amymarquis

 toto in the tetonsI was lying in bed the other morning, letting my mind bounce from one thought to another when it landed on the major highway that circles the DC-metro area. What was the number? 465? 475? Really?  A decade of driving that loop and I’d forgotten what it’s called? A solid minute passed before it came back to me: 495. Of course. How silly of me.

It’s just that we’ve traveled so many roads since then. I-64, I-70, I-3. Routes 287, 101, 83. Over Kansas’ long, narrow highways that cut through sunflower farms and under gargantuan wind turbines that look like they’d beam up a cow and shoot off into space if they could just find a way to spin faster. Colorado’s flatter-than-flat eastern entrance, and the soft, rolling terrain that follows, where cottonwood trees line up like beggars at the edge of a dry creek. Then into the Rocky Mountains, hovering dark over Denver with all its traffic and lane shifts to test our weary eyes.

And beyond Boulder, on that northern route where the hills turn scrubby and the rocks turn red, like a scene you’d expect from the deep southwest. The dark, long stretches in Wyoming—up a steep mountain, down a steep mountain, broadcasting “thanks” and “you’re welcomes” in flashed lights to the truckers we pass and let by.

The road to the Tetons—1,300-foot peaks that look like they burst from the valley floor out of sheer boredom forever ago. Yellowstone’s Lamar Valley, where the hills turn to gold, and bison and pronghorn sip from creeks at dusk, and something familiar sinks into your bones, as if you’ve been here in a past life. The flatter stretches past Bozeman, where every gas station neighbors a small casino promising big wins in cartoonish fonts. Past the fence where a handful of pronghorn stand, unable to pass through. Past mountains turned red and grey from pine beetles and blister rust. Then into the refuge of northern Montana, with long stretches of deep-green forest that break to reveal vast, emerald lakes. So much like Maine!

Idaho looked a lot like this too, and went fast. Before we knew it we were driving into Spokane, Washington, on a large, laid back highway where people drove under the speed limit. Past the city we streamed over a bizarre plateau, where blocks of earth rose up like a 3-D illustration you see in grade-school geology textbooks. Then the land turned dry and vast again, then scrubby and sagey, and then the Columbia River made its entrance, dramatic and wide, raising the wow factor to new heights.

Seattle traffic felt like DC on a good day. Crowded but courteous, and with more watery views. Tiny Victorian houses dotted hillsides that rolled into one lake after another, eventually giving way to a city clustered like jewelry at the edge of the Puget Sound. Occasionally the road would veer left or right and Mt. Saint Helens would pop into view—stunning, snow-covered, taunting your senses, threatening to disappear with a blink.

But it was the Olympics that felt most magical. It had been raining on and off yesterday when we rode the ferry to Bainbridge Island and pushed on to Route 101 that circles the park. Here the mountains grew steep and dense on both sides, and a mist clung to the hills. Images of New Zealand flared up in my mind—the wool sweaters, the empty roads, the bouldered fields turned pink at dawn—and as we rounded the bend to Crescent Lake, the most brilliant rainbow burst into the horizon at our right. We stopped and snapped three pictures before it faded, then let Suki out to run along damp trail above the shore. Back in the car, the Fleet Foxes swelled into a sweeping melody, and my inner artist begged me to retreat to a cabin, sip on tea, and write, write, write.

So we compromised. Pulled Toto into a campsite at Mora on the Quillayute River. Packed cheese sandwiches and bottles of beer and biked to Rialto Beach to toss sticks for Suki and watch the sun set. Back at camp, we sautéed fresh Alaskan halibut and local veggies. We slept hard, and woke early. And then I sipped tea and wrote, wrote, wrote.

And I haven't even begun to capture all of the stories.

I suppose I'll need another vacation for that.

sunset on jackson lake

It’s just after noon. I’m sitting in a camp chair looking out at Jackson Lake, a vast body of water that fills the space between cattle country and 13,000-foot peaks in Grand Teton National Park. Only a few tall lodgepoles interrupt the view of the Tetons themselves—the largest of which cradles a small glacier that has been clinging to those same granite cliffs for thousands of years. The grizzlies and elk have eluded us so far, but there’s plenty else to see: This morning, a small white-tailed buck leapt through our site, then sparred with a young sapling in the pine grove to our right. Skinny chipmunks and tiny grey voles rustle in the bushes, which Suki watches with an intensity I’ve never seen in her before. Hundreds of tiny flies swarm in patches of sun but mercifully keep to themselves. The plainest grasshoppers spread brilliant yellow wings that make sharp snapping sounds as they dance above the meadow. I keep hoping to spot the grizzly mom and cubs that are rumored to live on the island across the water, but no luck yet. I’ll keep trying.

It got cold here last night—35 degrees, I think—so we threw our sleeping bags like comforters over the bed. Even now, sitting in the sun, I’m bundled up in a hoodie and Smart Wool socks. Summer feels like a past life—as do the days when we were blasting our AC in a driveway in Oakton, in suffocating Virginia heat. When we ran errands, battled traffic, went to work, met deadlines, and packed and organized and bid each friend farewell, all in the span of an 18-hour day—and then woke up to do it all over again.

So maybe it’s no surprise that 10 days into our trip, I still feel like I could sleep for weeks. But sleeping in is hard here. You want to wake at sunrise, pull out the yoga mat, and flow through a sun salutation. You want to drink tea on a chilly lakeshore before the campground begins to stir.

Tom and I have had the most fun watching Suki take in this place. I expected her to greet it with a sense of shock and awe, not so different from our own reactions: “It’s so beautiful!” “This view is insane!” “That mountain is enormous!” But she doesn’t seem to be surprised by much. It’s like she always knew this was here—that she comes from this land, and that it was only a matter of time until she returned to it. If a pack of wolves ran through our site, I swear she’d follow and never look back.

In some ways, Tom and I are trying to do the same—trying to find ourselves. We joke that we won’t be able to get rid of our big-city edge—that we’ll develop these reputations in Boulder as “DC Tom” and “East Coast Amy” for our road rage and impatience with automated telephone menus. But I know that buried underneath those sub-personalities is the real Tom, and the real Amy. The ones who know that it’s okay to sit on a lakeshore and write for an afternoon, never mind that there’s a trailer to tidy up, a photograph to take, or better yet, hundreds of miles of trails to explore. The ones who seek the wisdom of the things around us—sparrows, lapping waves, grazing deer—and learn to embody the rhythm of this place.

How refreshing, to be part of something that’s bigger than ourselves again.

our house

Dear Mom,

Can't write long... we're getting a late start today and will probably only make it halfway to the Tetons. So much to do-- house is chaos-- but we love it here!! Don't have to drive anywhere. There's an organic grocery store, yummy breakfast place, two coffee shops, yoga studio (free classes if you volunteer to clean once/week), Kinkos, and Indian restaurant right around the corner. And an amazing little brewery with $1 late night tacos just an 8 min. bike ride down the street.

Suki's doing great-- already made friends with the lab next door and is curiously eyeing the three cats on the other side. Neighborhood is awesome-- super friendly-- lots of East Coast transplants. At least half a dozen pepole stopped by to welcome us on our first day. Lots of compliments on Toto! House lender sent us two great travel books on Colorado, and contractor showed up yesterday with a lovely bottle of Argentinian wine. And did I mention that we started a conversation with these random guys at the brewery the other night, and they ended up buying our dinner?! We later found out that one of them lives just a few houses down.

This place is AMAZING. People are incredible. House is adorable, and our guest room has a clear view of the Flatirons. Can't wait for you to visit-- you're going to love it here!!

Will write more from the road. Love you and miss you...

Amy & Tom

 toto and fam

"What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain 'til you see their specks disappearing? It's the too huge world vaulting us, and it's goodbye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies."

- Jack Kerouac, On the Road

See our itinerary here.

On August 29, Tom, Suki, and I will leave Virginia, travel cross-country in our Airstream, and eventually settle in Boulder. But not before a proper goodbye to our favorite friends. Some details...

DATE:
Friday, 7/31 through Sunday, 8/2. Big party on Saturday night if you can't make it for the whole weekend.

LOCATION:
The Cove Campground in Gore, VA, about 90 minutes from DC. Look for Toto, the Airstream, on a private 13-acre lawn at "Camp VIII": www.covecampground.com/gpage5.html

PACKING LIST:
- Your favorite bumper sticker-- we'll use them to decorate Toto. It's our way of taking a little piece of you with us.
- A tent, if you decide to camp.
- Camping stoves, chairs, coolers, and other supplies. We should also have access to several fire pits, and will most definitely have a bonfire.
- Food for the weekend-- even better, food to share. We'll do a potluck dinner on Saturday.
- Beverages of your choice. We'll provide a keg and liquor on Saturday night.
- Bikes, swimsuits, hiking shoes, fishing poles, kayaks, cameras, guitars... whatever you need to pass the time.
- Kids, dogs, friends, family, whoever. The more the merrier. We'll have tons of room, and should be isolated enough that we won't have to worry about our noise level.

CAMPING DETAILS:
- Check out the different campsites: www.covecampground.com. If you're bringing kids, you might consider a cabin or one of the more family-oriented campsites near the lakes. I can't guarantee that our site will be quiet after certain hours.
- If you're not into camping, there's a brand new Holiday Inn 10 minutes down the street near Winchester.

COSTS:
- A tank of gas. Campground's 90 minutes from DC.
- An entrance or camping fee-- unfortunately you have to pay to use the campground, whether you stay overnight or not. Should come out to about $25/couple-- a little more with kids. See the rates here: www.covecampground.com/gpage.html

PARTY DETAILS:
- We'll tow Toto onto the field and turn him into a bar. Our guest beds are already spoken for, but there will be tons of room for tents around us. Ya'll are welcome to go in and out as you please, but our black water tank can only hold so much, so we'll keep the bathroom closed off.
- I'd hoped to hire a Bluegrass band to come out and jam for a few hours on Saturday night, but so far, everyone's booked. If you have any ideas or connections to the live music scene, I'm all ears-- but we might have to fall back on iPods and satellite radio, so bring your favorite playlists.
- I've asked a few of my photographer friends to bring their gear so they can capture the scene, so don't be shy! Photos of you will help us feel closer to home when we're 1,700 miles away.

Questions? Call or email me (after Wednesday, please-- we're in house-moving hell right now). Otherwise-- WE'LL SEE YOU THERE. =)

Love,
Amy, Tom, Suki, & Toto

Update on Monday, July 27, 2009 at 07:04PM by Amy Marquis

- Just talked to the folks at the Cove, and they're ready for us! When you arrive, check in at the camp office, and they'll guide you to our site. I was wrong-- we're not at CAMP VIII, we're at CAMP VI. There are bathrooms on the premises, but you'll have to walk about 1/4-mile to get to showers.

- Looks like we'll be sharing the 15-acre field with a group of 25 who regularly camp there. The field fits 4,000 people, so we should still have plenty of room to ourselves. Technically you can park your car directly by your campsite-- but it might be nicer to park all the cars in one area and camp in another. Tom and I will scope it out when we get there and try to post some signs.

- My Bluegrass band bailed on me. So bummed. If you have an banjo, bongo, whatever, bring it. We're jamming out, damnit!

- Bring some cash to buy firewood at the camp store-- we'll need several folks to pitch in a little if we want to have a bonfire.

- The only place dogs aren't allowed is on the beach of Cove Lake-- but there are plenty of other places nearby where they can swim. Technically dogs are supposed to be on leashes in other sites, but management said they don't really care if they're off-leash in CAMP VI.

- DON'T FORGET YOUR BUMPER STICKER!! =)

I think that's all for now. Can't wait to see you guys!