Trailer People!

Murphys, Ca. -- This summer we traveled almost 3,000 miles in a giant loop from home in the mountains to the coast, to Eastern Washington state, and back home again via the coast. We dodged fire, smoke and heat along the way. More important we saw beloved family and friends, plus enough scenic grandeur to satisfy John Muir. We had a wonderful trip with no big problems or challenges and lots of serindipity. Only regret is that we did not have enough time or energy to see everybody, or stay longer. First, some data: Our route took us from Murphys, Ca., to Fort Bragg and Patricks Point on the norther Redwood coast of California to Bandon, Oregon, Scapoose, Oregon, and the Columbia River pathway to Spokane, Washington. The trip home followed a similar route to avoid smoke and fire and heat. We stayed in campgrounds for three weeks every night but three, and our traveling home was our almost-new NuCamp Tab 320, a small trailer that we could pull behind Pat's Subaru and had all the essentials: comfortable bed, a refrigerator, and a toilet.

We made the trip easier by taking our time-- no ten hour driving days and usually stopping for several nights so we were rested and had time for exploring. The first stop was about six hours to the coast near Fort Bragg, as MacKerrichner State Park, where we had stayed before. I hiked over the dune to the beach for a look before sunset.

And then we got up early the next morning and drove out to the point where we whipped out the Coleman stove, a made fresh coffee to go with sunrise on the beach.

Then we drove an easy trip through the redwoods up to Sue-Meg State Park, formerly known as Patricks Point. We gather here every summer with family, a tradition started years ago by son-in-law Brian Gray's family. We've been here for more than 15 year and it never gets old. We are outnumbered by Grays but they have always made us welcome. The sunset photo at the top of this post is from the trail near the campground, where we gather almost every evening to watch and see if the sun will really set. Our camp site, located across from Ruth and Brian and next door to the rest of the Gray family, was like a scene from a Disney movie. First the birds come, and then the chipmunks, and then the rabbits. Every day.

I had never seen a rabbit or a Stellars Jay lie down on the ground to soak up sun, or a rabbit ignore me five feet away while it munches on a green leaf.

We had a great relaxing time with family, and our Calaveras friends Mark and Pat McCormick stopped by on their way to visit family. We always enjoy the Gray family and have been close for over 35 years. After a week we traveled north to Bullard Beach State Park in Oregon, near Bandon. As we have found elsewhere, the Oregon campground is well designed, offering privacy, maintained well with clean rest rooms and staffed by friendly people. A highlight was a campfire program by the Old Time Fiddlers group, a bunch of traditional musicians almost as old as I am. I sang along with every tune.

A short drive brought us into Brandon and good seafood and a visit to the lighthouse and a unique art gallery.

Aftyer three days in and around Brandon, we moved north to a quick visit with our Sacramento/Mexico,Sailing friends Michael and Sylvia. They live in a floating home on a tributary of the Columbia river and have the waterfront views and toys to go with the lifestyle.

Here is a shot of Pat trying out Sylvia's new water cycle. Now she wants one.

The next two days were traveling, mostly along the Columbia River, to get to our furthermost goal -- Spokane -- and our son, granddaughter and our two great-grandchildren. That will come in Part Two!

Happy Fourth of July - maybe

I would like to celebrate the Fourth of July with joy, the way we usually do. But instead I celebrate this year with a sort of sadness that we have come to this: a nation divided into tribes, each suspicious of the other, hoping for better days. We still get along with our neighbors, even though we can't talk politics honestly with each other for fear of the responses we might get.

We have become immune to a President who lies daily, puffing himself up to the third of the nation who either fear their neighbors who happen to be liberals or Democrats, while two-third of the nation knows he is a failure but fear the system will not survive the damage he has done. I have voted for more than 60 years, for the candidates I felt would do the best job regardless of party affiliation, and accepted when it did not turn out the way I hoped, because there is always a better day ahead. Today I am less sure. I volunteered to serve in the military, as did most men of my generation, but would not suggest any beloved family member serve when the commander in chief is a coward who dodged service, and the Secretary of Defense is a would-be warrior with a Patton complex. Despite all this, I will still celebrate with family, beer in hand, around backyard pool with friends and family and grandchildren splashing around. Silently praying for no more wars. My hope for America's future rests with the young. If they fail the way the current generation has, the nation is indeed in peril.

Minnesota Shall Overcome -- It happened before

Murphys, Ca.— Take heart Minneapolis, honest caring folk will prevail in your community. I know, because I have watched the positive tide of history flow against evil in my hometown, and overwhelm the bad guys. You will eventually overcome, just as MLK promised so long ago. I have witnessed the slow march of justice. In 1962 I was a newspaper police reporter in Atlanta. One day my assignment was to cover street demonstrations conducted by young college students, frequently accompanied by pastors, as they attempted to sit in at various restaurants that refused to allow black people to be served. Many places closed and locked their doors to avoid breaking the law. They weren’t discriminating, they said, they were just closed.

These protestors were not “outside agitators” as the politicians liked to call Freedom Riders, but local students from the historically black colleges located in Atlanta. I did not know any of them personally. As a product of the region’s segregated schools, I had never attended a class with any black people. (We had Chinese students at my university, but no one was apparently aware they might be a minority.) The target of the demonstration where I observed the street action was a well-known downtown eating place called Charlie Loeb’s, owned by a prominent and popular businessman. He blocked the door, and pleaded with the crowd of protesters to leave him alone. My memory is he said something like, “I know what discrimination is and have lived with it all my life, but you are going to destroy my business!” He was literally wringing his hands, almost in tears. Other images from that day stick in my mind. The protestors were more bemused by Charlie than sympathetic. They were all well-dressed and clean cut young people (younger than me by two or three years, and better dressed), politely demanding entrance and singing songs of about freedom. They were determined. Across the street were the Ku Klux Klan folks, dressed in street clothes because masks were prohibited, but easily identifiable by the muttered curses and threatening stares. But the most obvious symbol of their group status were the pickax handles they brought to the street, slapping them in a threatening manner against their pants legs while they watched. Those pickaxes had become a symbol of Southern white resistance, promoted by a racist politician named Lester Maddox. (Unfortunately for Georgia, he later became governor.) It came at a time when Atlanta’s political leaders, all white males, had decided defying the law was bad for business and they did not want to do anything to hurt the carefully cultivated image of Atlanta as part of the “New South.” As a result of the business influence, and maybe a result of good training, the police were out in strength and made it clear to everyone that no violence, or foolishness of any kind of that matter, would be tolerated. Their shoes were polished, and the night sticks were ready. They were determined that Atlanta would never be “another Birmingham,” where Klansmen, racist politicians and police had beaten protestors bloody, and for good measure beat up a couple of journalist who were filming the events (including a college classmate who had his cameras destroyed and his face bloodied.) Other than singing and handwringing and muttering nothing much really happened on that particular day. But I am glad all these years later to know the tides can turn, for the better, and the old bad ways will pass. It took some time, but the Atlanta cafes and dime store counters and Charlie Loeb’s place eventually opened their doors to all comers, Atlanta moved ahead to become a better place, and folks went back to their homes. It was not an overnight thing. But law and order prevailed, free speech was defended and even saluted, and the city became something of a beacon for lots of people. Business thrived.

My view is that it took a combination of young people standing on the moral high ground who demanded their rights, along with political leadership not afraid to uphold the law and hold everyone accountable. It turned out that the old hymn was right: “We shall overcome, some day.” The fight for truth and justice is never over, but the tide will not be stopped. Minnesota will go back to being a normal place where people get along, talk funny, smile a lot, and justice will (eventually) prevail. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was right.

We're Done With 2025 -- Hoping for a Great 2026

(Most of the family gathered a few months ago at Ruth and Brian's house)Note: for reasons unknown, the paragraph command does not work... -------- Murphys, Ca-- The LaMonts have firmly moved into the realm of elders in the past year. I passed 85 and Pat has lightly touched 84. All of our grandchildren are now adults with jobs and families of their own. We have two delightful greatgrands. We're still here in the best neighborhood ever and still happy and reasonably healthy folks. Yeah we had to get ready to evacuate a couple of times when fires came too close, and we saw more of doctors than in previous years, but all-in--all, it was pretty good stuff. An aside: as much as I complain about Facebook, it has the great benefit of keeping us in touch with old friends and colleagues from Mobile, Alabama, to Turkey, from Seattle to Florida, Virginia to Asia. Old friends are the best gift ever. We had a lot of fun times, some travel, family successes and a few challenges. It was a year of some transitions, and some stability. But it is mostly good, so I'll start with a brief report on the younger side of the family.

Zack, at the top, showing off the way Bingo is played on Idaho. Below he is wrapped up in grandchildren Enlow and Jamie. --------- We traveled to Spokane, Washington, for a visit with son Zack, his daughter Katie and her beautiful children Enlow (5) and Jamie (7). We got to meet Katie's boyfriend and rejoice that they are building a family together. Zack is still working his way through the aftermath of a at-work vehicle accident (not his fault) and complications from Covid. It's been two years and he still can't work, but it is a fulltime job dealing with doctors and claims folk. He has a new dog which makes him happy, and remains cheerful still and revels in being a doting grandfather. Daughter Ruth and husband Brian are settled here on their mini-ranch in Murphys. He gets promoted again, is renovating their home and watches out for his aging in-laws, and she has built a booming business at the toy store on Main Street downtown. Their son Connor is living with them while working at computer coding fulltime for a company. He's considering moving to warmer climes, maybe San Diego. Their daughter Delaney will soon be Doctor Scherr, graduating this Spring with her PHD in bio-engineering at Boston University. She already has a real paying job lined up in Boston, where her husband Cooper is already Dr. Scherr, now serving a residency on a nearby Boston Hospital. All those years of hard work and education are coming together. We will see them later this week when they make a quick California trip. Pat and I have had mostly good health and good luck, just a few aches and pains that come with age.

Pat and I are blessed to live in such a great neighborhood. Our next door neighbors are good friends, others bring me cookies when I am down with a bug. One neighbor is an artist, some are musicians, others are retired pastors and teachers and businesspeople. All get along. Our church remains a big part of our lives. Pat works almost daily at something called "pastoral care," driving folks to the doctor appointments, making meals and generally just making sure people know they are cared for. I still sing in the choir, something I've done for more than 70 years, and host a weekly music jam at our house where we play mostly Americana music (a fancy word for folk), share tunes, drink a little wine and just enjoy the company. We have dinner with six friends once a week, Pat has a group of women she meets with, and I gamble with my buddy every week or so at the local Indian casino. After years of donating to support the tribe, this year I am slightly ahead so far. Early this year we sold our much-loved and well-traveled VW Eurovan which we enjoyed for almost ten years. The bed seemed to shrink over the years, and mechanical issues were always looming. We did make it to the Oregon coast, made a Fall color trip into the Sierra, camped in Spring at Joshua Tree National Park with neighbors Gary and Jeri, and went with them to Reno for a stunningly goof concert by Allison Krause and Union Station. And one more annual trip to Yosemite National Park. What next? We decided to try a smal trailer, actually a large Teardrop, which we can tow behind Pat's car. We tested it just once recently, and the bed is large and soft, and everything works (thanks to my son-in-law). I have now been retired 20 years. We had a decade of sailing mostly in our own boat, trveling the West in our VW van, and now look in new directions. This stormy Christmas season we are planning trips for the coming year. We are not sure where that will take us, but there are always more places to explore and discover.

The new Teardrop awaits the new year...

A look back at mothering

Until recently, I had never considered what should have been an obvious to me: my mother never really had a mother she could remember and treasure, no tender stories of a loving mom to teach and cherish her. That odd fact shaped who she was and how she lived for more than 80 years. First, a few basic facts. Mother was born in 1911, the daughter of an engineer/plant manager and a beautiful young woman who gave up teaching to raise a family. They had social status in Anderson, South Carolina, where they relocated for a promotion, and lived a comfortable life. My mother, Dorothy Rebecca Strickland, was the third of what would become five children. But when she was three years old her mother died shortly after childbirth with my uncle Bill. Everything changed.

The family was devastated. My grandfather, obviously doing the best he could, leaned on his eldest -- my Aunt Sara was 12 -- and hired a succession of housekeepers to help with the children. He was by all accounts smart, hard working, loving, stern and the kind of father who sent the children off to the kitchen for dinner if they did not behave to his standards. My mother adored him. But there was no mother in the home. About the time Sara left for nursing school at 17, grandfather went to Atlanta to hire a new housekeeper. He came home with a young wife named Irene. It was a shock, and not welcomed. The children did not like Irene, and she soon had two small children of her own to care for. The first batch of children were a separate family. My mother would have been eight years old, raised mostly by her sister and a succession of housekeepers she later could not remember. It is hard to image a child from three to teenage never having a mother, but from her talks with family in later years she only spoke of her father and siblings, never of any woman who influenced her young life, or nurtured her. She learned to be self-reliant. Her stepmother Irene lived for several decades as a widow, including when I was growing up, but I never met her, mother never visited her, and she never came to see us. Mother became friends later with her half-sisters, but Irene was just a woman who lived in another town. I'll never know why. The five siblings were all raised as one family, with housekeepers, and the latter two as another family. The brothers went off to Georgia Tech to become engineers like their father. The girls all became nurses. At 16 my mother went to live with her aunt in Georgia in a town where there was a better high school. She was happy to be away from her step mother. It wasn't that she was bad to the children, she just was not connected. As soon as my mother graduated she followed her older sisters to a Catholic nursing school in Atlanta for training. It seems an odd choice given that my grandfather's family were strict Southern Baptist, but he was not particularly religious and wanted a safe place, a decent education and discipline for his girls. Catholic school offered that. My mother loved life in Atlanta. She made friends, and went to work as soon as she graduated, living in a boarding house for "young ladies," sharing a room with a classmate who remained a close friend for another 60 years. They were 18-20 years old, attractive single young women, enjoying independence and dating dashing young men. The landlord's husband ran a detective agency, and the young women occasionally did jobs for him -- nothing dangerous but exciting stuff. It was the late 1920s. The Roaring 20s. Mother's roommate married an young Italian man and then mother met my father. She was 20 and he was 40, a bachelor. She later admitted she thought he was rich, which he wasn't, but he was exciting and they had lots of friends. Atlanta was a fun place to live, and they could vacation at Daytona Beach. The Depression came but as a nurse she was never unemployed. She ended up working fulltime for the next 45 years. She became a mother in 1937 and I came along in 1940. I do not know how she managed when we were small, but I know she had help at home. We never felt neglected, just trusted. She was mom, a working mom, Cub Scout leader, and the one who helped us through our years. The marriage did not last, but even as a single mom she perservered. She worked the wards and emergency room at local hospitals, tried running a non profit charity, and eventually came back to nursing. As an empty nest parent she always managed to help her children. We were both encouraged and supported bb constant letters, visits and sometimes money. If my sister moved to a new house, mother would send her a check for living room furniture. If I passed through town on asignments she had a bottle of Wild Turkey and a good steak waiting. I do not know where she learned to be a mother.

Photo memories

Murphys -- March 2025 -- This is a collection of photos I like, from the last ten years or so. Mostly reminders of travels and friends and family, but focused on Pat and me as we wander the world together.

This was taken at Everglades National Park almost 20 years ago. We took a sunset sail on a lovely old boat anchored at the National Park.

Hiking near Tioga Peak at the eastern edge of Yosemite National Park. Elevation above 9,000 feet.

Taken at a Butterfly Park near Santa Cruz, a place where the pretty little bugs gather near the Pacific Ocean.

On California's north coast at SueMeg State Park where we go every summer for a week with family.

Off the coast of Hawaii on a catamaran, celebrating our 50th wedding anniversary.

On the beach in Hawaii, dressed up for anniversary dinner.

With some of our family at Ruth and Brian's home for Christmas. Our newest member is Cooper, Delaney's husband, the tall one .

In one of our happy places in the mountains: Ebbetts Pass, which is just up the mountain road from our home and a place we love to hike.

We got dressed up for Delaney and Cooper's wedding.

We go to Yosemite at least once a year, and just stare.

And we go to San Francisco once a year, or more, and like to stop for breakfast and Irish Coffee at the Buena Vista.

The Grand Tetons during a road trip.

And every Fall we go up and over the Sierra Nevada mountain range to see Fall colors, and get a burger with friends.

And once in a while we go all the way south to the desert, in this case Anza Borrego, for the flowers in Spring. We are heading there next month.

Passages: Goodbye VW

Murphys, Ca - January 2025 -- I bought my first car in 1962, financed $1,685 based on having a fulltime job in Atlanta.

The brand new foam green Volkswagen bug was perfect for me, living in the city and in a position to get reimbursed handsomely for driving it at work. I had waited about 8 weeks to get the car because in those days you ordered a car and tried to be patient until it arrived. When it came it was $100 or so more than the contract because it had a sun roof -- an extra-- and the dealer said to take it or leave it. Never regretted the decision. The last in a long string of family VWs across 60 years is rolling down the highway with someone else at the wheel today. We sold our much-enjoyed 2002 VW Eurovan Winnebago Camper.

It was time to let someone else enjoy the adventures. That camper carried us from the Mexican border almost to Canada, and all over the Western states. During the peak of the Covid pandemic we drove off to Monument Valley in southern Utah, safely tucked into our little home on wheels. The van carried us to the Pacific Ocean, the desert, the high Sierra Nevada mountains, ghost towns in Nevada and our favorite Sequoia Big Trees Park. Usually we were with family or friends, or met them along the way. We had several VWs in between those early years and today. I traded the first bug for a sports car the year Pat delivered our first child, 1970, and we used her VW bug as our "big" family car for the next few years. It leaked so I caulked the sun roof shut which worked fine. But we towed a boat full of camping gear behind us when we went to the Florida Keys. We had worn that Bug out by 1977 from living too near Florida beaches. The wheel wells had large holes I patched with flattened Budweiser cans, and the floor under the battery disappeared one day and dropped the battery onto the ground. We sold that car for $300 to a former cop/copy boy at the Fort Myers News-Press and he used it, I was told later, to run away from his wife.

When we sold it we invested all $300 into a CB radio to go into our brand new school bus orange VW camper, and traveled all the way to the Rocky Mountains for the first time with two small children and lot of MandMs to keep them happy during the long trip. Eventually that camper made it across the years to Michigan, Ohio and across the country to California tucked inside a moving van. When we finally sold that van we could still smell chocolate whenever the heat was turned on, from the candy dropped by the children. Not too many years later a neighbor put a bright red VW on the market. He assured me it was in prime condition, and in fact he had started his young family in the back seat (his wife vehemently denied this).

We bought it, paid fair amount to restore it to almost new condition, and passed at it along to our children when they became drivers. The older child did well with it through high school, and when she left our younger child found the keys and went for an illegal ride that included jumping a curb and hitting a car or two. It was dented but not ruined, but in the interest of community safety we sold it to a co-worker at The Bee. Last I heard her family had completely restored it, and then it was stolen and disappeared. A sad ending to an adventurous VW saga. We had an extended VW gap after that, but one day after retirement I noticed a neighbor had this nice looking VW Eurovan Camper. Pat told her that if she ever wanted to sell it, just let us know. She did, and that is how we came to own our last VW in the long family line. We named her "Snowflake" as a subtle political statement, and enjoyed her company for almost a decade.

She's now gone off to live with some nice people near Santa Cruz, and we are looking ahead to the next chapter. It might just include some model VW. The electric ones look real attractive. Or maybe we are ready for a golf cart.