Tetons’ Triumph

Posted on October 1, 2018 by Molly

It’s not fair to play favorites. But I have to say that the Grand Tetons topped Yellowstone this time around. However, it wasn’t a level playing field.

While we were enamored with Yellowstone’s rich offerings, we were constantly on the go, traveling from place to place in order to see it all. We walked miles of boardwalks built to protect nature’s attractions and accommodate the large volume of visitors. We followed signs to scenic overlooks and followed well-worn paths. Throughout it all, we attempted to curtail our activities so as not to worsen Rich’s ill health. But we failed. His misery deepened as he spiraled down with pneumonia. Clearly our experience was tainted. I stopped myself short of buying a coffee mug, my favorite souvenir, emblazoned with a bear and the words Yellowstone National Park. I couldn’t bring myself to burden Rich with bad karma each time he opened the cupboard.

In contrast, the Grand Tetons offered a respite. Through sheer luck, we secured four nights in Jackson Lake Lodge. The grand lobby with soaring windows overlooking the rocky mountain peaks and Jackson Lake offered daylong access to cushy couches and chairs for relaxing and absorbing the view. A coffee bar, restaurants and a bar/lounge were within mere steps. Knowing Rich’s condition, the staff ensured that our room was just a short distance away. It felt like a haven in the wilderness.

But the real benefit was the nature of the park. The mountains, the lakes and the wildlife were the draw. The natural beauty to behold. There were no must-do sights compelling a visit. We could do as little (Rich) or as much (Molly) as we pleased. We had a central base from which we could explore, either together or separately.

Hiking alone is a consideration in bear country, so I limited myself to safer routes – still accompanied by bear spray. Taking the trail to Grand View Point afforded me views in two directions, out over Jackson Lake and the Tetons and overlooking Two Ocean Lake with forested crests on the other side.

Naturally, Rich ventured out in search of birds and wildlife. I accompanied him to the Willow-Moose Road, where we found a pair of moose. We watched the bull for close to an hour, as he kept tabs on his cow moose. He was an expert at camouflaging himself behind bushes or branches that obscured our view, but we persevered and enjoyed the show. Oxbow Bend was another favorite, just a couple miles down the road from the lodge. Fall colors were in full display against the backdrop of the Tetons, and it held the promise of bird and wildlife viewing.

We found the Grand Tetons to be far more bicycle friendly than Yellowstone. The 20-mile long multi-use paved trail attracted my attention. I had my heart set on cycling it the full distance from Jenny Lake to Jackson and back again. Although it parallels the highway, I relished the safety of the path and the constant companionship of the mountains that flanked the route. I even experienced a cycling wildlife jam, when motorists stopped and flooded the path to photograph a herd of elk at close range.

Rich tested his mettle on the Jenny Lake Scenic Drive, a short one-way road with a bicycle lane. We cycled up and back, marveling at the blue-green waters of Jenny Lake. The sun dappled route on a warm afternoon was good medicine for both of us.

Some of the park roads had good wide shoulders, allowing us to cycle right from the lodge. A trip to the Colter Bay picnic area brought us right down to the lake and a rock beach. I ventured a little further to reach the National Park Service and University of Wyoming Research Station, a peaceful perch on the lake.

The Tetons afforded us a more relaxed pace and the ability to make plans at will. And a chance for Rich to recuperate. Even just hovering around the lodge environs was a treat. It’s not often we splurged like this. It was worth savoring. And I bought my souvenir mug. It says Grand Tetons National Park and has a moose on it.

Yellowstone’s Many Faces

Posted on September 27, 2018 by Molly

Before this trip, Yellowstone National Park conjured up images of Old Faithful in my brain. Snow in June and a rustic cabin. That’s what I remember from visiting with my family in sixth grade. Now I realize the injustice of that narrow memory.

Yellowstone is home to a wealth of unique natural wonders. Despite its vast size, the distinct variety of sights found within its borders is astonishing. Each of our five days brought something new. Thankfully, our son Erik and his wife Katie visited Yellowstone just a month ahead of us, leaving us with tips on the best way to see the park. And their bear spray.

We explored the “Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone” – walking the north rim, hiking down to the brink of the Lower Falls and absorbing the rich colors of the deep canyon walls.

Molly at Yellowstone Canyon

Naturally, we paid a visit to Old Faithful. But there was so much more to that geyser and hot spring haven. I walked the geyser trail, marveling at the huge variety in size, shape, frequency and reliability of eruption. The hot springs were especially appealing, particularly the brilliant blue of Morning Glory.

There was something magnetic about Grand Prismatic, especially when viewed from above at the overlook.

I wasn’t sure I needed to see Mammoth Hot Springs. When we first arrived, I couldn’t see what was so great about them. But after wandering among the terraces and land formations created by the hot springs, I had to admit I was impressed with nature’s artistry.

Even more than the famous sights, I was eager to get into the wilderness. I wanted to hike down a trail, escape the crowds and lose myself in placing one foot in front of the other in quiet solitude. Following Erik and Katie’s advice – and their footsteps – we hiked to Shoshone Lake, the largest backcountry lake in the lower 48 states.

A visit to Yellowstone is synonymous with wildlife, and we saw our share of that as well. Bison and elk were ubiquitous throughout the park. I heard elk bugling in the woods for the first time. Then it became commonplace, as it was rut season. One evening, we were delayed getting to dinner due to a placid elk crossing our path. A “wildlife jam” alerted us to the presence of two grizzly bears tearing into something tasty on the roadside. We chose not to venture close enough to get a good picture of that scene.

I have replaced my Old Faithful image of Yellowstone with a collage. My mind now holds a collection of sights and creations of nature, interspersed with immersion in the wilderness and wildlife views. Just a few of Yellowstone’s many faces.

On to Plan C

Posted on September 26, 2018 by Molly

Sometimes life intervenes. Our revised plans to camp in our tent on our trip out west started out well enough. We scored a nice campsite on the river in Teddy Roosevelt National Park, and managed to squeeze in a short bike ride on the wilderness loop after arriving. A bison spent the night on the banks of the river just below our spot, and in the morning he took a stroll right through our campsite! We decided to let him have it.

On good advice, we drove the Beartooth Highway to enter Yellowstone. Getting an early start, we were well down the road and into the mountains just as the sun began hitting the peaks. It only got better from there. The 68 miles took us a full three hours to cover, slowly winding our way around hairpin curves, ogling the views over the edge and stopping frequently to take in the scenery. We hadn’t even gotten to the park yet and we were already enamored with the locale.

Traveling at the end of the season, we assumed that the crowds in Yellowstone had thinned. But that wasn’t the case. Even the campsites were still in high demand, so rather than moving around the park we snapped up four nights in the Canyon Valley campground, hastily making reservations en route. Tall pine trees towered over our humble tent, needles carpeted the ground and plenty of space insulated us from other campers. All seemed well. But we only lasted two nights.

It wasn’t the thunder-snow that we heard rumbling and falling icily on our tent the first morning that drove us out. In fact, we luxuriated in the excuse to hunker down reading in our cozy sleeping bags until it ceased. It wasn’t the 25 degree temps the following morning. It wasn’t even the meager camp meals that we concocted over our ancient sputtering cook-stove.

Yellowstone snowy campsite Yellowstone reading in tent

It was the bugs. No, not the buzzing, biting, flying irritants that usually annoy campers. Pink-eye and flu bugs. Lingering gifts from a recent visit with our grandchildren took Rich down hard. And each successive day he worsened. No matter how cushy the air mattresses (and ours aren’t), there’s no pretending that we get a good night’s sleep on the ground.

Just as in bicycle touring, we instituted our trusty rule. When someone gets sick, no more camping. It’s the only way to get better. But scuttling Plan B was not that easy. Those late season crowds? They filled the lodgings too. After many phone calls, we scored a room in Grant Village that had just been released. Wincing at the cost but celebrating our luck, we repeated the search in the Grand Tetons.

So much for our free-wheeling campervan plan. Goodbye outdoorsy tent camping. Hello Plan C – warm, inviting park lodgings with electricity and soft beds, secured with advance reservations. I’m entirely certain that the park sights will still be stunning.

False Start

Posted on September 15, 2018 by Molly

It seemed like a good idea at the time. In fact, it was.

We were off on an adventure. With a family wedding in Colorado at the end of September, we decided to use the preceding two weeks to drive out west and explore. Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons were on our list, but beyond that we had no real plan.

The unique element was traveling by campervan. We found a small start-up company in the Twin Cities that rents mini-van sized vehicles that seat two in the front and sleep two in the back. It would keep us out of the elements and provide a soft mattress for these aging bodies. It has a slide-out with one burner for cooking, spots for a water jug and a cooler, plus storage. Perfectly bare bones. It would give us the freedom to wander at will.

It seemed the perfect solution. We talked it up to all our friends. They too were intrigued. I rather liked the thought of sleeping in a tin can in bear country. An added layer of protection. Rich fancied the idea of sidling up to the fancy RVs in a Walmart parking lot one night, just for kicks.

All went smoothly as we transferred bags and gear from our car to the campervan. We found space for everything – just barely – and hung our bikes on the rack in back. Giddily climbing into the front seat we set off.

We were only three miles away, on the highway entrance ramp when it happened. The warning light went on and the engine heat soared into the red zone. Unwilling to drive it in that condition, we contacted the owner who arranged for his auto shop to take it right away. The 90-degree heat not only exacerbated the problem but singed our sagging spirits. Hot air blew through the open windows, cars sped by and the sun beat down relentlessly as we waited for the engine to cool. Only when it was well out of the danger zone would we putter down the road. Until it overheated again. This scenario repeated itself over and over again in the next two hours, just to get 12 miles.

The auto shop discovered an improperly connected coolant hose, and no coolant remaining in the system. No wonder it overheated. The van owner was there with fervent apologies and offers to help us pass the time during the repairs. Even in our misery, we felt for him. It wasn’t his fault, he’d had the van serviced and inspected before he rented it to us.

But by then it was too late. Rich was spooked. A desperate conversation took place next to the van, in the stifling heat, sweating. Could we trust the van, after this issue? What if other trouble lurked? We were heading out to remote areas, thousands of miles from home. I struggled with letting go of our plans. Dropping the new experience just like that. But I have learned a thing or two in 35 years of marriage. I could tell that Rich would never relax in that van. It was time for Plan B.

Scratch the van. Retain the adventure. We would drive back to Duluth, pack up our tent, sleeping bags and camp stove and get a fresh start. Tomorrow.

It’s still a good idea.

Stepping up my writing journey

Posted on August 31, 2018 by Molly

For months my manuscript has lived only in the deep recesses of my laptop. Today I turned on the printer, loaded it with paper and hit Print. It spun out all 175 single spaced pages of text that I have generated over the past two years. It’s only the second time I have printed the entire document. The first was for my own editing purposes. Just seeing the stack of paper over an inch thick was a revelation. It really looks like it could be a book.

All summer I have been preparing for this day. I have been reliving our bicycle tours yet again, refining them chapter by chapter. Mornings go by in a blur as I look for gaps to fill, research obscure facts, obsess over verb tenses and ponder how best to string the stories together. A new working title emerges, Life Cycling. Navigating adventure and constant togetherness at 12 miles an hour.

It occurs to me that to date nobody has read these pages but me. The only exception is the chapter I sold to a magazine a few months back. The larger work has remained under wraps. Until now.

Inserting the bundle into a mailing envelope and handing it over the counter in the post office makes it final. It is now out of my hands, winging its way across the country, destined for my writing coach. Who will read it.

It feels good. I’ve kept this to myself long enough, it’s time to seek input. By no means is it a complete manuscript. It has a weak beginning and no real ending. In between it lacks structure. But I believe in this project. I can feel it. One day it will be a book.

I’ve signed up for eight bi-weekly sessions of personal coaching via email with Mary Carroll Moore, starting in October. My copy of her book, Your Book Starts Here, is heavily annotated and highlighted. I’ve taken two classes from her at The Loft. Her weekly writing emails continually provide new insights. I feel strongly that she can guide me through the stages of morphing my collection of chapters into a compelling read.

I now have a month to clear my head, take a break and wait. Wait for the initial report to come back from Mary. I know I will hesitate when that email first comes through. I will open it with trepidation. Hold my breath. And eagerly prepare for the next step of this journey.

Farewell my lighthouse

Posted on August 29, 2018 by Molly

The last sunrise. A final morning walk on the beach. A concluding entry in my journal. It is the last of five days that I will repeat this early routine. I will miss this place.

As if to mark the occasion, sunrise is the most colorful of the week. I scamper to my favorite views to try and capture the image. Clouds light up from below as the sun advances up from the horizon.

My walk takes the pace of a stroll across nature’s canvas. Tottering over mounds of Lake Superior rocks, I leave no trace. When the charcoal, gray, pink and white mosaic gives way to sandy beach I smile. Here I can walk more steadily, stop concentrating on where I place my feet and look around. I could pick up my pace, but there is too much to see.

Molly walking beach at CPL

My footsteps from yesterday are still visible in places – a surprise on this windblown expanse. The afternoon’s visitors have also left their mark – bare feet, dog paws, a rock message composed on the sand. I wonder about the huge paw prints that walk alone, appear very recent. They could belong to a bear.

It’s nature’s traces that are the real attraction. My favorite are the fine lines that curve and intersect on the firm sand. They mark the perimeter of the waves’ advances. they tell the story of the water’s movement. A few days ago big waves drove high up the beach. Today they merely lap the edge. Black sand stretches add to the design, mingling colors.

Bird and critter tracks wind hither and yon though the sand. Drunken wanderings leave a fanciful path. Tiny feet press distinct prints. Animal friends join and leave. Explosions occasionally occur in the intersections of a crowd.

The wind too participates in this artwork. Symmetrical ripples linger across the sand. A lazy stream creates similar patterns under water, on its journey to the lake. It is all there for the visual taking.

The lake is quiet as my coffee and I settle down on my “writer’s log” on the beach. A light wind blows. Weak sunlight flows over my shoulders, tempered by broken clouds and remnants of wildfire smoke. The beach exudes calm.

I don’t mind that it is not a sparkling blue day. This feels more relaxed. The air is that temperature that I don’t feel – it’s just there, comfortable. The day does not demand attention. It just is.

Soon the first visitors will arrive and I will resume my station in the Visitor Center for Crisp Point Lighthouse. During lulls in the day we will pack up our gear. Roll up the sleeping bags. Take down the tent. We will prepare to say our goodbyes to Crisp Point. For one more year.

Lighthouse Life

Posted on August 29, 2018 by Molly

Living in the moment. It’s what I crave most as we approach our stint as lighthouse keepers at Crisp Point Lighthouse. For five days, my daily life will revolved around my duties tending the lighthouse and its visitors. The rest of the world will live at a distance.

The process begins as we drive down the rough 18 miles of dirt road. I leave civilization behind. The woods close in around the car. My cell signal dies out. I shut down my electronic devices for good. I abandon my to do lists, my deadlines, my schedules. Anything I don’t have in the car, I don’t need. Tent, sleeping bag, a duffle of clothes, cook stove, food supplies and water comprise my worldly goods.

This is not new territory. Rich and I are in our fifth year as keepers, so we know the drill. Our duties revolve around hosting the visitors who come, eager to see the lighthouse. We have already established camp in our keeper’s site before the first arrive.

This is the first time we have been keepers in the peak of the summer season. Warm weather is a welcome change from our chilly October visits, and visitor numbers swell accordingly. We see close to 100 people a day, keeping us busy greeting, informing, helping and chatting with these visitors. I love seeing the eager faces, thrilled to know they can climb the tower, go out on the catwalk. From my post in the Visitor Center I meet people who have been coming here for years, decades some of them. They know more about the early days than I do, recount first hand stories of the decay followed by brilliant restoration. Despite being busy, it is restorative work. I have no need to plan my day. It develops with each person who arrives to see the lighthouse. It feels good. Serving others.

There are always cleaning and maintenance jobs to be done and we fill in with those around our visitor duties. Rick Brockway, president of the Crisp Point Light Historical Society, comes daily and pitches in non-stop on chores. His tireless efforts make this lighthouse site worth the long arduous drive. Rich helps out with replacing a segment of the boardwalk. I sort, fold and put away the new shipment of t-shirts that Rick brought. Our efforts pale in comparison to Rick’s dedication.

It’s the edges of the day that I relish. Fringes of time to drink in the surroundings, revel in owning that remote space for a brief stint. Nestled against the shore of Lake Superior, camping on the soft sand, hearing the repetitive lap or roar of the waves against the shore. Sunrise and sunset, that red orb rising and falling into the lake. The wood crackling as the campfire battles against the wind that whips away its flames as well as its heat.

Post sunrise the sun paints the lighthouse with its magical morning glow. inching up the tower. The structure is illuminated rather than being the illuminator.

Five days, living under the shadow of this lighthouse. It’s quite the life.

Kindness Rocks

Posted on August 9, 2018 by Molly

It was the kind of activity that transcended ages. Crossed cultural boundaries. Steeped in good will. The perfect activity for our visiting Czech family.

Surprisingly, it came as part of our farm share. Our CSA farmer, Heather-Marie from Rising Phoenix Community Farm, does a lot more than provide us with bountiful fresh organic veggies all summer long. She focuses on the community aspect as well. Once a month she hosts social events for all the families that she feeds. This time it was the Kindness Rocks Project.

Gathering on a warm summer afternoon at Hartley Nature Center, we found picnic tables laden with rocks and a supply of paints, paint pens and Mod Podge. The idea was to paint the rocks with inspirational messages or pictures. While I struggled to come up with designs, the girls dug in and swiftly produced colorful rocks with fun sayings. Although we encouraged them to paint some Czech sayings, with a little help from their mom they turned out catchy English phrases and cute illustrations. Soon the table tops filled with colorful rocks, created by young and old alike.

The art project was fun, but it was only the beginning. Next came the Kindness part. Megan Murphy is the creator of this national movement, which “encourages people to leave rocks painted with inspiring messages along the path of life.” The idea is that one message just might change someone’s whole day. Our next step would be to find homes for our rocks.

I had thought we might scatter them during our travels and adventures over the next few weeks of their visit. But forgetfulness meant the rocks were all still waiting in the garage on the last night of their stay. An excursion was immediately organized, so that we could complete the mission.

Judging by the enthusiasm of the effort, the joy in clambering over giant rocks, the appeal in depositing the messages in secret hidey holes, this part of the project was a highlight of their stay. The rock pile soon diminished, creating a rich repository of inspiration for future visitors. Pavla translated the girls’ words for us: “Better than a playground.”

I had thought some rocks might make their way back to the Czech Republic to await being found there. But it was far too much fun to plant them on the shores of Lake Superior. Leaving the world with a little more kindness was the perfect finale to a wonderful visit.

Molly and Rich with Pavla and girls

Putting the Family back in Camping

Posted on July 16, 2018 by Molly

The texts flew fast and furiously between family members. As the week wore on, the frequency intensified.

“Does someone have an extra sleeping bag we can use?”

“Anyone bringing bags?” Response: “I’m bringing trash bags.” Clarification: “Uh…the game bags?”

“Here’s a link to a spreadsheet to sign up for group meals. Each family will cook one breakfast or dinner.” We could count on Carl to get us organized.

“S’mores! I’ll bring that stuff!” Erik had his priorities.

“We’re running out of room. We travel with the kitchen sink these days.” That from Karen, mother of four.

“I think the whole point of car camping is to bring way too much stuff.” Little did we know just what Carl meant by that comment.

It was the first family camping trip since we took our kids to the Boundary Waters 15 years ago. That outing numbered 5 family members and required just two small tents. For this camp-out the same offspring spawned a total count of 9 adults, 7 kids and 2 dogs, including our Czech daughter, Pavla, and her two daughters.

Emanating from Ostrava, Duluth, the Twin Cities and Milwaukee we converged on Great River Bluffs State Park. Filling four campsites with six tents, we gathered to spend two days together in the great outdoors.

Camping with kids ranging from 3 months old to 11 years was pretty brave – especially when it was a first-time experience for all of those kiddos. Even the adults faced some challenges. Karen surprised everyone by cheerfully forgoing her careful hair styling for the weekend. Pavla agreed to the trip thinking we meant sleeping in “campers.” Despite the snafu in translation, she and her girls quickly adapted to the more primitive tenting conditions.

Anticipating this weekend, I’m certain we all envisioned sunny warm days and crisp cool nights. In reality, we arrived in high heat and humidity under ominous clouds, and barely got our tents up before the monsoon-like rains descended. At the same time, Rich and I discovered that a tent, two sleeping bags and sleep mats were still sitting on the floor of our garage at home. It was an easy decision to scuttle our dinner cookout and nestle into the nearest pizzeria for the duration. A quick detour via Walmart solved the missing tent problem.

Nobody slept well. Little bodies wiggled. Bugs bugged them. Night fears erupted. Young ones rose with the sun. Even those of us without youthful charges struggled in the heat. But it’s camping. It’s all part of the experience.

Although morning brought soggy conditions and stifling humidity, the group mustered on. Wads of mud collected on our shoes as we hiked. Bug spray permeated our pours. Clothing collected grime. A legion of lawn chairs drifted between campsites for meals. Pavla learned a new saying, “like herding cats.” And smiles persisted.A trip to the beach on the Mississippi River soothed our sweaty bodies and itchy bug bites. Ice cream cones on the return trip sealed the pleasure. Big kids blew bubbles for little kids. Erik and Katie gained favored status by sharing their new puppy. A reluctant campfire finally caught and lulled us with its mesmerizing glow. I basked in the revelation that my only requirement for the weekend was to sit, visit, play and drink in the presence of my family. Family camping bubbles The fact that the World Cup finals were scheduled for 10am Sunday morning gave little pause for concern to the sports enthusiasts in the family. At the appointed hour, those lawn chairs made their final pilgrimage to Carl and Chelsea’s tent site. A flat screen TV running off the car battery grabbed the local broadcast signal and game snacks graced the picnic table. Game on! Although I chose an alternate activity, walking the dogs with the moms and kids, I had to admire the ingenuity.Texts flew once again on the way home and signaling safe arrivals. Judging by the frequency of the term “great camping weekend” I’d say it was a success. I hope it’s not another 15 years before we do this again.

Like having lunch with my Mom

Posted on June 9, 2018 by Molly

Sitting in the comfortable living room of the large colonial house I feel right at home. The decor has changed little since I visited as a little girl. The woman sitting next to me is still tall, gracious, warm and exceedingly sharp. The afternoon flies by in her company.

I don’t know how it started, really. I think the bond was forged shortly after Mom passed away. Mrs. B – I still can’t bring myself to call her Monica – was Mom’s oldest friend, dating back to their childhood in the UP. She was a constant in Mom’s life. And now in mine.

My trips to the Cities are frequently tailored around this detour to Roseville. The script rarely varies. I arrive late morning, and conversation begins simultaneously with our fervent hugs. Despite her almost-92 years, Mrs. B remembers everything from our last visit and we hungrily catch up on family news. From there we move on to current events, politics, history and the erudite selection of books she has most recently read. I note the fascinating titles to add to my own reading list. We pause long enough for Mrs. B to serve homemade soup, salad with her own dressing and coconut bread. And continue visiting over our shared meal.

It is a rare opportunity to spend time with someone who knows not only me, but my family from way back. She knows my history better than I do. She understands my roots. She has memories of my Mom that are still new to me. I relish the feeling. It is like having lunch with my Mom.

I am constantly in awe of Mrs. B’s clear and insightful mind. A seasoned mother and grandmother, she is in tune with the times and has decided opinions and insights on those roles that we now share. Her values remain unchanged, but she has lived enough to flex with the times. She is not shy about sharing her honest opinions, and I treasure her wisdom.

Michael with Mrs B

On this visit I bring along Michael, the newest addition to our collection of grandchildren at 9 weeks old. It is a sweet juxtaposition of ages. I can tell Mrs. B is anxious to hold him. Her next baby generation has yet to arrive. But her skills haven’t faded. She is able to coax a smile from him, and she has sage advice when Michael struggles with tummy troubles. Of course, it works. Mom was not well enough to hold her great-grandchildren. So I endeavor to conjure memories of her with my children as babies.

Mom was my biggest cheerleader. She consistently urged me on and taught me to believe in myself. It was Mom’s lifelong encouragement that gave me the confidence to follow my dream of writing. She was gone by the time my first story was published. But Mrs. B not only read it, she took out a subscription to Lake Superior Magazine to keep up with my work. Predictably, today she asks “How’s the writing going?” And listens intently.

The afternoon slips away far too quickly. Even as I drive away I think of many more things to talk about. And ponder not only what she said but her life example.

Six years since Mom passed away, and longer still since Alzheimer’s claimed her mind, I have her dear friend to continue to connect me with her. I am already eagerly anticipating our next visit.

Superior Footprints

Life and the Outdoors in the Northland

Tetons’ Triumph

Yellowstone’s Many Faces

On to Plan C

False Start

Stepping up my writing journey

Farewell my lighthouse

Lighthouse Life

Kindness Rocks

Putting the Family back in Camping

Like having lunch with my Mom

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