In late May of 1990, my newlywed husband and I removed our wedding finery, climbed into his pickup truck and embarked on a planless, leisurely tour around the southwest. We saw many wonders, both big and small: the Grand Canyon, the Vermillion Cliffs, Mesa Verde, Canyon de Chelley. We also saw amusing or interesting roadside attractions, toured a few museums and explored numerous small towns.
We came home two weeks later and began learning the art of being married. Thirty-four years later, we're still going strong.
Because we've owned livestock for most of our married life, we haven't traveled together in over three decades. Someone must always be home to attend to the cows. But when we downsized a few years ago and moved to a smaller home (we live in North Idaho), we sold or butchered our animals and have been without livestock ever since.
All that changed a few weeks ago when we purchased a Jersey heifer and an Angus cow/calf pair. We made agreements with the sellers to deliver the animals at the end of May.
Why the delay in taking possession of the cows? It's because, for almost the first time since our first honeymoon, my husband and I planned to take a trip together, a sort of second honeymoon. We realized this was a "now or never" opportunity before becoming pinned down with livestock once again. We decided to repeat our adventures in the southwest, but this time viewing new and different vistas (and wisely using a rental car). We budgeted and saved for months to finance the trip. We also wanted to travel and return before the crowds of Memorial Day weekend.
My husband was especially eager to show me a good time. In discussing something we had seen on our original honeymoon, he commented, "I don't remember that. I forgot everything else because we were so madly in love."
"We still are," I replied.
"Yeah," he replied, "but now our love is like fine wine. Back then, it was like shots of tequila."
I burst into laughter. This, dear readers, is one of the many reasons I'm still madly in love with my husband: He makes me laugh, often uproariously.
We had two goals on this trip: We wanted to avoid (whenever possible) major highways; and we absolutely wanted to avoid any big cities. We are not interested in cities, where – it seems – nearly every ill afflicting America tends to concentrate. Nor did we want to whiz along at 80 mph on major highways and miss a tremendous amount of "slices of life" we might encounter with "slice of life" people.
Instead, we wanted to see the scenery and back roads and small towns of America's west and southwest. Our nation, we've known for some time, is on the decline. Crime, drugs, violence, illegal immigration, inflation and other woes have altered the nation we love. How have things changed since 1990, when my husband and I took our first honeymoon? We wanted to find out.
It is telling, however, that we did not let anyone know in advance we were taking this trip. Not only would that advertise that our adult daughter was pet-sitting alone in the house, but in this brave new world of squatters, who knew what we might come home to?
So on Saturday, May 4, we took possession of a rental car and hit the road. We visited parts of Idaho, Oregon, Nevada, Utah, Arizona, Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana before returning, tired but happy, to our snug North Idaho homestead on Wednesday, May 15. We traveled about 3,500 miles during that time.
We saw many wonders, both man-made and natural. (I also took over a thousand photographs – 1,253 to be precise – documenting our travels.) We visited Glen Canyon Dam, Horseshow Bend and Monument Valley. We visited about a dozen small museums, lots of roadside attractions, small towns galore and several hiking trails. Once, memorably, we stopped in the middle of an empty road, got out of the car, and simply … listened. We listened and heard wind, birdsong, crickets and the quiet of the endless Wyoming prairie.
We also met lots and lots and lots of people. We met Caucasians, Hispanics, Blacks, Asians, East Indians and Native Americans. With one exception (a true "Karen" ahead of me in line who was haranguing a hapless hotel clerk), every last person we encountered was kind, friendly, helpful and pleasant. Every. Last. Person. We tried to be friendly, generous and considerate in return. To be honest, this trip went a long way toward restoring my faith in humanity, which sometimes tends to get soured after marinating in the news.
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We purchased hardly anything except food, lodging and gas. The purpose of our travels was not to shop; it was to explore the beauty of our nation, meet a sample of ordinary citizens and enjoy each other's company.
America's heartland is still full of hardworking, honest people struggling to make a living under an increasingly tyrannical government. Many towns we passed through were thriving; others were dying. Some towns had converted themselves into tourist destinations to survive; others catered – as they had for decades – to farmers and ranchers.
Some people we met had started roadside attractions, capitalizing on local folklore to make a living. Others were entrepreneurs putting their passions into building something dear to their hearts – growing specialty crops, starting a museum, preserving aspects of American history. In all instances, we came away awed and humbled by the experience.
We returned home, glad to be on familiar ground and off the road. We're a couple of homebodies at heart, but were immensely heartened by our trip. We were pleased to sample what makes America great, and we're far richer for it.
It's a scary world out there, especially if you obsess over the news (remember, "If it bleeds, it leads"). But take the time to leave the news stream behind and sit by a real stream for a while. Find a snow-covered mountain peak or a wind-swept prairie. Visit with an 80-year-old man who assembled an Americana museum over the span of his life. Meet a Navajo woman selling her handmade jewelry by the side of the road to put her daughter through nursing school.
It's a great big wonderful world out there, folks. America is still beautiful. Sometimes we need to remember that.
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