I Follow Rivers

Suffering for Love

"You're my river running high
Run deep, run wild
I, I follow
I follow you, deep sea, baby
I follow you" -Lykke Li

We had a lovely rest of our time in the Green Mountains. The Two Heathers drove up and spent an afternoon and well into the evening with us one day. They are such great company. The conversation rolled like a river. It went through deep, dark pools of trauma and skipped down rapids of a laughter and joy. It roiled through small canyons of things only the four of us could understand. As the day dimmed hundreds of dragonflies filled the skies. They darted about gobbling up all the mosquitoes.

We had no biting fly issues in Vermont. If you go back in my blog posts a bit you’ll remember the Two Heathers had met up with us for a few nights on the beaches of Padre Island down in Texas. The Other Heather was mentioning that one time they should treat with food. But we assured her that back when we lived in a conventional home, we loved hosting friends, and preparing them food was how we said “thank you for sharing your short time on earth with us.” So we love when people come to wherever we are and share in a meal (only people we invite). I hope some day we can do a little traveling with them; a two truck convoy of wildness.

My sisters P and Nema, my niece, Charlotte, and our friend, Myers joined us for Labor Day weekend. They came on Friday after everyone got out of work so didn’t arrive to our campsite until around 10:30. We helped pitch their tent in the dark, which was our old Hobbit house so a tent we are vastly familiar with setting up. We all went to bed soon after they arrived and got settled. We had a lazy morning on Saturday and then went off adventuring. We did a small hike over near Manchester, VT. It was lovely. I did not have enough water. It rained off and on but not too badly. We enjoyed a late lunch in Manchester Center from the Avocado Pit. They have a great roasted chicken burrito that I highly recommend.

We went exploring in a cemetery because we knew about a woman who is buried there. She was maligned, as women in history often are. The story is that there was a vampire panic during the late and early 18^th and 19^th centuries. Rachel  Harris Burton married and not long afterwards fell ill and died. Her husband married shortly after her death and again this young wife of his died. Now, instead of maybe being suspicious of the husband who was the known commonality between the two dead wives, the towns people decided that Rachel was a demon vampire. They dug her up and burned her body in a nearby forge. As it turns out it was neither Rachel nor the husbands fault the two wives died but instead tuberculous. A sign at the cemetery talks about Rachel but only says she lies buried to the east. So we went on a hunt through the headstones to the east until we found her resting place. In my opinion, you need to go on some pilgrimages in your lifetime to the graves of maligned women and tell them how much we’ve grown and how much we haven’t.

We drove the few hours back to my mom’s for Monday afternoon. We took a ride down the road to see the pond (where the rites of summer happen at the bridge) because they had drained it to do maintenance on a dam down stream. I expected it be full of old car parts, bones, crack, meth, lies, trash. But it wasn’t. Megan and I watched a great blue heron fish in the small pools of water that were left.

He caught one and we watched him struggled awkwardly to get it tossed down his long throat.  We spent the afternoon with family and friends, ate good food, caught up on lives and then drove back to the woods of Vermont. We spent a few more days enjoying our river spot. I did do an embarrassing thing, after all these 200,000 plus miles. I was making a tight turn around, and while looking in the side mirrors for a second instead of the backup camera- there was a tree with large turn in its trunk, thunk. I put a dent in the tailgate. Everything still functions properly, but it looks like trash. We took the whole tailgate apart back at camp and tried to pop the dent out, but it wouldn’t budge. It’s just vanity, but I’ll try to get some help from my friends to straighten it out at some point. While it was a complete accident, it was totally avoidable had I been paying attention just a little better.

We had planned to wander over to New York after Vermont, but Nema and Heather said if we were somewhat close, they’d meet up with us again in two weekends. So we pointed Henry north and east. We had an enjoyable, beautiful drive over to the White Mountains of New Hampshire. We have done plenty of truly spectacular winter hiking in the Whites. But we try to avoid it any other time of year. It’s still plenty busy in winter but very much less so relative to summertime.  We have camped there a few times, and it is not our favorite. But we like having adventures with Nema and Bestie so we decided to give it another go. It was hideous. Every spot was taken on an early Thursday in September. We found a little hole in the woods after dark and just slept in the front seats for the night. We call this ‘sleeping downstairs’. We left our dank, dark hole early. We hoped for gas station coffee and a better spot. We did find a better spot before we found coffee. We made our own coffee and set up camp. We had a peaceful day. But late Friday night- I was tired because the downstairs sleeping is not super comfortable- we were already in the tent and I was nodding off to sleep when we hear a car pull in. I get up and look out the tent window. There’s a car parked at Henry’s bumper. Two people get out. I ask them what they are doing. They say “we’re going camp with you.’’ I told them we didn’t want to camp with them so they needed to roll on down the road. They were truly shocked. The man tried to argue with me that as it was ‘BLM’ land, of which there is none in New Hampshire, that he could camp with us. I told him no. The rule for dispersed camping in the White Mountain National Forest is 14 days, 15 people and three cars. So then he tried to argue with me that it was fine because we’d only be two cars....I’m just going tell you the rule means up to 15 of my people and three of our cars, not just any 15 weirdo random people. Also, if you want to camp really close to other people go to an established campground, squeeze right in there with all the other people. And it is first come, first served, not first come, everyone served. Don’t be these people. On Thursday, while we were looking for a spot, I had noticed many people had string tied across the entrances to their camp spots. I thought this was strange because they were spots you could definitely see were taken from the road. Now I understand the string. About ten minutes after the couple left, a loud truck rolls into our spot. I get up again, while I’m putting my clothes on, a dog starts growling, sounding mean like a fucking demon at the tent door. I shine a light out, big angry dog at the door. So I yell out for whomever to come get their fucking dog. A creepy ass looking man comes and wrestles the dog away. He then proceeds to sit in his loud ass truck listening to talk radio super loudly. I go out and confront him. We argue. I’m beyond pissed. Especially if you’re a guy, please, I beg of you, don’t be creeping around people’s tent with a dog that wants to eat people. He won’t leave and stays the night with us in his truck. Now, I get it; it was super busy up there. But your lack of planning is not my problem. Go sleep in a little hole the way we did or at a scenic overlook or trailhead. And if that is beyond your ability, at least pull in super quietly, park as far away from the people who already occupy the spot as possible and leave quietly and early. Fuck New Hampshire. He does go away at about 7:30 in the morning. We have a nice day and night. Now I think we are probably golden because it’s Sunday so people will be going home to work and school. We go out to pick up some groceries. We come back to a fucking vanlifer parked practically on top of the tent. Fuck the White Mountains. Megan and I say fuck it; this is not peaceful or nice. We take down our whole set up in less than twenty minutes- our mattress rides in the Roofnest- so this is a take down that includes popping the Roofnest and putting deflated mattress up there, closing it again. We even fold and roll the new canvas tent so nicely it fits back in its bag. I’m impressed with us. And happy we can still be gone from a spot relatively quickly. The impact driver really helps taking the Springbar tent down, just reverse the drive and it backs the lag bolts right out so nicely.

We roll on down the road. We find a spot that will do. It has enough space for two cars, which we need for Nema and Heather. There are three big boulders. I back Henry up to them. You would set up your camp on the other side of the boulders. It’s not a great spot, but it will do...until we notice the biggest human shit you can possibly imagine on the truck side of the boulders. No toilet paper, just a massive pile of shit. And no, it was not some wild animal. It was human. I can’t imagine how this is a thing: just picture what had to happen. The forest road is right there, the length of a Tacoma away. What someone walking along, just side stepped up to the rocks, dropped their pants, squatted, took this massive shit- then just pulled up their pants and continued on their way- all within very plain sight of the road. Oh my soul, it’s just vile. I threw some rocks over it so the next person who came to that spot wouldn’t step in it.  But that was a no for us. We drove on. We found a small dank spot. We slept downstairs in Henry again that night. This has been our experience from last few times we’ve camped in New Hampshire, if you step off a foot into the woods from a site, it’s just like an open sewage- shit and Charmin’ blooms all around the camp spot. It’s nasty.

We head out early, on the search for something, anything that will do. We stop at Yaya’s general store. We get two big, hot, black coffees for three dollars. That’s a steal of a deal these days. We roll north. We find a spot that’s big enough for two cars and our tent and so forth, also not a dark, little dank hole so we’ll get some sun for the solar. It’s trashed. It looks like someone took all their household trash to burn in the fire pit. It had been a bit windy over the weekend. There are flyers and trash spread all over the spot, wrappers and half burnt bits of who knows what. It looks like they were burning old furniture as well, half burnt shelf legs hanging out of the fire pit and wet, soggy particle board. We pick up bags and bags of trash. It’s discouraging. Fuck New Hampshire. We only see some moose poop around camp though so that’s a plus. There are two chairs and an old broken grill in the tree line. We tie a string across the entrance to, hopefully, keep people away. 

A couple years ago, in a town next to the town I had grown up in there was a gruesome murder. A wife was having an affair with some young man she worked with. Her husband found out and made the wife lure the kid to this wayside park. They ambushed him there and shot him. Then they drove his body way up north to a remote dispersed camping area. There they beheaded him and tried to burn his car. I think we are camping in that area- and I’m a little creeped out...but still, better unrestful spirits than real live humans. Anyway, creepy murders stop murdering people. How about that.

We have peaceful days. A large jack rabbit bounds around our spot. An owl wonders “who? Who?” at night. There are hundreds of large white fuzzy caterpillars bumbling here and there. They are the kind that some people have an allergic reaction to. Megan saves me from them hundreds of times, picking them up and pitching them into the woods. They crawl on our tent and appear seemingly out of nowhere. We are uncomfortable going out adventuring for fear someone will be camping with us when we get back. One night there is a slim chance to see northern lights and we go driving for high ground and views of the northern horizon. We don’t see any, but the night sky is magnificent all the same. Apparently, we should have gotten up around three and went out looking. I see the next day glorious early morning photos on social media of pink pillars in the sky.

Roadside spring and its views.

We do find a nice mountain spring, on the side of a highway. It’s a small pipe and built into a little brick platform. You can angle a jug and fill it mostly all the way up. It’s slow because the pipe is so small, but cold, good tasting water. We buy a gallon of water so we can use the empty gallon jug to finish filling our Jerrycans. There’s a beautiful view of the mountains across the way to look at while waiting for jugs to fill.

New Hampshire is breathtakingly beautiful. It makes me emotional to look at it sometimes. So I can see why the Whites are such a popular destination. It’s a rather small national forest and within a short drive from all the major cities in New England. It’s views are larger, more sweeping, everywhere, than the Green Mountains in Vermont, so I guess that’s why it is so much busier. We keep being stunned by the views, and we say “Why, New Hampshire? Why so beautiful and disgusting?” I think it should be the new state motto. Forget ‘live free or die’ just put ‘beautiful and disgusting’ on our license plates. So beautiful to look at from afar and then, once you get in the woods, it’s just full of trash and human poop.

Nema and Heather arrive around 11 pm Friday night. We have enough space in our Springbar tent for them, so it’s just a matter of shuffling our sleeping stuff around and inflating their mattresses for us all to be settled. We sleep in late and have an unhurried morning over coffee.

The day starts to heat up and Heather needs some water to cool off her feet in. We pile into Nema’s car and I take them on a tour. We hit up the river closest to our camp and clamber down the bank into the clear cold water. I forgot my water shoes at camp so just roll up my pant legs and kick off my shoes. My feet are tender as feet can be who never do anything without shoes, but we have an excellent time wandering around in the river. It’s me and Megan’s 11^th wedding anniversary. Nema and Heather buy us lunch from Yaya’s. We eat it in national forest picnic area. It’s good food and great company. We marvel at the views and I act like my dad as we drive. My dad was a mason and on any drive with him he will point out the buildings he helped to build. I do this except I say “I climbed that mountain” and point to a peak dominating the horizon or “Nema and I climbed that together in the winter” or “that mountain over there, Megan and I climbed; it was the first mountain where Megan got higher than the elevation of Mount Monadnock.”

After lunch I take them up some old pretty forest roads I know. We stop at rivers and go exploring. We walk down to waterfalls and swim holes. The sun was setting while still on our way back to camp.

We pull over on the side of the road- a line of mountains in the west, the sun setting them afire, a not quite full moon rising in the east. Doors open, Ondara singing “A Seminar in Tokyo” blasting from the stereo. Megan gives Nema an impromptu dance lesson under the moon and the fiery setting sun as it slides behind the mountains. Our laughter rings down the long hills. It’s beautiful and erases our disgust with New Hampshire camping. Nema and Heather stood for us at our wedding so it’s a fitting day for an 11^th anniversary.

We have a lazy Sunday morning. We are heading for South Carolina on Wednesday. We pack up our spot. It’s so nice having Nema and Heather around. Me and Nema are always the most excellent of teams, we can read each others minds. Watching us do projects together is like watching a beautiful dance. We opt not take the fastest way home. The traffic isn’t bad on 93. We must be early enough yet to be avoiding all the people heading south on a Sunday afternoon. It’s hot. Nema’s car doesn’t have AC, and Heather’s health issues flare up in the heat. I have Megan text them and see if they want to switch passengers. Henry’s AC cranks really cold. Heather needs it so we pull over as soon as we exit 93. Megan jumps in with Nema and Heather climbs in Henry with me.  Heather and I talk about everything under the sun and laugh and sing along to the radio at the top of our lungs and a four hour drive goes by like blink. I thank both Heather and Nema for coming and washing New Hampshire in beauty for us. The weekend with them was magic and it was a good way to leave this place- remembering the magic instead of the massive human turds