! I should absolutely not have packed my winter clothes away when I left Arcata. 

Ontonagon County Park

15 Saturday Jun 2019

Posted by in Campground, Travel

≈ 2 Comments

a beach on a gray day with the van in the very far distance
The tiny silver speck in the background is Serenity. I’m not the only camper at this campground, but it’s a lot emptier than I expected it to be. Maybe that has something to do with the weather.

I am looking out my window at a beautiful, turbulent lake — white-capped waves hitting a sandy beach, distant hills so far away that they’re a deep blue line against the horizon. It’s gorgeous, but my faint hope of kayaking on it disappeared with the weather: according to my weather app, it’s currently 58 degrees outside, but I am quite sure they’re not taking the cold wind into account, because it feels a lot more like 48.

Z keeps trying to convince me that we should be outside, so we’ve been in and out — lots of beach walks, a couple of forest walks, some sitting in my comfy chair and admiring the view — but it’s cold enough that I keep retreating inside. If this were Florida, it would be mid-winter, probably February. Apparently, that’s what June in the upper peninsula of Michigan feels like.

But it’s a great view.

sunset over a lake
Sunset

(I don’t have much more to say about the campground than that: it’s $28/night for water, electric, and a fantastic view. The sites are close enough together that if it was crowded, I wouldn’t love it, but it’s reasonably empty for this time of year. But it’s camping literally on the beach, so, you know, not complaining. 🙂 )

Prentice Park

14 Friday Jun 2019

Posted by in Birds, Campground, Photography, Travel

≈ 2 Comments

A small black bird sitting on a bare branch
A cute little blackbird from North Dakota
A robin sitting on a bare branch
A chirpy robin, also in North Dakota
A brown bird with a long beak
A mysterious and very noisy brown bird. Maybe a sandpiper? In Wisconsin.
A brown bird with a long break, sitting in the grass and looking directly at the camera
Not as great a view of the sandpiper, but a more interesting picture of it.
Serenity, tucked into the trees, with loads of grass in front of her
My campsite at Prentice Park

If I didn’t have a schedule to keep, I might have settled into Prentice Park in Ashland, WI, for weeks. I’m not sure how many sites it has, because most of them were tent sites, but there were 6 RV sites, nicely spaced, with lots of grass, trees, and paved driveways. Water, electricity, excellent walking paths, clean showers that didn’t require quarters, (although no control of the water temp), and friendly neighbors.

Paradise.

But I’ve understated the “water” part. I know I claimed not to be a water snob, and I’m really not, but Ashland has artesian wells. People apparently come from miles around to get water at the local beach. I had only the vaguest idea what an artesian well was, or why it mattered, but on my first morning at the campground, I set out to look for it. Turns out, it was all over the place. The park had at least half a dozen spigots in the ground with water free-flowing out of them. I had a strong desire to look for the off valve every time I saw one, because I’ve spent so long being careful about water. But there were no off valves, the water is just pouring forth from the ground. It felt like such abundance, such wealth from nature.

The artesian water. Cold, fresh, refreshing. I filled up all my water jugs.

I’ve understated the friendly neighbors, too. The showers require a combination code, so when I saw the campground host outside his camper, I went over to get my code. That led to tours of the van, conversations about van life and children, an invitation to a delicious jambalaya dinner, and eventually s’mores around their fire.

I really did debate staying at the campground for a few more days, especially because the hosts were out in the morning, so I didn’t get a chance to say good-bye. (And if you’re reading my blog, LaDonna or Sharon, it was so nice to meet you, thanks so much for your hospitality!) But I wanted to check out the Apostle Islands, as well as visit Pictured Rocks National Seashore. Plus the whole reason for hurrying across Montana was to be able to spend some time in the upper peninsula of Michigan, which people have been telling me about ever since I started traveling. And I do have a deadline — scheduled plans with friends and relatives at the end of June. So after two nights at Prentice Park, I got back on the road.