BIRTHDAY BASH FOR JESUS

With 2.20 billion (2,000,000,000)  Christians around our big globe, Jesus will have some big birthday bash with 2,012 flickering candles giving glow sufficient to be seen from the space shuttle.

Our birthday celebration here on the desert sands just outside of Ogilby, CA will be attended by our back home neighbors, Mike and Bonny, and a few permanent residents, ie, snakes, spiders, moths and hummingbirds.

Merry Christmas everyone and hopefully the spirit of peace will be with each and everyone of you.

HIGHWAY 90, THE SOUTHERN ROUTE 66

Highway 90 begins on the Eastern Coast of Florida and abruptly ends in Western Texas when it dumps the traveler onto Interstate-10 at Van Horn.   For me, the best part of 90 is between Del Rio and Van Horn.  There are 8 towns along this 304 mile stretch that runs just north of the Mex/US border but only two seem to be rising from the Interstate bypass ashes, Alpine and Marfa.

It's just plain mind-numbing driving now on the Interstate, set the speed control, munch pretzles and eat up the miles of I-10 until it's time to slip onto the blue roads again.  El Paso and Las Cruces are the worst part of the drive across this section of the Interstate...Pay attention or become a statistic.

One can now travel east to west or north to south along the mindless ribbons of Interstates and never taste a local flavor.

At least rest stops afford some diversion and an occasional photo-op.

 Red Tailed hawks either courting or settling a territorial dispute...Maybe both.

RV BEDOUIN IN THE US SOUTHWEST

Meet  Rebbe A.D Della’O, a 71 year old gentle soul and second generation Mexican American with deep Spanish roots.  He teaches by personal illustration and example while riding the roads of the southwest living full-time in his RV mobile home camper.  His proselytizing of Judaic Messianic belief is not force-fed with fire and brimstone, which gives one a sigh of relief right from the get-go. None of this digging in your pocket for his cause or condemnation for opposing beliefs.  Discussing the state of world's affairs and philosophy of life were most enjoyable with Rebbe.

Only a man at peace has that "twinkle" in his eyes,  Rebbe's eyes twinkle.

GALVESTON, TX SHORE BIRDS

The Texas Depart of Transportation provides a free ferry from the mainland to the the eastern side of Galveston Island.  Short ride, maybe 20 minutes, all business, no coffee counter or snack bar, just sit in your vehicle and enjoy the ride.

We elected to put up for the night at the Galveston State park, a bit pricy, $35 but it was right on the southern shore with easy access to the beach.

          Sunrise along the sand fence.

There are a dozen different names for Beach Morning Glory.  They grow on 100 foot vines that crawl along the beach.

A breeding pair of Piping Plovers in their courtship ceremony.

The endangered Piping Plover (Loss of breeding grounds) dining, looking for crustaceans.

                  Ring-billed Seagull.

                A little morning yawn

 Western Willit looking for crustaceans for breakfast.

While sitting at the "facilities" at the park, this guy never once moved, I suppose he was waiting, instead of searching, for his breakfast.  The green spot on his head is the reflection from the camera flash in one of his eyes.

We will be pulling up the tent stakes and look for roads heading west to Del Rio. Most of the better maintained roads run south to north toward San Antonio, which we want to avoid.  I guess it'll be another day of FM (Farm to Market) roads.  Putting our fate in the hands of the often-wrong and confused Garmin GPS will surely be another adventure.

NAVIGATIONAL DEVICES ARE NOT INFALLIBLE.

We left Vicksburg, MS using a lap full of navigational devices, one Garmin, two smart phones with Google Maps and a Delorme map on a lap-top computer.  Our aim was to visit the back country between the Mississippi and Atchafalaya Rivers following the blue roads to Krotz Springs, LA.

Pronounce ATCHAFALAYA while thinking of Louisiana's spicy gumbolaya with an "atcha."

Everything began well enough, blue skies and smooth roads. We hummed traveling tunes for the first 70 miles, crossed the Mississippi at Natchez, MS, dropped into Vidalia,LA and headed south on a somewhat bumpy Hwy 131 straight into sugar cane, sorghum and bayou swamps.

What do you do when you come to a fork in the road?  That's right, take it. 

As far as all the electronic maps are concerned, this is uncharted territory and we are taken in circles on a wild, however I must say exciting and scenic, ride.  I'm whistling, "Oh Those Cotton Fields Back Home" but Jackie isn't the least bit amused and wants assurance we'll make it back to civilization by sundown. She keeps muttering something about, "Deliverance."

This is where we came to a dead end, turned around, punched all the off-buttons on the electronics and began our trip "out" to find a road with a darker shade of blue. Common sense and the sun's position trumped the devices.  The trouble was the satellite maps took us to a dead end when we tried to cross the Atchafalaya River.  No Trespassing!  There was a way across the river but if was a ferry and used only by the Atchafalaya Basin - US Army Corps of Engineers.

How may ways can you say, "Deep Fried?"

   Pronounce BOUDIN~~Pinch your nose and say boodan leaving the "n" silent.


As you see, we found our way out (20 more miles of dirt and gravel) and into "civilation," picked up a catfish dinner, drove a boudin's-throw down the road to *Miss Johnny's,* (dry camping) Campground where we were promptly scalped by a greedy, local proprietor. They got it, you want it, you pay---through your pinched nose. 

      Krotz Springs, LA before sundown, thank you.

DIVIDE AND CONQUOR ~ VICKSBURG, MS

Two presidents, Davis and Lincoln both knew the importance of Vicksburg, MS.  Without control of the Mississippi River the south would be without supplies and the north would win the war.

 

Sitting high above the river,"The Widow Blakely" a 7.5 inch cannon was used in the siege to shell the Union boats running the Mississippi gauntlet.

I'm sure General John C. Pemberton, the top dog for defending the town, rolls in his grave at the thought of Old Glory flapping in the breeze atop the bridge that connects Vicksbrug to Louisiana.


The union eventually beat down the confederate and then together they killed and stole everything from the true indigenous peoples. Today five Native American owned casinos no longer have to wait in line for handouts from the Bureau of Indian Affairs.

Barge captains need to keep a keen eye with the Mississippi River's depth at near record lows. If the drought continues the Corp of Engineers will have to institute a one-way traffic pattern.

Climate Change? Global Warming? Anomaly?

NATCHEZ TRACE

The Natchez Trace was first traveled by prehistoric animals following a geologic ridge between necessary salt licks and linking the Cumberland, Tennessee and Mississippi Rivers.  Native Americans were next following the animals for food and then the white settlers used the trail for communication and commerce along the Mississippi River.  In 1803 Thomas Jefferson wanted a postal route built between Nashville, TN and the southern reaches of the Mississippi River to ensure sovereignty in the area.

Today the Trace stretches 444 miles from Nashville, TN to Natchez, MS. Driving bliss.  No commercial traffic is allowed and a speed limit of 50 MPH is posted and enforced by the National Park Service.

We'll be jumping off the trace and head to Vicksburg, MS for an assignment to scout out the town.  I guess my buddy Scoop wants recon info before venturing into the western wilds from the far eastern reaches of Florida.

RAGS TO RICHES, THE KING OF TUPELO, MS.

How do you go to Tupelo, MS and not visit the home of Elvis?  Right, the King of Rock and Roll, Elvis Presley.  Answer:  You don't.  There are little statutes of Elvis all over town and festive, colorful guitars placed around the storefronts and street corners, a gentle reminder they remember their native son for putting them on the map.  The motels are even in on the celebration.  Here at our motel the internet connection was our first reminder of where we were.

Well naturally, after that little brain nudge, we vowed to trip on over to the meager digs of the young Elvis.  Here's Jackie standing on hallowed ground. The front porch where He was born.  His Daddy Vernon, and uncle, built this croppers style house in 1933.  Jackie reported actually feeling his presence while standing in the morning sun.

  
Elvis's daddy bought this 37 Plymouth a couple of years after Elvis was born but it seems he had trouble with the payments and accidentally changed a couple of numbers on a check before he cashed it.  It's reported Vernon lost a few pounds while working the Mississippi chain gangs for that small lapse of memory.  A short stay in the cooler got his attention and he was thereafter a reformed man.

All does not end well.  Elvis got rich playing the guitar, grinding his hips and crooning ballads.  With money in his tight jeans he bought a big house for mommy and daddy in Memphis, TN,  "Graceland." Unfortunately somewhere along the road to stardom he got hooked on Hollywood drugs which resulted in his early demise. Dead at the age of 42.  So it goes.

ELECTRONIC THANKSGIVING

Not that it wasn't wonderful being with family this Thanksgiving but it sure was different.  Different from day's of yesteryear when a beautifully browned turkey was placed in the center of the table, steam rose from at least a half dozen bowls of vegetables and stuffing, a boat of gravy to drown the mashed potatoes at the ready, tart cranberry sauce to be avoided and dad making a big deal of sharpening the carving knife and then layering off huge slices of breast.  But this is 2012 and just getting a geographically-scattered family together is difficult, let along making it anything akin to a Norman Rockwell setting.

What I felt most different was the time almost everyone took to be with themselves...well not exactly alone but with their electronic device...you know, those texting, smartphone things.  OK, I plead guilty, I was not one of the exceptions.  Of everyone there, I suppose only two didn't have their eyes plugged into a keep-in-touch-now thing and that was because they had perfectly good telephones, plugged into the wall, at home.

Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't have traded the day for the world, the spread of food was beyond excellent, being with relatives absent for years gave an emotional high, it was just a little different.  

 Device--Even a laptop at the ready for between turns.

 Brains of the outfit. Don't let the pic fool ya, this is one gorgeous lady.

 No need for those smart phone things here.

 Last minute adjustments by the man behind the brains.

 Halftime snooze.

 Device

 Miles of beautiful smiles.

 Fueling up. 

 Born on Thanksgiving.

 Electronic Monopoly.

 Device

SNOWBIRDS TAKE FLIGHT

Closing down two houses for their 6 month winter nap is a little more than trying but well worth the effort.  Leaving before the snowplow needs to be called or the snow blower fired-up is relief in itself.

Jackie’s house, now sold, is given the last goodbye for the winter snowbird sojourn.

Our rig, (Enter the RV naming contest) loaded and ready to follow the birds south.

We made it to Manistique, MI where Max the Moose greeted us in front of the Comfort Inn.  

Across highway US2 in Manistique, the East Breakwater lighthouse, built in 1916, warns ships sailing Lake Michigan of the rocky shore.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

Pretty picture of my driveway but surrounding those snowflakes is bone chilling cold and I no longer do well with temperatures below 50F. 

Years past, when I first came to the north, I absolutely loved the cold.  Walking in the woods with temperatures 20 to 30 below zero and being startled in the absolute frozen silence by old maple trees splitting making the sounds as loud as rifle shots is so fixed in my mind that I can hear them when I close my eyes and travel back to that time. 

Today is the last day here in Little Finland until spring.  Like Willy Nelson’s song, “On The Road Again,” I’m out of here and headed south to fairer climes and new, yet unknown, friends.

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Oh2LlanRvQ

REAL AMERICAN COWBOY

It's  our practice to pull the rig off the road about every 50 miles for a break.  We scout the countryside, have a bite to eat and walk-out the kinks before we take another bite out of the highway.

Thirty miles north of Arthur, NE, we had made one of our refresher stops.  The landscape is rolling in these parts and nothing but grass, beef-on-the-hoof and a few shrubs are on the horizon. This is more desolate than the southwest desert, not a house, silo, grocery or gas station within 50 miles.

I was outside the rig taking pictures when I noticed an old pick-up cresting a rise some half mile in the distance.  We had backed the rig off the highway into a grassy two-track that led to a barbed wire and stick gate.  When the pick-up turned in our direction I thought that the driver wanted to access the field by the path on which we were sitting.  As the truck pulled off the highway, I walked in that direction to see if we were blocking his way.

"No, not in the least," the young man said as he removed his hat in courtesy and continued with, "I wondered if y'all was having any problems and stopped to see if I might be of any help."

Meet Magnus Hawkins, age somewhere around 21, an all American Cowboy. His business is cows, and plenty of them. Thousands of acres are owned and managed along with thousands of grazing beef.  This young man could step onto a movie set or socialize in high society with equal grace.  It's seldom one is gifted with meeting "the real McCoy."  His voice was strong, calm, sure, and unpretentious.  Words of his local land and everyday workings rolled from him like a statesman of stature.  Jackie talked with him about horses, as is her interest, and he gave an eloquent, short, succinct lecture in the vocabulary/colloquialisms of his trade using terms such as "rank and put a stud on a mare" with the ease of Mark Twain.  It was pure delight to listen to him talk...and I could have listened until...well...until the cows came home.

I noticed his spurs and asked of their origin.  "My daddy has a forge and was sort of a blacksmith and he taught me the trade," He answered,  assuredly as he was proud.  I asked if he made spurs for sale.  "Nope, just use em my own self."

Not much left of the town, just a hardware/feed store and the area's ranch brands.

Magnus, you are my hero!

UPPER MIDWEST BIRDS

Here's a few birds from Utah, Colorado, Wyoming, Nebraska and South Dakota.  Most are migrating, heading north to their summer breeding grounds.

Redwing Blackbird, Female building nest.

Yellow Shafted Flicker

Marbled Godwit

Osprey

Chinese Ringneck Pheasant

Eastern Phoebe

Vesper Sparrow

  Teal, Cinnamon and Blue Hybrid

Hermit Thrush

Downy Woodpecker