Every so often, I get the itch to write about important stuff like current events, world politics, or what I had for breakfast this morning. Posted here are my very (self) important thoughts on a variety of topics and stories of my travels. I hope you enjoy or at least tolerate my ramblings. Kraig

***NEW FEATURE*** In a tribute to my home town newspaper, "The Brown County News", I have decided to kickoff my own society column, which I will call "The Brown Cow News." So if you happen to be traveling through Bell Buckle and I spy you here, you'll get your 15 seconds of fame in the "Cow." I'll be updating the Cow regularly (translation = when I feel like it). Enjoy....

*************BROWN COW NEWS******************* Dateline Bell Buckle, May 1 - Here it is, May Day already. Once upon a time, if you said "mayday" three times in a row it meant you were in trouble. I'm probably getting old, because I bet most youngsters don't know that interesting tidbit (a "tidbit" is what we older folks call boring historical facts to make them sound important). The "mayday" distress call originated in 1923 and is actually derived from the French word "m'aider" translated as "help me" (Wikipedia can make anyone sound smart!).

I think maybe I am feeling my age a bit lately. This morning we took Josie in to register her for fall Kindergarten - our baby is not a baby anymore. And I've noticed a considerable amount of gray creeping into my coiffure, and to top it all off I think I need bifocals. I suppose the midlife crisis will be next - I'll let you know when the urge for a red convertible strikes.

Spring is in full tilt in Bell Buckle and all the trees are full leaf. This is always the time of year when I have grand aspirations of sprucing up the yard. Fortunately the feeling doesn't last long, and in a couple of weeks I'll be back to normal and the weeds will be back in charge. I did purchase a couple of nice azaleas for the front yard, and I think they look keen. Hopefully I can keep them alive for awhile - any of you azalea experts out there can drop me a tip at Val's email address (valerievalpals@yahoo.com).

My band "The Creek" will be opening up for those fascinating Cherryholmes people at the Wartrace Music Festival (http://www.wartracemusicfest.org/). All you avid readers of "The Cow" will, I am sure, desire to come out and see my grayness in person at the festival (7:00 pm, Friday, May 30).

Our friend Lorraine Jordan and her banjo player, Benny Greene of the Carolina Road band happened to be driving by Bell Buckle yesterday on their way to the Boxcar Pinion Festival in Chattanooga. They decided to drive over to Bell Buckle and check it out, and they were the lucky recipient of a steak and pork chop dinner at the banquet hall. Their timing was impeccable, as J. Gregory was testing out a new meat supplier for the Bell Buckle Cafe, so he had just grilled up a huge batch of steaks and chops. We all enjoyed a great dinner courtesy of Greg & Jeanette, and then watched a screening of "The Water Horse" on the new Banquet Hall big screen.

Till next time - KS

Benefit for Darla Huffman

I'm proud to announce that the recent benefit for Darla Huffman was a success beyond our expectations. Fellow Creek member, Charlie Robinson and myself decided to put together the show to help out our friends Darla and Roger Huffman. Darla was seriously injured in a car wreck last summer, and has endured much on her road to recovery. It was certainly the least we could do to try and help the Huffmans with their medical expenses.

For those who don't know, I play in a band of local yokels we call "The Creek." We're an eclectic bunch not afraid to butcher any style of music, and we play stuff ranging from the Beatles to "Sally Goodin." We've been together now for over six years and despite ourselves have managed to get a pretty good following who come to our monthly shows and enjoy hearing us play the same stuff every week.

Roger Huffman is the defacto leader of our ragtag band. Val and I have known the Huffmans longer than about anyone around here, as a twist of fate brought us together before we moved to the Bell Buckle/Wartrace area. Shortly after we moved to the Nashville area, Val landed a music teaching position at the Brentwood, TN school district, and Roger had also been recently hired to the same school. Val was needing some help with her music programs, and Roger, being an accomplished musician himself, volunteered to help her out - and that's how we all met. We were already getting into the music scene around Bell Buckle, so we invited Roger to come as well, and he and Darla fell in love with the area just as we have - and now we all live here in hillbilly paradise.

Darla Huffman is a wonderful person who loves animals (that explains how she married Roger), and is the kindest, gentlest person I know. That's why it was such a shock when we heard she'd been involved in a serious accident with a logging truck last summer. It was only through a sheer miracle that she survived the wreck at all (she was flow by LifeFlite to Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville). She has required extensive surgeries and has not been able to work since the accident.

Back to the benefit - Charlie and I are not experienced organizers of such events, but we managed to get the ball rolling, and the many music friends that the Huffmans have made pretty much did the rest. The Heinike's (owners of the Bell Buckle Cafe and the Banquet Hall) donated the Banquet Hall for our use, and once the word got out we had so much help that resulted in our raising over $4000. Special thanks to the all-volunteer groups including "The Friday Night Orphan Brigade", Tom Brantley and his friends, Becky Buller, Chad Graves and Bobby Davis of VSLP (regretably, Val couldn't make it due to an illnes), Emily and Dave Singleton, and of course Everett Brown and Don Jones. A warm thank you to Dan Green who played with "The Creek" for many years. He came back to play bass with us, and also sat in with several of the other groups as well. An event like this will show you who your friends are, and judging by the raging success of the evening, it's apparent that the Huffmans are loved and appreciated by their friends and neighbors!

The Old Barn

A couple of years ago, I wrote a little piece about the price of pheasants along with an account of a hunting trip back to South Dakota. I mentioned that the old barn on my Grandpa Smith's farmstead was leaning and about to fall. It took only a couple more years, but it eventually succumbed to the pull of gravity - and this year when we hunted the old farm, it was down. I've never been overly fond of poetry, but for some reason I felt compelled to wax poetic about the old barn - so here it is"

The Barn Has Fallen

The barn has fallen and the weeds are high

As I contemplate the many years gone by.

The old girl once stood tall and proud

And saw the prairie broken by the plough.

A hundred winters it stood

Defying the wind with its weathered wood.

But time, in its inexorable flow,

Will one day lay the mightiest low,

And so it is with this dear old friend,

Who has stumbled to her knees and is near her end.

I walk away and try not to cry

For the barn has fallen and the weeds are high.

Goodbye old friend. KS

Travels with Josie (apologies to Mr. Steinbeck!)

America is still out there. I know because I've recently been there and seen it! A couple of weeks ago, I embarked on a 1500 mile journey with my 4 ½ year old daughter Josie to visit grandpa and grandma in South Dakota and to see our friends, the Yoders, in Goshen, Indiana. I never look forward to a drive this long, and I faced this one with extra trepidation since I would somehow have to keep a 4 ½ year old girl occupied while driving 7 to 8 hours at a stretch.

My wife, Valerie, is a professional musician and was overseas touring Germany and England, so it seemed like the perfect time to travel from our home in Bell Buckle, Tennessee and get Josie reacquainted with her grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins whom she sees only about once a year. While on our way to the Dakotas, we would stop in and see our good friends Ray and Wilma Yoder in Indiana to take in the Elkhart County Fair. I had a long-standing invitation from Ray to come visit him at his home, and so this would be a good time to take him up on it, plus it would break up our long drive.

We would be away from home for almost two weeks, and I had a list of chores to be done as long as my arm to prepare for the trip! I was hoping to get away by noon on Friday so as to make Ray's place before midnight that night, and I almost made it. We slipped out of town around 12:30pm and were on our way. We were nearly to Murfreesboro (about 20 miles) before I heard the first "are we there yet?" coming from the back seat.

I pointed the car north from Nashville onto I-65 and we lit out across the very dry Tennessee landscape (we are in the middle of a drought) and on into Kentucky. I-65 is a very busy truck road and I settled into the rhythm of the highway, passing the big rigs going up the hills, and letting them pass me going down. I had packed all sorts of toys and coloring books, plus a DVD player and movies to help keep Josie occupied, and they worked like a charm for about an hour - then the whining commenced. I must say that in general Josie was a real trooper during the whole trip, although she had her moments.

I always like to say that 4 year olds are "wise." "Daddy, why's that truck red?", "Why's the sky blue?", "Why's that man waving at you with one finger?" I love my daughter dearly, but it was a mental relief when she drifted off to sleep in the car seat about 9 o'clock that night and I could concentrate on driving and listening to sports talk radio.

A Slice of American Pie

I had forgotten that Goshen was in the eastern time zone, so when I pulled into Ray's place about quarter after eleven on my watch, it was actually after midnight there. But Ray and Wilma, ever the gracious hosts, made no mention of the late hour and offered some refreshments and conversation after I had carried Josie upstairs to the bedroom. The Yoders live on the farm where Ray's father settled down years back, and it was a sturdy white 2 ½ story structure, nearly 100 years old. I was a bit sleepy myself, so after visiting for awhile, it was also time for me to hit the hay.

The first thing that entered my consciousness on Saturday morning was the clip-clop of horse's hooves on the road. I had opened the bedroom windows in the night to let in the cool air, and the sound drifted into the room and gently nudged me awake. I sleepily leaned up on one elbow and peered out the window to see the first of many black buggies go busily by the house. There was no doubt we were in Amish country, and I was tasting a real slice of American pie.

Over bacon and eggs, Ray told me that about 70% of the farms in this part of the county were Amish, with the remainder being "English", as the Amish call them. Ray and Wilma themselves were raised in the Amish church and became Mennonites after they were married, and they have many relatives who remain in that faith. The Amish speak "Dutch" (really a German or "Deutsch" dialect) among themselves, but are all fluent in English.

I envy them, in a way, because they are relatively insulated from the hustle and bustle and "get it done today" attitude of modern life. Their farms are neat as a storybook and look like models for Currier and Ives, and they go about their business where the measured flow of the seasons is still an important part of life: plant in the spring, tend in the summer, harvest in the fall, prepare in the winter. They don't concern themselves much with the outside world, and the price of gas means nothing. Yet many of the young folk work day jobs at the big motorcoach factories located in nearby Goshen, or in the touristy shops in Shipshewana. Although definitely godly, the Amish are not above making a buck, and are generally considered shrewd business people. Mortgages and loans to the Amish are few, and most own their homes and property debt free, often making these simple living folk wealthier than their flashy neighbors with the gas guzzling SUVs.

We had come specifically on this weekend to take part in the Elkhart County Fair in Goshen. According to Ray, this was considered the third largest fair in the country and largest outside California. A few years back, Ray and his neighbor put together a barrel train to drive in the parade. A barrel train consists of 55 gallon drums that have been modified and put on wheels to make itty bitty train cars for kids to ride. He has a 9-barrel train pulled by a lawn tractor that's always a big hit with the kids and spectators. Each barrel is painted differently, and they're all wired together with lights and even a tape player and speakers. Josie had her eye on the purple barrel with a flame motif, and just knew she'd be the parade queen on the following day.

I helped Ray and Wilma polish up the train cars, and meanwhile, the neighbor boy from across the road had come over and asked if Josie could come and play with him. My wife has stayed at Ray's place several times when her band tours that part of the world, and my daughter had gotten to know Walker from across the street. He is 5 years old and she thinks he's pretty neat, so I let her go over to his house and play most of rest of the day while Ray and I puttered around and ran into Goshen to get some parts for the train and patch a lawn tractor tire.

While in Goshen, Ray stopped by the Wal-Mart to show me the horse and buggy shed (maybe the only Wal-Mart in the country that has one). At a typical stoplight in town, the stopped traffic would consist of two or three cars and a horse and buggy. Later that afternoon, Ray, Wilma and I took a drive over to Shipshewana, an unexpected (to me anyway) Amish themed tourist town. Folks were busily walking about, buying Amish made items and posing for photos in buggies and such. While there we visited the meat and cheese shop owned by Ray's brother's family, and it was a wonderland! Hundreds of varieties of cheese, and tons of meat in all shapes and sizes. All of the cheeses had little sample containers where you could spear a few with a toothpick and try them out. I had a morsel of pepper jack that about knocked my hat off, plus they had many varieties of jerky and fresh meat, too.

Later that evening after we had retrieved Josie from the neighbors, we went to another nearby town, Middlebury, where we had a great meal at the Essenhaus Restaurant. This is another Amish institution and seats over 1000 diners at a time, and from what I could tell, it was nearly at capacity. As I told the Yoders, I may forget a place I have been, but I never forget a great meal, and I had one that night. Crispy fried chicken, homemade buns with apple butter, mashed potatoes and gravy &. it was simply yummy. After dinner, it was back to the Yoder Ranch with a full tummy and time to rest up for the parade on Sunday.

I'm Just a Boy who Can't Say No

We were up bright and early Sunday morning, as Ray had asked me to lead a little sing-a-long for their Sunday school class. So we scooted over to the Mennonite church the Yoders attend and while Josie went off with the pre-schoolers, I sat in on the adult class. I had brought along my guitar, so another gentleman who played the accordion and I led everyone in some familiar hymns and gospel songs.

Since we had to be at the parade lineup early, we didn't have time to stay for the Sunday service, but headed back to the home place. I had helped Ray load up the barrel train earlier (it loads on a flatbed trailer), so we quickly changed clothes and drove into Goshen to take our place in the parade. After unloading and assembling the train, we had a couple of hours until the parade started, so Josie and I walked around and looked at some of the other parade entries. The most impressive entry was by the John Deere and Farmall Tractor antique clubs. There must have been at least 30 of each, all shined to gleaming perfection. The weather was perfect - the sort of day reserved in your memory for special occasions. The sky was sparkling blue, the temperature warm and pleasant, and just enough breeze blowing to keep you cool.

Even though I was a "townie", I grew up in farm country, which may explain my fascination with antique farm equipment. I just simply cannot resist looking at anything from an old tractor to a horse-drawn corn planter. I get that straw-in-the-mouth feeling and suddenly get the urge to spit and say things like, "yup, it's been a little dry, we could use some rain to make the corn come in."

The 4H parade is absolutely huge, and it took quite awhile to get things moving, so even though the parade officially got underway at 1:00pm it was about 2:00 pm before we started to inch along. We were entry number 67 out of 140, so were about in the middle. We had 9 little passengers for the barrel train, each with a little red, white, and blue umbrella, and one of Ray's sons and an older granddaughter and I had sacks of candy to hand out to the kids as we went along.

The parade route is 4 miles long and goes through Goshen's main drag and then on out to the fairgrounds. I fairly trotted along the first two miles, and was having so much fun doling out candy to the little urchins who lined the street that I didn't even realize we'd already covered half the distance to the fairgrounds. I started to get low on candy and Ray said, "You'd better start rationing that stuff or you'll run out for sure!" But when I looked at all those little faces with their hands outstretched, I just couldn't say "no", so I was all out of candy shortly after the midpoint and just had to walk along and smile and wave the rest of the way.

Speaking of smiling and waving, Josie was like a little queen in her purple flame painted train car, and never let up on the hand waving routine even once. I could tell she was enjoying herself, but I was getting a little draggy toward the end and my feet hurt a bit. I just wasn't used to walking 4 miles at a stretch, so about the time we reached the fairground grandstand and the end of the parade, I grabbed a bottled water and extracted Josie from the train and we sat and watched the last half of the entries go by.

We had passed by the midway rides on our way to the grandstand, and they had caught Josie's eye, so she was vibrating in anticipation of whirling and spinning. Even though we were tired, Ray and I trudged over to the midway and watched Josie ride. Before we left for the night, even Ray joined in the fun as all three of us rode the gigantic Ferris Wheel that offered a bird's eye view of the fairgrounds. On our way out to the truck, we wandered through some of the livestock barns and marveled at the 30 pound rabbit, the hairy chickens, and the thousand or so hogs on display. All good things must come to an end and so we wearily made our way back to the truck and headed back for the Yoder Ranch.

Camping is Fun

We arose Monday fashionably late, as we weren't in too great of a hurry to leave the hospitable Amish/Mennonite community. Ray and Wilma had picked up two motorcoaches to be delivered to Portland, Oregon and so were also heading west, but we made time for a farewell breakfast at the Essenhaus, and then finally Josie and I were on our way to South Dakota.

We had to go through Chicago, which can be dicey depending on the traffic, but we whizzed on through in good stead and pointed the car toward Madison, Wisconsin. I had intended to make it as far as Jackson, Minnesota, but it wasn't long before the GPS system convinced me I wouldn't make it that far, especially since I wanted to camp that night, and we'd need some daylight to get the tent set up and all. So after considering various alternatives, I decided to try and make it to the state park located on the Mississippi River bluffs at Winona, Minnesota.

I love maps. It's probably a guy thing, but I can sit and pore over an atlas like a mystery novel. But I must admit, I have a new love and her name is GPS. I borrowed J. Gregory's GPS unit for the trip and it was great. When Josie needed some playground time, I could ask the GPS system to locate the nearest park, and Voila - it would tell me how to get there, how long it would take and how to get back to the highway. It has a sweet woman's voice, so I didn't mind letting Ms. GPS boss me around a little. I played with the options on it and it also has a man's voice, but I didn't like him telling me what to do so I switched it back.

We crossed the Mississippi just west of LaCrosse and Ms. GPS guided me quickly to the park. It was at the end of a dusty gravel road which afforded a wonderful view of the river valley below, and a simple but clean campground. Being a Monday, the place was almost empty and I was able to self register and put my $21 camping fee in an envelope at the park entrance and had my choice of campsites. After circling the campground to get the lay of the land, I picked out a nice level spot at the very back away from the few other campers so that I could give Josie the full wilderness experience.

We set up the tent which I had bought many years ago and seldom used..and I was pleased to see that I remembered how to put the various poles and stakes in place, and in just a few minutes it was up and ready for the night. It was still an hour or so before dark, and I needed some firewood and wanted to get some charcoal, so we hopped in the car and drove back into Winona. I found charcoal, lighter fluid and some ice to re-stock the cooler but no firewood, so I resigned myself to roasting marshmallows over the charcoal, but on the way back to the campground I noticed a sign that said "firewood for sale" so I drove into the fellow's driveway to see if anyone was home. He had a nice pile of wood placed under a wooden "honor system" box and firewood for sale at 50 cents a piece. I picked out a few pieces, and he happened to see us and came out to say hi and gave us a nice big oak log for free.

After returning to camp, it quickly became dark, so I lit the campfire in the fire pit and we pulled our chairs next to it and proceeded to get out the roasting fork and have some burnt hotdogs and smores. I thought sure that Josie would be scared out in the woods, but she quickly got into the spirit of things, and even asked me to tell some scary stories (but not too scary) before bed. About 10pm we tossed the sleeping bags into the tent and Josie quickly fell asleep as if she were in her own bed at home.

It had been some years since I last camped, so I had forgotten how difficult it is to sleep when you're lying on a root. And the sleeping bags we had were very slick and the campsite I thought was level was not quite...so I kept sliding down toward one end of the tent as I tossed and turned. The campfire was still slightly flickering and about midnight I spied a shadow moving across the tent wall. It was magnified by the firelight, and looked to be about the size of a bear, so I got the flashlight and stuck my head out to see what manner of beastie had invaded the camp-but it was just a little black cat snooping around the picnic table looking for leftovers.

I guess I eventually drifted off to sleep, but was up again as the first light of dawn penetrated the tent walls. Josie meanwhile, was still sleeping blissfully with a little smile on her face, so I went to get the camp cookery and proceeded to make myself some breakfast. I really do like to cook and cast iron skillets are my favorite. I had bought a little two-burner camp stove, a cast iron skillet, and an old percolator coffee pot that we had lying around the house, and proceeded to make myself a camp feast of eggs, bacon, and strong black coffee. The pain in the butt of setting up and taking down a tent is always offset by that wonderful early morning smell of coffee and frying bacon!

Josie is not much of a breakfast eater, and I knew about all she'd eat would be an orange or some grapes, so I packed everything up, and by the time she finally poked her sleepy head out of the tent flap, it was only a few more minutes to take down the tent and get back on the road.

"Yee Haw - I'm a Bearback Rider!"

When I was a kid, we used to take the occasional vacation out to the Black Hills of South Dakota, and in those days, the cheese factor at tourist traps was high. We have pictures of us at Flintstones Park riding in the Flintstonemobile and sitting on Dino's back. I thought most of that stuff was long gone, but the gas station near the campground still had a concrete brontosaurus and a bear. We couldn't resist stopping for a photo op, so Josie posed with the dinosaur and the bear (she's a natural born ham - must take after her mom) and acted out various scenarios of riding the dinosaur, being chased by the dinosaur, being mauled by the bear, etc. I just couldn't resist, and even though the photo will probably live on in infamy, I had Josie take a picture of me riding the bear (poor thing!) and waving my ball cap like a lunatic - Yee Haw!

It was still a pretty long trip to Frederick, SD, but I definitely wanted to make it today, so we didn't dawdle around too long and pulled back out onto the Interstate. I've heard truckers say that the stretch of I-90 between Sioux Falls and Rapid City is the most boring trip in the country. But I've made that trip a few times, and I'll have to give my nod to the stretch between Winona, MN and Sioux Falls - mind numbingly boring to say the least - corn, corn, corn, corn, soybeans, corn, corn, corn - you get the idea. About the only thing of interest was the occasional glimpse of wind farms with their high windmills busily churning away. It became so boring, that I didn't even mind playing Barbies with Josie, using one hand to hold the Ken doll while we rolled down the highway. I did get a few strange looks from passing truckers, but what the heck - your kids are only little once.

A Love Letter to the Prairie

I suppose that people who weren't born and raised in the prairie land have trouble seeing the beauty of it. From the highway, your eye tends to lose focus on the details, and sees only vast expanses of nothing. I know - you're thinking I'm a hypocrite because I just called southern Minnesota boring and it's prairie! But it's a tamed and domesticated prairie, with most every spare acre shackled to man's will to feed the nation. But the Dakotas are different. Sure there's plenty of corn and soybeans there too, but there's also a fair amount of land that's unruly and will not be cowed by man's mechanized whip. As you travel north from the stockyards of Sioux Falls, you begin to see the change in the land if you will just look. Rolling hills shaped by God's hand in the form of glaciers from the last ice age stretch off to the horizon. On a clear day, looking to the east you might see what the French trappers called the Coteau des Prairies - a 200 mile long ridge of glacial sediment rising up like a blue thundercloud on the horizon. As you pass the tidy college town of Brookings with its elegant Campanile (I'm afraid we called it something else entirely in high school) you begin to encroach on the glacial lakes landscape of northeast SD.

As the glaciers made their final retreat, here they left remnant chunks of ice embedded in the prairie floor. As these melted, they created indentations in the terrain, some as small as potholes, and other much larger. The final result is a landscape, that when seen from the air on a sunny day, sparkles like diamonds in a green tapestry as the sun glints from the thousands of waterholes and lakes. Many of the lakes still carry the Indian names whose origins are lost in antiquity: Enemy Swim, Punished Woman, Blue Dog. Also to be found here is Sica Hollow (or Bad Hollow in the Sioux language). Situated on the edge of the couteau, springwater burbles over rocks and rills and spreads out into boggy fens that manifest will-o-the-wisp and strange noises as swamp gas escapes from the peety sediment. Iron oxide in the water precipitates onto the submerged weedbeds, coloring them a blood red as they wave in the current - the Sioux saw this as the blood and flesh of their ancestors.

Heading west of I-29 toward Aberdeen you drive through the heart of the glacial lakes region, and then east of the town of Groton, you descend from the highlands into the relatively flat lying country that was once the bottom of ancient Lake Dakota. If you make this drive at night, as you come up to the ancient shoreline and begin to descend, the prairie vastness causes an illusion. Even though the area is sparsely populated, every farmhouse yard light for tens of miles seems strangely close, almost as though you're looking over a large city on a redeye flight. Even the lights of Aberdeen, still 30 miles away are visible.

The effect vanishes by the time you reach Groton, and from there to Aberdeen the land is pancake flat, broken only by the wide undulation of the James River. Here, the flatness of the land causes the Jim River to stagger about like a drunkard after a binge - it just can't decide quite where it wants to go, and because it's so level, it floods at the drop of a hat.

Traveling north from Aberdeen toward my hometown of Frederick (population 350 - Salute!), you once again come out of the frying pan flat lands and the terrain begins a subtle shift to a gently rolling landscape, occasionally broken by the deeper erosive valleys of the Elm and Maple Rivers. At Frederick, you turn east off Highway 281 and descend "The Hill" to the Maple River dam, built back in the 30's by the WPA. The dam creates a slight widening of the river, not enough to call it a lake really, but enough to create a pleasant setting for Simmons Park - one of the largest small-town parks you'll ever see - replete with fieldstone monuments and a bandstand.

If places shape who we are or who we will become, then this is the place that shaped me. Rare is the week that goes by, even today after I've been absent for over half my life that I don't dream of the Maple River - I've even written songs about it! My screensaver at work is a photo of the river, with its shaggy shoulders and the muddy water reflecting a clear blue sky on a July afternoon. If I'm having a stressful day, all I need to do is look at that picture and I'm instantly transported to an afternoon in May, when the northerns are biting, and the wind is sighing through the cottonwoods.

Bee-bop-a-ree-bop Rhubarb Pie

If they serve desert in heaven, I hope it's rhubarb custard pie. If you've never had it, you're missing out on a near religious experience. I often wonder who the first person was that tasted that sour fat weed with the toxic leaves and had the vision to realize that it could make beautiful music when paired with the correct amount of sugar and spices and then baked in a pie shell. The tartness of the rhubarb is perfect counterpoint to the sweetness of the custard, and pair that up with my mom's perfect flaky pie crust and a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and you've got the king of confections. I'm not saying that my mom plays favorites with me and my sibs, but she always does manage to come up with a rhubarb pie when I visit - I love you mom!

Josie and I rolled into Frederick on Tuesday evening and would stay about a week. It had been terribly hot down in Tennessee, so the cool South Dakota evenings were a blessing. I don't get home in the summertime much anymore, but when I do, it's always nice to go in a year when they've had plenty of rain, and everything looked lush and green. We had a social agenda pretty much set for the week so that we could visit with all the relatives and we had a marvelous time. Josie was able to play with some of my grand-nieces and nephews who are close to her age, and I was able to see my two sisters, Patti and Jacki, and my brother Kurt and their families. My wife and I are the farthest flung members of the family, with most of my relatives living in the Dakotas and Minnesota, and pretty much all of hers living in Missouri. We've made a home for ourselves that we love in Tennessee, but we do wish we could be closer to all the family. We miss them a lot, but then again, it makes the reunions all the sweeter.

Did ja ever see that old movie called "The Wizard of Oz"? There's probably few in the world who haven't seen it, and it all started with a gentleman by the name of L. Frank Baum. Mr. Baum was to become the author of one of the most beloved children's book series of all time, but early in his professional life he spent three years in Aberdeen as the editor of the local newspaper. The time he spent here is widely credited as his inspiration for the terrible twister in the movie (he saw a few during those years), even though Kansas was the official setting of the story. His time in Aberdeen was short, but the folks there are proud of the distinction and have created a wonderful children's park based on many of Baum's characters.

We spent one cool drizzly day at "Storybook Land" with Josie, and my grand nieces Cassidy, Leah and Cameron, and my niece Tricia. If you're ever up in that neck of the woods, it's definitely worthwhile to stop by and see the park, especially if you have kids with you - they also have a zoo of sorts with elk, buffalo, peacocks and prairie dogs.

Home Again Home Again Jiggity Jig

Our vacation time was starting to draw to a close, and I spent the last couple of days out on Elm Lake fishing with my brother Kurt and his wife Georgia. The weather was warm and pleasant, and the fish were biting just enough to keep us interested (we ended up with a nice batch of walleyes, northerns and catfish). We also got to spend some time with my sisters Patti & Jacki and some of their grandkids - but like all good things, it came time for the trip to end.

After some sad goodbyes, Josie and I hit the road again heading back for Tennessee. We camped in Iowa the first night, and on the second evening, Josie had had enough of roughing it and requested a hotel with a swimming pool, so we stopped in central Illinois (I forget exactly where) and treated ourselves to a soft bed and a swimming pool. On the following day, we made it back into Nashville just in time to pick up Valerie at the airport after her month long European tour. After our adventures on the road, we were a happy little family again as we hugged each other next to the luggage carousel!

End

2007 Bell Buckle Cruise

Another Bell Buckle Music cruise has come and gone, and today finds me peering out my window at a steel gray Tennessee winter day wishing I was back in Nassau. I really enjoyed this year's cruise, so much so that I'm already dreaming about next year's trip! Here are a few highlights from 2007.

A wise friend of mine named Charlie Robinson (don't tell him I said so, he'll get a big head) once told me that the thing that makes a vacation photo special is not the scenery, but the people posing for it. We remember the place, but most of all we remember the people and the good times we had with them. That's why I've decided to write my travelogue on a little different slant this time. After all, you've read a million things about Florida and the Bahamas, and I wouldn't be telling you much new. So here's the story of places, but most of all, the people who were with us who made the trip special.

The Drive

Valerie and Liberty Pike were already down in Florida playing another show, so I made the long drive from Bell Buckle with all the sound equipment in our cargo van. Fortunately, I had some company along for the ride, and the time flew by quickly...

Where: Bell Buckle, TN to Port Canaveral, FL Who: Lisa Aschmann and Jeanette Heinike

Jean Elise Aschmann. You should remember this name, because someday she could be one of the most famous songwriters in the world. But don't call her Jean, she's affectionately called Lisa by all her many friends, and her story is an amazing one. Lisa was one of ten children born to a pair of geographers. I won't give away Lisa's age, but she's part of the "baby boomer" squad, and in her parent's generation, it was uncommon to find both husband and wife as degreed professionals. I can't say for certain, but perhaps the inspiration of academician parents is why an average California family spawned a brood of artists and intellectuals of startling ability.

Now this story is about Lisa, so I won't go too much into the rest of her family (because I don't know all that much), but I do know that of the ten kids, many exhibited admirable abilities. She has a brother who conducted the Caracas, Venezuela symphony and also explored Antarctica with the National Geographic. She has a sister who is a prize winning chemist and agronomist and advises foreign countries on maximizing their crop yields. Lisa and many of her siblings speak multiple languages, and one sister graduated from the University of Bergen in Norway.

And Lisa herself did not start out as a songwriter. She is a mathematician and physicist by training (impressive in itself) who began writing music at the tender age of 35. One day after having surgery, she was lying in her hospital bed, extremely bored, and made up a song to pass the time. She kept those words and lyrics in her head until shortly thereafter she happened upon an open-mike writer's night in her travels. She asked what they were doing and the fellow running the show told her, and then asked if she had a song she had written. She said, "Yes, I have one." So she got on stage in front of the other songwriters and sang her song ...and it won first prize for the night. That was her first inkling that she just might have a future in the songwriting biz. There were some other extraordinary incidents that happened to lead her down the songwriting path and eventually to Nashville, but I'll let you ask her about that yourself. Let's just suffice it to say that I was richer for having spent a 10 hour car ride with Lisa.

Who else: Jeanette Heinike

Have you ever met someone who is the face of a whole town? If you've ever spent more than just a few hours in Bell Buckle, Tennessee, then you've probably eaten at the Bell Buckle Café. And if you've eaten at the Bell Buckle Café, you have probably seen Jeanette. Thousands of people a year whiz by on nearby I-24 headed for Florida or St. Louis and steer off the bland interstate for a taste of home style cookin' at the world famous (I'm not exaggerating!) Bell Buckle Café. They leave with memories of some of the best food in the country and a smile from miss Jeanette.

If café owner J. Gregory Heinike is the General of the Bell Buckle Café, then his wife, Jeanette is the front line Major, efficiently directing squads of cooks and waitresses in a ballet of supply and demand to hundreds of hungry customers. The amount of meals served in the historic café is astonishing, and it couldn't be done without the direction of Jeanette and the entire Heinike family. Two of the Heinike's daughter's and a son-in-law also help keep the Café running like a Swiss watch.

A child of the western prairie, Jeanette came from Nebraska with a rancher's work ethic and a knack for pleasing hungry patrons. She and her entrepreneur husband J. Gregory have always been in the food business, starting out with a delicatessen in Oklahoma City, branching out into Sonic restaurants and then a chain of pizzerias before finally opening the charming southern style eatery known as the Bell Buckle Café.

So the next time you're heading north or south on I-24 between Manchester and Nashville, take the time to slip off the interstate and make the 8 mile drive west for a nice meal and to see a smile on the face of Bell Buckle.

End

Christmas Vacation - Starring The Smiths

Part One - Disney Mania!

Way back before the Christmas of 2005 was over and in the books, my father-in-law yearningly suggested that it would be great someday for all of us to spend Christmas together with Mickey and Goofy down in Orlando. The planting of that little seed slowly germinated through the first part of 2006 and finally sprang into full bloom about early summertime. Valerie contacted our friends who own a travel agency in Shelbyville, for Disney tickets and plane tickets for the in-laws, and I began perusing the internet looking for a place to stay, and along about the end of August, it was harvest time. Our plans came together in a rush, with the in-laws planning to fly into Orlando from Missouri on December 22nd, while we would ride down in the van from Tennessee and pick them up.

The holiday season crept up on us sneakily (as it tends to do) and before you could say Jiminy Cricket, we found ourselves picking up mom and dad at the airport and heading off for our vacation villa. I was pretty proud of myself for finding this little gem of a vacation home only 15 minutes from Mickey's front gate, and after puzzling over the digital door lock and the alarm system for a few minutes, we entered the house to oohs and aahs of appreciation. The place was a beauty located in a little cul-de-sac neighborhood, with a private screened in porch and in-ground heated pool, a huge master bedroom, and another complete living area on the second floor.

After getting unpacked and unwinding for awhile, it was time for our first great event. We had purchased tickets to Mickey's Magical Christmas Party that would start at 7 pm. We felt special, since the regular park attendees would be given the boot out of the park by 6 pm, and only we special folk with the Christmas party ticket would get admittance. Our nearly 4 year old daughter, Josie, had literally been vibrating with excitement for the last two days in anticipation of the Disney trip, and it was finally time to start making those dreams come true.

It was just getting dark as we arrived at the Magic Kingdom lot, and with a throng of other Christmas partiers, we made our way to the parking shuttle and then the monorail. The lights of the Magic Kingdom were already twinkling merrily and the castle was illuminated in a beautiful blue light, with large snowflakes on the castle walls. After a brief stop to have our backpack searched (security is important) we entered the park. A huge Christmas tree had been erected at the foot of main street, and garlands were strewn from the streetlights as happy Christmas music played over the intercoms.

The imagineers at Disney think of everything and somehow they had created a light snow that was falling gently on Main Street as we walked into the park. We didn't have an aggressive game plan for attacking the rides, and so we meandered to the rear of the park and boarded the "Small World". This proved to be one of Josie's favorites, and her little eyes sparkled and darted around trying to catch all the amazing details. We caught a wonderful fireworks display, did a few more rides (The Peter Pan ride was kind of scary for a 3 year old) then it was time for the Christmas parade.

We trooped on back to Main Street, got an ice cream cone, and staked out a patch of sidewalk for the parade. The parade was great fun, with numerous floats and marching Disney characters. The most impressive thing to me was that several of the marching groups were playing their own music, despite the heavy costumes. The best of these were the Nutcrackers brigade and also a lot of fun was the plastic soldiers from Toy Story. They also had a great Dixie Land band on the Song of the South float. Bringing up the rear of the procession was a gingerbread house with Mrs. Claus (you could actually smell the gingerbread) and of course Jolly Ole St. Nick himself. After the parade, I saw Josie's little sleepy eyes so we packed ourselves back out to the car and onto the Villa for a good night's sleep.

Part Two - Fun with Door Locks

The front door lock and alarm system on the villa proved to be a source of daily entertainment for everyone (except me). I couldn't figure out how to lock the door from the outside, but I knew how to unlock it, so each morning when we were ready to leave, I would lock the front door from inside the house and exit the house through the door that went into the garage. I would then back the car out of the garage. "This is simple", I said to myself. "I'll just use the automatic garage door closer, and stroll out while the door is closing!" The only problem was, the button that operated the garage door was all the way at the back of the garage, so after pressing it, I had to move rather briskly to the front to dive under it as it closed, like Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark when that stone wall was inexorably closing on him. Then in the evening I would open the front door lock from the outside using the digital touch pad.

In theory, this strategy sounded simple enough, but the first time I went to shut the garage door from the inside, I walked quickly out and ducked underneath the still-closing door..and it just stopped and wouldn't close any more.

After perusing the situation (I am an en-gineer after all), I noticed a little infrared beam unit mounted low on the garage wall just inside the door. "Aha", I said, "it won't let the garage door close if the beam is broken!" The unit was mounted about knee high, so in order for it not to be tripped, the infrared beam would have to be stepped over as one was exiting the garage.

So here was try number two. I went to the back of the garage and opened the door all the way again, pushed the "close" button, then madly sprinted for the door (it was closing fast) and hurdled over the infrared beam. Success!! I looked at my wife and in-laws in the car and there was much "guffawing" and "hee-hawing". This proved to be a daily ritual and never failed to entertain the troops. The next door neighbor had a couple of cats that seemed to be hanging around every morning waiting for something interesting to happen, and from a side-view I'm sure it was a memorable sight to see a 300 pound man in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts ejecting from the garage like I was shot out of cannon each morning. That was funny enough as it was, but the last day as we were leaving, I looked at the keypad on the front door lock and noticed a button with a padlock on it. I gave it a push...and the door locked. Ha ha.

Part 3 - Rain, Rain, Go Away

We were fortunate to have gotten a couple of nice days for the weekend, and although it was cloudy, the temperature was pleasant. On Sunday we spent a mellow day at Epcot Center and the crowd was pretty light; I guess everyone was still at the Magic Kingdom. The coolest ride we took the whole week was there at Epcot at the Chevy Racecar Test Track simulator. There was an impressively long line for the ride, and it looked to be at least an hour's wait. Fortunately for us, my father-in-law David was a career GM employee, and with a flash of his GM employee card, we were whisked to the front of the line. Ignoring the disgruntled stares of the common folks who had been waiting in line, we boarded the race car simulator and were off. At first the ride took us through simulated environmental conditions, such as heat, cold, rain and rough roads. Then a voice announced we were about to simulate a crash test, and we charged headlong for a concrete wall. Just as we were about to hit, a door magically opened and instead we found ourselves outside on the test track. The elevated track is sharply banked, and the car really zipped along at probably over 60 mph until we found ourselves back at the starting gate. This ride would be worth even a long wait!

We took some other rides and then walked around the lake to the international villages where we did some shopping in Morocco, and I bought an order of fish and chips in England, and then it started to rain. It started off as a few light showers, then all it once it was like someone had dumped a huge bucket of water on us. We took shelter in the German stein store until the rain abated, and then as it was already after dark, we decided to head back home to the villa and enjoy some quiet time. Josie and I jumped in the warm pool at the villa, and the rain showers didn't affect us at all as we paddled around for an hour or so. It was strange to be swimming in an outdoor pool on Christmas eve, and I found myself missing the snow and the folks back at home.

The next morning was Christmas, and Val had really outdone herself to fill the day with holiday cheer. She had brought a little Christmas tree and we piled Josie's gifts underneath. Like any three year old, she squealed in delight as she opened her presents and of course wanted to play with them right there. As it turned out, a major cold font was rolling through Florida that day and the rain started about 10am and came down in buckets all through the afternoon. Josie had her toys so she was happy, and we had bought groceries the day before, so we were well provisioned. We spent a quiet day watching movies on TV and watching Josie play with her new toys. Along about 3pm it looked as if the rain was going to let up, so we got out and found a Denny's that was open and had an early supper (or late lunch) and headed for MGM Studios for awhile.

Once again the crowd there was pretty light, and the folks we met leaving looked like drowned rats. We entered the place and took some pictures and rode some rides and went to a couple of shows. The best was the 3-D Muppet Adventure and the Little Mermaid stage show that featured a very scary animatronic Sea Witch. I think they were understaffed as many of the rides and restaurants were closed, so we didn't stick around too late, but headed on back to the villa in anticipation of our final day in Orlando.

Part 4 - Even Salt Needs a Vacation

Our final day in Orlando dawned clear and quite chilly. We had to have Val's folks back to the airport shortly after noon, so we decided to make a quick visit to Disney's Animal Kingdom in the morning before going to the airport.

We arrived about 9:30a so we had a couple of hours to kill, and I was surprised at the large crowd that was gathered there already. This was the day after Christmas, so I guess a lot of the locals were looking for a day out, and with the out-of-towners, this made for pretty good sized mob.

We didn't really have time to try and go to any of the shows, so we walked around and looked at the impressive "Tree of Life" in the center of the park, then visited the monkeys and went on the Indian Tiger Safari trail. I saw a few critters I had only seen on TV before, including a Komodo dragon, a tapir, and some imposingly large fruit bats. We ventured through the bird sanctuary, then it was time to go.

We bid a fond farewell to the folks at the Orlando airport, and then pointed the car to the west toward Sarasota. Since we had a couple of more days before we had to be back at home, I decided to take our friends Ray and Wilma Yoder up on a standing invitation to visit them in their winter home.

Now somehow or another, Ray always manages to make his way into my travel stories. He and Wilma could magically appear about anywhere in the country, and I wouldn't even be the least bit surprised. They deliver motor coaches for the Coachman Company, so they travel all over the U.S., and when we were in Arizona last summer they passed within a hundred miles of us en route to deliver a couple motor homes to L.A. Wilma is a small quiet woman, who has an amazing wit when you get to know her, and I always get a kick out of seeing her itty bitty frame in the driver's seat of a 40 ft Coachman RV. Ray has occasionally driven the bus for Val on tour, and he has become a good friend and hunting buddy of mine on my annual pilgrimage to South Dakota to chase the wily pheasant.

Even though I've often mentioned them in my stories, I need to give you readers a bit more background on these thoroughly interesting folks. The Yoders were raised up in the Amish religion in northern Indiana, and converted to Mennonite shortly after they were married. They have many Amish relatives, and maintain a good relationship with the Amish community to this day. They're good people and believe in the Bible and hard work, and I'll go so far as to call them and their Amish and Mennonite brethren the Salt of the Earth. These people seem to sail calmly through life's seas with a clear purpose and an untroubled mind, and I admire them for it.

Ray had often told me that he and Wilma spent the winters in a little enclave for the Amish and Mennonites, but somehow it never really sank in until we were in the middle of Sarasota on a very busy street, and we had our first Amish sighting. A little old lady in a white bonnet who looked to be every bit of 75 was peddling a 3-wheeled cycle across the street, and the cars were all obediently stopping to let her cross. This didn't seem to be an unusual occurrence, and none of the other drivers seemed flustered or surprised to see this black and white clad lady (looking for all the world like Whistler's Mother) serenely passing by. A few blocks later, our GPS unit told us to turn onto a side street, and after turning the corner we found ourselves transported in time to 1920.

People were out walking, people were out riding those 3-wheeled cycles, people were out hanging clothes up on clotheslines to dry, people were out visiting with each other in their front yards, people were out playing shuffleboard in the park, people were out playing checkers.....people were out! I don't think hardly anyone was inside the little duplex style bungalows that made up the village, and Val and I felt like sore thumbs in our Hawaiian shirts and shorts as we drove past black and blue clad Amish, with the men in the black hats and suspenders, and the women in their bonnets and black dresses. We also saw a few folks dressed in a somewhat more contemporary style, but still very conservative, and there weren't many motor vehicles about. We saw Ray standing on the corner, and with a grin and a wave he led us down the street and over a block to his duplex.

I don't know why, but it had never really occurred to me that the Salt of the Earth would need a vacation. But I guess these hard working folks deserve some time off just like the rest of us. It's a long buggy ride down to Florida, so I know some are asking how these people got here. There's a Mennonite gentleman who operates a bus service and transports the folks here from Wisconsin, Indiana, Ohio, and Pennsylvania. Some families have been coming here annually now for 50 years, ever since this little village got its start as a fish camp.

After we settled in at Ray's for awhile, we took a walk down by the park we had passed, and it struck me that this was the way society used to be before TV brought us the world and made us hermits in our own home. Without that idiot box, people have the urge to get out and congregate and interact with one another. There were easily 200 people down in the park on the shuffleboard court, and kids were playing on the playground or shooting baskets or playing volleyball. Old men were playing checkers at the picnic tables and women were gossiping in little gaggles....and it was nice. We received some curious glances, but since we were with the Yoders, I guess they figured we were OK, and after awhile of letting Josie play with the other kids on the playground, Ray suggested we make a quick trip down to the beach to watch the sun set and feed the gulls.

I let Ray drive our car since he knew his way around and we pulled out of 1920 and back into 2006 as we made our way toward downtown Sarasota and the beach. On the way we passed the "Sailor's Circus" where circus performers come to learn how to do circusy things like the flying trapeze, being shot out of cannons, and training poodles, I suppose. Sarasota is the original home of the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus, and they still make their headquarters near here.

We arrived at the beach in plenty of time for the sunset, and told Josie that we were going to feed the birds. She got out of the car and excitedly ran to the beach, where she pointed and yelled "penguins!" We all got a laugh out of this, because what she had seen was a group of Amish women in the distance in their black dresses down by the water.

Ray pulled out a bag of bread and gave some to Josie, and the seagulls, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, proceeded to mob us in a whirling, screaming tornado of feathers and beaks. They would come right up to us and take the bread out of our hands, and others would hover like hummingbirds in our faces until we tossed them a crumb. They showed themselves as fair-weather friends as they quickly dissipated once the bread was used up.

It was chilly that evening, and a little overcast, but the sunset was nice. As we went back toward the car, I noticed little forms moving around in the gathering darkness making grunting noises and scuffling about. The park had become alive with raccoons, and they all seemed sure we were hiding something from them. We edged on back to the car and warily got in while keeping an eye on the little bandits. Ray and Wilma took us to one of the local Mennonite restaurants where we received some excellent home style cooking, and then it was off to bed.

The next day, we motored around in the car looking at Anna Maria Island and the vicinity, with some more stops on the beach and lunch in the Anna Maria Oyster Bar, where I had some of the best seafood gumbo ever. We made it back to the Sarasota beach in time for sunset, and today there were no clouds and our view of old Sol was unimpeded as it went down in a fiery display, finally quenching itself below the waters of the Gulf. It had been a pleasant and quiet diversion on our Christmas vacation, but it was now time to head home for Tennessee. I think here's where I'll start putting my new travelogue tagline...it's nice to travel, but it's even nicer to go home. END KS

OUT WEST

Sunday, August 6th, 2006

As I stepped off the plane in Albuquerque, I could tell immediately that I was out west. The oppressive heat and humidity of the mid south quickly became a fading memory as I breathed in the dry tangy air of New Mexico. I had made the trip as part of my annual vacation, which I typically schedule around Valerie's touring schedule, and this year, Arizona and New Mexico were the lucky recipients of my tourist dollars. I am fortunate to have a touring musician as a wife, so like a big leach; I wait until I see where she's going and then latch on for the ride. This approach has taken me to some interesting places over the years.

I rented a small car at the airport and headed for Edgewood, NM about 50 miles east of Albuquerque, where VSLP was playing a show that day. The venue was the Wildlife West Nature Park, a small zoo with a stage area for performances. The weather was cool and cloudy that day; with rain in the forecast (August is the monsoon season), and I left the car window wide open to enjoy the breeze.

As I pulled into the park, I saw my 3 year old daughter, Josie waiting for me at the front gate, along with J. Gregory. It's been one of the greatest joys of my life to hear that little voice yell "Daddy!" and to see her come run and jump into my arms. I know that when she gets older it won't be that way, so I just soak as much of it in as I can for now. I carried her like a bag of groceries as we walked into the park and back to the bus.

Valerie wasn't feeling well, as she had just had a severe asthma attack while at a performance in Maine the week before, so her able band, Liberty Pike, did the show that day. They're a crackerjack bunch of ace musicians, and were able to put on a fine performance for the crowd of 100 or so folks that were there for the concert. While the shows were going on, Josie and I wandered about the park to view the wildlife exhibits of bears, raccoons, wolves, mountain lions, antelope, deer and elk. The monsoon season soon began to live up to its name as an ominous dark rain cloud descended over us, and a hard gulley washer soon ensued. Even though one thinks of the southwest as fairly dry, we were to see some rain almost every day that week. After the show, we headed to the motel to get a good night's sleep.

Monday, August 7th

Monday we slept in and spent a lazy morning at the motel. Valerie had really needed the extra sleep, and was already beginning to feel better. There was no agenda for the day, and our only requirement was that we made it to the village of Chama, NM by evening. I had made reservations for us at a hotel there and we had big plans for Tuesday (more on that later). The band did not have another show until Friday, so they elected to tag along with us, as we were headed in the general direction of Arizona and there was nowhere else for them to go anyway.

After everyone had been up and about and had a bite of breakfast, we pointed the wagon train westward (my rental car and the tour bus) and headed back to Albuquerque on I-40 and then northward on I-25 toward Santa Fe. This was really my first good look at the town, since I had left the airport in a hurry to meet Val and Josie the day before. Albuquerque today is a modern sprawling city of over 700,000 and lies at the foot of Sandia Peak at an elevation of 5300 ft. The area was home to the native Pueblo people and was visited by Spanish explorers as early as the mid to late 1500s. A few intrepid colonists made the area their home until a Pueblo Indian revolt drove out the Spaniards in 1680. However, the natives could not stem the tide that was to follow and by 1693, the Spanish had returned and established a permanent settlement at Albuquerque by 1706. The city was named after the Viceroy of New Spain, the Duke of Alburquerque (the extra "r" in the name was somehow lost over the years).

We zipped through Albuquerque and pointed the car north toward Santa Fe. Our eyes soaked in the high rangeland of north-central New Mexico, and we saw antelope, jack rabbits, and road runners in abundance. Josie especially enjoyed our boisterous rendition of "Home on the Range" and asked us to sing it over and over. She later told Becky that we had seen a lot of cantaloupes on the way.

This part of the state is blessed with an abundance of the traditional adobe style architecture, and the thing that was so striking about it is the organic way it absolutely blends in with the topography. Those adobe style homes almost look like they grew in place, like oversized mushrooms.

Val and I decided to pull into Santa Fe and have a look around, while the bus dwellers elected to push on toward Chama. Santa Fe is not only the political capitol of the state, but the artistic one as well. We made our way down to the old town square and strolled about looking in the windows of the shops and art galleries. There was a nice gathering of Navajo and other Native American artisans there, along with a happy crowd of tourists and loc