Trail Mix

I often think of my life in terms of the old pioneers.  I’d like to think that Joseph and I have the skills that it would take to make it on the westward trails.  We might not be physically fit like those old folks who had to chop wood and carry water, but where our flesh is weak our minds are very, very willing. 

The idea that we can just pick up and move into the mountains is ingrained in us from the first day in school when we learned about wagon trains.  To make it on the trail, you had to know how to cook, build, care for animals, and be willing to learn a plethora of other skills.  The idea of forging a new home in a hostile world with little more than a frying pan appeals to me on many levels.

Joseph and I get creative whenever we feel inspired.  I took up knitting when we decided to move into an old farm house.  I learned to can jams and jellies on the fly when we found ourselves in a blackberry chokehold.  Joseph learned the science of fermenting wine when I thought we should make our own.  He’s better at details than I am.  He also does amazing things with wood.  One of my favorite Christmas presents from him was a rustic chair he made from scrap wood.  Our kitchen island sports wood inlay and a top with a polished finish thanks to him. 

I really want to try my hand at quilting!  That’s the next project. 

I know for the fact that there are modern day pioneers.  When driving home from my Grandma’s house back in the late 1980’s, my mom, brothers, and I passed a real covered wagon being pulled by six mules.  Behind the wagon was a boy about fourteen or fifteen years old on a horse.  They were on the highway!  When we got home, we called Grandma to tell her what we saw and she said, “I know!  They stopped here!” 

My Gram lives on the highway and she and Grandpa lived on a farm in a string of farms, and for some reason, the wagon family thought that it was the place to set camp for the night.  They pulled in, asked Grandpa for permission to keep their mules and horse in his corral.  Grandpa gave it to them.  They set up camp in the front yard and stayed the night.  In the morning we rushed over to meet the neo-settlers, but they had already gone.  Gram said they were heading to Alaska.  The mother and father had bought a plot of land up there and they were getting there the old fashioned way.  The boy was keeping a journal and thought he might publish his adventures some day. 

I don’t know if I’d ever go that extreme, but the idea of a fresh start someplace new is like a shiny little diamond of a dream.  I dust it off at least once a year and think about the possibilities.  Until the day I find my own homestead, I guess I can collect the skills and lifestyle choices that will translate well in a new frontier. 

The title of this blog comes from my friend and coworker, Charlie.  He’s an amazing musician and would be the first to tell you he can kick your butt at chess.  When my gang at work starts getting a little down about a hard day we play little games we make up to keep our morale intact.  The other night I decided we should play Oregon Trail, which consisted of us listing twelve luxury items we would take with us on the Trail aside from our supplies.  We even allowed ourselves to have modern day items.  Katie, my good friend and also coworker (see a pattern here?) and I decided that we would take laptops so that we could blog about our adventures on the trail.  I suggested the name of the blog would be “Trail Tales” but Charlie (who has a quick wit when it comes to puns) said it should be “Trail Mix.”