Freedom was the case that they gave me.
An ode to the 3rd of July…
An ode to the 3rd of July…
The days grow shorter but the sun is still hot. A tribute to the rarest, if not my favorite, of seasons.
Sometimes I feel ingenuine. I want nothing but freedom. True and absolute. I seek after spontaneity like a burned up moth the morning after a fire. Been there, doing that. Desperate for more. I’m not even sure if I have an idea as to what I’m after. At this point it’s just perpetual motion. See
Four steps of footsteps, each lighter than the next, tread the packed solid dirt trail leaving just enough space for our boots between the tall grasses. Yellow and brown daisy looking flowers that die into massive dandelion poofs take flight spreading their seeds across the grasslands. Spires erect out of the flat, pointing toward massive
We’re looking for tips on National Parks in the Dakotas, Wyoming, Montana and Alberta.
An Indian blesses our child in sacred lands.
A massive thunderstorm is snap, crackling the sky and popping in my ears. I think of how having nothing but a van’s roof between me and all of that Great Buffalo in the Sky’s wrath is invigorating. Then I recall days of tents and Pacific Ocean storms. Then sleeping in just jeans and a long
Perhaps prematurely I write you dear friend, of this, my most unfortunate circumstance. You see, it has been a pittance of time passed in which I’ve had the glory to call these, the Black Hills, my home. For though I have no particular concerns nor facets of life which might require me to move ever
Let me first say this: all of the content, absolutely everything we produce, is 100% completely free. You can read anything we’ve ever created, and for the last several issues completely ad free, for nothing. We work from a pay-if-you’d-like model. That said, there are a few reasons we think it’d be swell if you
A gas station, finally. Not that there weren’t options miles back the road at a quarter tank, but when your entire family of six is asleep and you’ve got mountain views and open road ahead, you don’t stop and risk ruining the silence of a thick scenery drive. Pulling into the Pony Express gas station
I fell in love with an old leather boot a few years back. She was brown and worn, with a fox red trim around the top and spots worn from weather and wear over three decades. She shook when she moved and sometimes needed a break on a long, hot day, but when you needed
The movie Cars plays regularly around our house. In 10 or 15 minute portions at a time usually, our two year old Winter will watch it before he takes a nap or to calm his anted-pants down on longer driving days. The movie, and its sequel even, are a few years old now, but kids
I know they call Montana “Big Sky Country” but it’s applicable here, too, on Yellowstone’s eastern border. It’s as though ten times the wild blue yonder is up, up and above us.
Morning doesn’t come with an alarm clock. 7am or so typically finds itself ringing in via the sounds of my boisterous youngest son, Wylder. He’s a morning smiler and eager to crawl into our bed, a handmade contraption built by my dad in the back of our Ford van. A master bedroom if you will.
We’ve never met many full-timers in our travels. Perhaps it’s because I’m a bit of a recluse. Or just that I have very few (but incredibly close when I do) friends. The Barenaked Family are the closest thing we’ve found to kindred spirits. They were doing this traveling thing well before the Internet made it