I recently completed a 2,700-mile roadtrip through 19 states to my ultimate destination–Rockland, Maine where I am spending two months.
I left Montrose, Colorado, on Saturday, August 26, and spent the evening, night and most of the following day with my sons in Vallecito, CO. Then, I drove to Santa Fe, NM arriving in time for dinner at La Choza. The next day, I spent time alone in Santa Fe with no agenda.
I had breakfast at The Pantry, part of a chili relleno omelet, then sold some of my vintage Native American jewelry to help provide spending money for my trip. I went back to my hotel for a job interview online and then spent the afternoon at the O’Keeffe Museum.
It was reinforced my resolve. There is an interview with O’Keeffe and the reporter stated that it was good of Steiglitz (her husband) to let her come to New Mexico. She replied that he didn’t let her. She had to go. Just as I had to go on this journey. There is no letting. There is only doing. O’Keeffe wrote in a letter to Steiglitz:
I chose coming away because here at least I feel good — and it makes me feel I am growing very tall and straight inside — and very still — Maybe you will not love me for it — but for me it seems to be the best thing I can do for you — I hope this letter carries no hurt to you — It is the last thing I want to do in the world.
July 9, 1929
I also had not realized that OKeeffe painted shells from her visits to York Beach in Maine. My ultimate destination. Another quote from O’Keeffe propels me on my journey.
“I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life and I’ve never let it keep me from a single thing that I wanted to do.”
Georgie O’Keeffe
That and a smoked sage margarita from Secreto at The St Francis Hotel just off the plaza. I love Santa Fe. It is one of my favorite places. I’ve applied for jobs and residencies, grants and workshops. Nothing has come to fruition, yet, so perhaps Santa Fe is not my next destination.
The following morning I loaded up with Green Chile Cheese Croissants from the New Baking Company, prepared for my journey across Texas. I left Santa Fe and took Interstate 285 to Interstate 40 driving from Santa Rosa to Tucumcari and eventually into Texas with all the truckers and RVers. I drove to Amarillo, home of the American Quarterhorse Association and Museum and of course the Big Tex Steakhouse. I took 287 through Claude, Clarendon, Childress, Quanah, and Wichita Falls, then off on 82 to I-35. I spent the night at a roadside motel in Sanger, TX.
It was a diversion. Not the direct route I could have taken to San Antonio, but I decided to do some research for my novel in progres, which is set in a small town North of Dallas on a horse farm. I found the horse farm that inspired my visions from online searches. I recognized it instantly when the road curved around and the dark fences came into view. I knew it was the farm—Spring Creek as I have named it. It is Laurel’s farm. Laurel is the main character in the story. I spent the evening walking around that small town and was up early the next morning and did some writing, then I did more driving around–Feeling the place. Tasting the place. Knowing the place.
I skipped the highways and drove through all the suburbs into Highland Park and near downtown Dallas, which also plays a role in my novel. I have not been to these big Texas cities in years. I used to drive to Texas frequently from Colorado, as a child with my parents and as a college student. I was amazed at how much they have all changed and grown. They are not the places I remember. They are not the cities from the 1980s and 90s. They shouldn’t be. I’m not the person I was in the 80s or 90s, either, and the growth and changes are compelling.
In Dallas, I got onto I-35 again. I decided to drive through Waco and see Magnolia. It’s the perfect place to get out of the car and walk around, though it was 100+ degrees.
I wanted to drive through Austin and see downtown and its changing skyline and the UT Campus, but Siri redirected me out East and back again, skirting downtown. I was upset with myself for not ignoring her. I did not trust my knowledge. I did not trust my gut. And this is what I am on this journey to learn–to listen to and trust my knowing.
Eventually, after snarling traffic in San Marcos and a diversion through Texas State University’s campus, I arrived at my aunt’s in Canyon Lake in time for a cocktail and dinner. My Aunt Cynthia is like my second mom. I lived with my aunt, uncle, and cousins during my first year of college. We spent our lives together growing up in Colorado and Texas. She and Mom were best friends. I no longer have a mom. She is still alive, but she is gone, lost to Alzheimer’s. But she seems content in her mystery state. Visiting my aunt is essential to me. She turned 80 in April, and while she is vibrant and healthy, time is fleeting. We talked and talked, and she warmed up green Chile stew, and we had a lovely visit. The following day, I was up and did some writing outside under her pergola. We had yogurt and coffee. We went to the gym. Then, we packed up and drove to San Antonio to my cousin’s house. My cousins Dawn and Shea are like my sisters. Dawn and I were born two days apart in the same hospital; our mothers had the same doctor. Dawn has a pool, and it is hot in Texas in August, so we all convened at her house in the pool for the evening.
Saturday morning I got up and had the tires balanced and rotated on my Toyota. I washed the Toyota and vacuumed the interior in prepartion for the long road trip ahead. I indulged in breakfast tacos. (It’s Texas, ya’ll, and they are the best–barbacoa and bean, egg, bacon and cheese.) We went to my cousin Shea’s to watch the UT game. They beat Rice 37-10. Dawn played her final match in the tennis tournament that night at McFarlin. I used to play tennis and I’ve hit some balls on my own at the high school tennis courts in Montrose and in the raquetball court at the Rec Center, but I want to play tennis again, with a league. And that is not available in Western Colorado.
Sunday, we loaded up the Toyota and Dawn and I headed out of San Antonio on our seven-day roadtrip to Maine.