Journal

We were ready for a four-hour ride when we packed our stinky clothes and our stinkier selves into the minivan and bid good-bye to the cool yurt (and the cool temperatures) in Mancos State Park. We were headed west…toward Monument Valley, Utah, with a planned pitstop for a photo op at Four Corners Monument–the one spot in the United States where four states (New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona and Utah) intersect. But first, we had to enter the Twilight Zone. Ne, ne, ne ne- ne ne ne ne… You see, the trip took us here… View One Month Off in a larger map Out of Colorado which adheres to Daylight Savings Time, then back in time to Arizona, which doesn’t, except for the portion of the Navajo Nation, which does, then it was on to Utah, which also does. Our cell phones registered time changes every half hour or so, so by the time we got to Monument Valley, we had mostly given up on trying to figure it all out. Our consensus of Four Corners Monument as a family was that the four states could have found a nicer place to meet, preferably somewhere with air-conditioning, or at least a spot of shade to escape the 110 degree temperatures. The monument itself is basically a concrete slab, laid down in a white hot parking lot, in the middle of a rocky desert, in the middle of nowhere. Picture the moon, under a heat lamp. Yet, when we arrived we lined up behind twenty other cars, full of families from all over the world, waiting to pay their $3 per person fee to enter. Then it was out of the climate-controlled cabin of our minivan, and into the hostile terrain, to wait our turn in line for 20 minutes or so. Being Navajo Territory, we were on the same time zone as Utah–even when you walked around platform to Arizona. In fact, it felt as if time had stopped altogether. Did I mention it was hot? While we waited, I tried to convince the kids it was fun. “Hey, why don’t you take a walk around the monument and see how long it takes you to walk through four states?” My suggestions were met with polite scowls, instead of the out-right mutiny being waged against the father behind us, who was quietly pleading with his Goth teenage daughter to at least stick around for the photo. Not that I could blame her for her anger. With all that black, attracting the heat, she must have been positively combustible. When it was our turn, and we stepped out into our moment in the sun, we were less enthusiastic than I had imagined during the planning stages of the trip, but still my children and my husband (kind as they are) obliged me by doing a few stupid human tricks across four state lines. I brought a jump rope for Katie, and a baseball and gloves for Troy and Emmett, and Anna used her superhuman flexibility to draw a few comments from the crowds. Here are the photos, plus one that the father of the Goth girl took of all of us, while waiting his turn. Then, after an obligatory stop at the Navajo Flea Market and a jewelry purchase, we were back on our way.

Mancos State Park campground with its 30-some campsites,  cool mountain air and comfortable, well-equipped yurts (including futon beds, a fridge and a microwave) lacked only one luxury amenity—a shower. Not to worry, though, we fancied the lack of bathing to be part of the true pioneer experience, complete with the echoes of howling coyotes at dusk and dawn. Plus it was only two nights…and we had lots of baby wipes.  The price was right for  comfortable digs, just 15 minutes from the entrance to Mesa Verde State Park, too – $60 a night. Mesa Verde is the former home of the Native Americans, formerly known as Anazasi. Ranger Dan, the tour guide who led us through the Cliff Palace ruins explained that the Navajo word”Anasazi” translates roughly to “ancient ones” or even “ancient enemies” and is a less-than-accurate way to refer to the people who built these amazing dwellings and inhabited the four corners area of the United States about 900 years ago— years before the Navajo settled nearby and way before Christopher Columbus was even a twinkle in his mother’s eye. So now, we latecomers call these industrious early settlers “Ancient Puebloans” to distinguish them from the Puebloan people they eventually joined to form groups in placed like Mexico, New Mexico and Arizona. (Hope I got that right.) This journey certainly has inspired me to learn more about American history. To see the ingenious dwellings that these native people built without benefit of modern machines is humbling and amazing and to think they scaled these cliffs daily to make their way to the mesa tops where they farmed without rivers or running water is almost unimaginable. During our day in Mesa Verde, we learned about kivas—circular ceremonial spaces incorporated throughout each collection of dwellings. Ranger Dan explained these underground spots were also used regularly for socializing and relaxing (kind of like a holy rec room). They eventually abandoned these awesome dwellings for reasons no one knows—possibly a drought, possibly other depleted resources, possibly some cultural incentive to move on The most interesting thing I took from his talk, however, was that early people probably didn’t distinguish subject from object as we modern folks do. In other words, a worthless, inanimate rock to us was part of living earth to them, just like our living bodies are collections of rocks/bones, minerals, etc. The whole world was alive to them, he said, complete with crying streams, angry storms and sympathetic stones. In the afternoon, we took another guided adventure of “Balcony House.” The tour of this smaller dwelling is not for the faint of heart (like me). It included climbing a 32-foot ladder, squirming through an 18-inch wide tunnel, and a steep ascent up a cliff face assisted by a swinging chain railing. All the kids ranked this potentially perilous experience as one of the highlights of the trip to date—although surprisingly Anna learned she has a fear of heights, and Balcony House is an adventure she will always remember, but likely not repeat.

We hope you live a hundred years. We hope you see a hundred steers.  Happy Birthday, dear Emmett! Happy Birthday to you! Ya know what Emmett got for his 13th Birthday? A nine-hour car ride. Yippee!!!! The day would have started out a bit better if the folks at Elkins Ranch, in Palo Duro Canyon in Texas hadn’t cancelled the Cowboy Breakfast, due to lack of participation. Turns out Emmett’s  Birthday Breakfast hoedown was not to be, but turns out things worked out okay anyway. Emmett can always remember that his 13th Birthday started out with a bit of vandalism. Our first stop was Cadillac Ranch, where we spent some time adding our own graffiti to the ten Cadillacs, buried nose down in the middle of a cow pasture. (No one was arrested, as this “public art” display is not only allowed, but encouraged.) We looked for Uncle Joe Cray’s mark in bottom of the third car down, and we think we scored…but who knows. Then after what seemed like an endless two-day drive through New Mexico and a simple campfire dinner at Mancos State Park, Emmett ended his 13th Birthday watching a million stars twinkle in an endless, Colorado sky—each one offering a wish for more adventures tomorrow.

Texas and steaks…with a huge helping of cheese. When we last left you, we were leaving Oklahoma City. After a free breakfast (and free WiFi), we updated the website, loaded up the car and set out for the west…but not before we stopped off to see a few more Oklahoma Cowboys. This time we saw them at OKC’s National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum, which was one of the trip’s unexpected thrills and surprises. Upon arrival, the nice lady at the museum information desk gave us a quick overview of the museum’s highlights, beginning with the artists, whose work is included in the museum’s multimillion dollar collection (none of which I knew, but some of you might have heard of Frederic Remington). I was a bit nervous because after five days on the road, I wasn’t sure the Cawley kids were up for an art museum, no matter how significant, but it turns out I had nothing to fear. The paintings and sculptures in the collection were so engaging—amazing marble replicas of wildlife, pioneers and Indians and paintings that brought a world we know little about to life. Plus the museum offered a hands-on area, rodeo and Western movie exhibits and a life-sized replica of a Western town (Prosperity Junction) to wander around in that rivaled displays in Disney World. Turns out OKC has one of the nicest museums we have ever visited, and we all agreed after four hours or so of meandering that we could have spent more time there…and not just because the temperatures outside the museum walls were approaching 107 degrees. We had a leisurely lunch at the museum café, which featured a homemade Western potluck of baked goods, chili and tortilla soup. Then we kissed good-by the blissful cool of the museum, and headed toward the Big Texan, which after a few hours of travel, stood as an oasis of Western Kitsch in a the hot Texas Prairie. In short, it is Cheeseville. We arrived by 6 p.m., and the kids enjoyed swimming across Texas, or at least swimming across the Texas-shaped pool that was plopped down right n the middle of a seemingly endless dusty pasture. The motel also offers lodging for horses, so over a couple of poolside Lone Star beers, Troy and I watched a pair of cowboys check their equine companions into the barn next to the pool area. What our room lacked in amenities, it more than made up for in silly charm—from the swinging saloon doors on the bathroom to the heavy cowprint spreads that the girls arranged on the floor as mattresses. (They offered Emmett the double bed in honor of his impending 13th Birthday.) Dinner at the Big Texan Ranch was a blast. We didn’t attempt to eat the “free” 72 oz. steak, but we did watch one outmatched cowpoke try to attempt the feat from the elevated table in the front of the restaurant, where a digital clock counted the down the minutes he had left to polish off the steak, shrimp cocktail, potato and salad. (You get an hour to get into the clean plate club, or pay 72 bucks for the privilege of trying.) We, on the other hand, had no problem getting into the clean plate club with our smaller, but not small, steak dinners. A roaming country trio serenaded Emmett for his Birthday, and Katie again ate her weight in steak. She says she wouldn’t mind living in these parts since it offers abundant opportunities for steak and beef jerky. Then full and happy we drifted off to sleep under the watchful eye of a three-story tall cowboy and a truck-sized steer, plus a giant boot…to boot.

Memphis “Monday is a Blues Day, Y’all.” – Big Jerry on Beale Street. We set out today on the path of Kings. We saw Graceland, of course, and we also spent a couple hours at the National Civil Rights Museum, which is located in the Lorraine Motel, where the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot on April 4, 1968, the day before my sister Colleen was born. I was 18 months old. I am always surprised to see how much the history has happened within my lifetime. As a child, I was mostly unaware of being born during such a tumultuous time in American history, but I do remember my aunts wearing MIA bracelets for soldiers during the Vietnam War and seeing “colored” bathrooms at worn-down gas stations in the south during family trips. The Civil Rights Museum gave a detailed look at an important and tumultuous time. The exhibits are extremely text-heavy, however, so come prepared to read…a lot. The room where King died is also preserved here so you can pay your respects, but no photos are allowed anywhere in the building. We did grab a few shots outside however. We also took a few photos at Tom Lee Park on the Mississippi River. The story of Tom Lee shed a bit of light on the history of race relations. A memorial erected in his honor at the park in 1954 describes him as “a very worthy Negro,” which seems faint praise considering the man risked his own life working singlehandedly through the night to rescue 32 white passengers on a steamship H.D Norman in 1925. A new bronze sculpture installed in 2006 tells the story of his heroism on much more personal terms. While there, we “enjoyed” a picnic lunch…in 95 degree heat and humidity, all with the view of a pyramid, which we still don’t know the significance of. It was all part of the experience. By the way, there is no breeze off the mighty Mississippi. Graceland, however, has air-conditioning, in addition to 23 rooms. We thought the experience was, from its carpeted ceilings to it mirrored staircase and fabric colored walls, well, “gonesville.” My sister-in-law Cheryl, who has much better taste than me found the décor wanting for the most part, particularly that in the “jungle room.” I found it all charming, and surprisingly comfortable, but perhaps 5 days in a cluttered car are playing tricks on my mind. What I found rather remarkable is that for a “mansion,” in spite of the decorating style, Graceland was relatively modest. It has 23 rooms, but they were relatively small and include a refinished basement, garage and office space. I didn’t get the square footage, but it didn’t seem bigger than some suburban houses nowadays. Elvis bought the house and its 13 acres of property at 22 years old for just over $100,000. We had fun learning about his life, and I for one left the property with a greater appreciation of the King of Rock and Roll. We had ribs for dinner on Beale Street at the Blues City Café, where the walls are graced with signed photos of famous patrons, including former President Bill Clinton, Molly Ringwald, Jimmy Kimmel, Cuba Gooding Junior, Bo Diddly, Big Daddy and Lynyrd Skynyrd. On the wall above our table was a Pink Cadillac. On our plates were delicious ribs—falling off the bone. Emmett scarfed them down in ten minutes. We didn’t get a chance to try dry ribs at Rendezvous, since it is closed on Monday. The kids had also wanted to see Mud Island Park, with its splash-inviting scale model of the Mississippi, but it, too, is closed on Mondays. We took walk down Beale Street, instead, and enjoyed some live music. But we couldn’t get into Silky O’Sullivans to see his famous beer-drinking goats, as it was Monday and a private party was going on there. We pressed our faces against the wrought iron gates and took a photo anyway. On our way out, we stopped to see Big Jerry and his blues band play on the street. We bought a CD, and headed back to our cabin in the deep, deep woods. But when we popped it into the CD player, it wouldn’t play. It was still Monday, after all…

We left Meeman-Shelby State Park at 7 a.m., and took a breakfast break in North Little Rock, Arkansas, where we wandered around whimsical Old Mill Park for an hour or so. Built in 1933, the entire park is a piece of art. The Old Mill and the gates and the bridges and benches that seem to grow from the landscape were sculpted by Mexican artist, Dionicio Rodriquez, who used some sort of concrete to create a world that you would swear was made of wood. After breakfast we headed straight to Oklahoma City, stopping only for gas, a bathroom break and a chance to grab lunch out of the cooler in the trunk in Fort Smith, Arkansas on the Oklahoma border. It was near here that we also stopped to look at our car thermometer, which was displaying readings we had never before seen. 104, …105,…106, …107. Really? Must be broken… We checked into the Days Inn off I-35, and I took the kids to the pool as ASAP. Troy, my hero, volunteered to get the laundry started. While in the pool, I spoke with a nice lady from Oklahoma, who confirmed what I feared. The car thermometer was not broken. “We’ve had a bit of a heat wave,” she said. “It’s supposed to cool down to the 90’s tomorrow.” Okay… We had an awesome steak dinner at Cattleman’s Café in the OKC stockyards, complete with lamb fries (AKA fried slices of cattle testicles…really, but don’t tell the kiddos). Katie ate her weight in steak and still wanted more.  She was also amazed and thrilled to see cowboys wearing real cowboy hats. Everyone but Troy fell into refrigerated and blissful sleep by 10 p.m. Troy, the trooper, stayed up after midnight, updating the website. We’re off to the Cowboy Western Museum and Amarillo next. See ya’ll at the Big Texan.

After a 7 a.m. departure from Aunt Cheryl’s house in Asheville, NC, we began our journey out of the Appalachian Mountains and westward. The in-flight movie was Elvis’ “Jailhouse Rock” which we all pretty much agree probably deserved to be passed over for that year’s Academy Award. It was, however, a good warm-up for our scheduled tour of Graceland, and fortunately–or unfortunately–it has added to our road trip lexicon. Our brains are now uncomfortably stamped with the King’s loving words to the movie’s leading lady, “You are so sexy to me. You are like a hammer on my soul.” And my offspring, who are never content to let well enough alone, occasionally practice the line in their best Elvis voice in the back seat before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. Another groovy 50’s slang expression, we have picked up from the movie is “gonesville,” which for those of us in modern times, can be translated to mean, “cool” or great. On the way to Memphis, we stopped for a lunch picnic with Derek and his two sweet kiddos, GiGi and Thomas, who showed us around Centennial Park in Nashville. That’s where we saw the impressive replica of the Parthenon, which was built during Tennessee’s 1897 Centennial Exposition. According to Derek, Nashville had the Parthenon built because it fancies itself the Athens of the south, which leads one to wonder how Athens, GA; Athens, TN; Athens, FL, and Athens, MI might feel about that. Nonetheless, the park was lovely, in spite of the heat and humidity that descended on us at our arrival. The temperature (according to the car thermometer) climbed from 70 degrees to 94 degrees in our four hour drive. That’s where the Snowcone Man became the hero. Anna, Derek, Thomas and I had blue raspberry ones that stained our lips and teeth for the remainder of the day. We bid the Petrella’s good-by after a nice visit and hopped back on I-40 on the way to Meeman-Shelby State Park, which is just 10 miles north of Memphis according to google maps, but situated in such a way among illogically twisted rural roads and dense forest that it took us much longer to find than we expected at the end of a long day. Plus, we did not pass any stores for dinner provisions on our way, except of course, the famous Shelby General Store, just outside the park, which offers bluegrass and steak dinners on Friday nights until 9 p.m., but closes at promptly 6 p.m. on Sunday. We arrived at 6:06 p.m. and in spite of my attempts to press my face pitifully against the store window, begging for just a loaf a bread and some cheese, we were not granted entry. Not to worry, we found provisions at Kroger just nine miles away and managed to celebrate with a cheeseburger dinner well before midnight.

668 miles down…alot more to go. 41 hours logged in. So far, things have gone according to plan, except of course the 4:00 departure. BLTN (Better Late Than Never) is a firmly held family tradition. In fact, we believe it appears prominantly on the Cawley/Lafferty Crest. Besides that bit of expected deviation, it’s pretty much gone according to plan. There is the occassional threat of mutiny from the back seat, but mostly all are well-behaved and downright civil to each other so far.  I’ve told them several times they are a pleasant group to travel with. The in-flight movies have been good so far. Yesterday, we played Disney’s “Where the Red Fern Grows,” about a boy in Ozarks of Oklahoma and his hounds. The fact that the hounds die did not go over big, however. “That’s nice, Mom, show us a movie with dying dogs on the day we leave Wednesday (our Dog) for a month,” Emmett said. (Wednesday is reportedly doing fine with Gina at home. Thanks, Gina and the Jo/Joe Crays.) Today the in-flight movies was Forrest Gump. Always a tear-jerker…plus scenes of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The kids say that the highlights so far have been our impromptu visit to Luray Caverns; music (and candy-purchasing) on the streets of Floyd; seeing Aunt Cheryl for the first time at our quaint cabin at the Pine Tavern Lodge and the waterfall hike we took today. I found Luray particularly interesting since in my sleep-deprived state,  I could not help making out the shapes of odd characters amid the stalactites and stalagmites. In addition to many trolls, witches and several forest animals, I detected the unmistakable likeness of a fat lady with her arm around a llama. Really, it was unmistakable. Look at the troll picture on Flickr to see what I mean. A down-home and delicious dinner at Floyd Tavern was a great experience–all you could eat homemade specialties including fried chicken, mashed potatoes, dumplings, and a slew of other sides served family style. Plus homemade cobbler for $12 per adult and $7 per kid. My glass of wine was $4. After that, it was off to downtown Floyd, for the Friday Night Jamboree, where literally dozens of fiddlers, and other musicians line the street, playing in mixed groups for free. We planned on checking out the three bands in the Floyd Country store for four bucks a person, but it was a lovely night and Aunt Cheryl, who joined us from Asheville had her dog, Sage, with her. (Troy and I did pop into a tasting room to try some local mead from the Blacksnake Meadery and other wines from local wineries…Next time, we might do a wine tour!) Friday was a full day in the car, but today we took it easy. We slept in and drove just 4 hours, breaking up the drive with a nice two mile hike at Toms Creek Falls with magnificent views of the falls and and old mining shaft, as well as a dip in a swimming hole. Aunt Cheryl outdid herself with a a great BBQ steak dinner for Emmett’s birthday. Tomorrow is another long day. About 8 hours to Memphis with a lunch picnic with our friends, Derek and Hollie and family in Nashville. Time to bunk down. Morning comes fast. More on Graceland later…