Mahkh Beret

And you may ask yourself-well, how did I get here?

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 00:14:00 +0000

Once in a Lifetime

Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the moneys gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.

-Talking Heads

Before

After (waiting on new shutters)

Needs more than furniture...

Living Room After

Dining Room Before

Dining Room After (Minus the "Skylight!")

Studio Before

Studio Full of Projects...

Master Bath Before - Remember me??

Master Bathroom After

Something is missing...

After

Floors Before

Floors After

No Kitchen Cabinets...

Cabinets, how novel! What next, counter tops?!

Do I Know You?

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 23:53:00 +0000

Things are changing mighty fast around here. The house is nearly "done," Noah is 8 months old going on 36, and surely it'll be snowing here next week. Ok, so perhaps I err on the side of hyperbole, but I think I deserve to take a little poetic license. In the year since I've been here, a lot of things have developed, and some have evolved to a point where it's hard to recognize where they started. I say this not as a weary observer decrying change, but as an enthusiastic participant swept up in the flow of time, marveling at the speed of the current.

I thought I'd dedicate a couple posts to how things look around here these days.

If you can believe it, these pictures are 3 months old

I had brunch with Becky and Noah a couple weeks ago, and was shocked when she asked for a high chair. The last time I saw my burrito he was stroller-bound and, despite being desperate to see the world around him, was unable to maneuver well enough to get at it. Now he's got his own seat at the table, huh? He sat up, flinging jelly packets off the table, and practically fed himself. Who is this child??

I am taking a trip to the Detroit Zoo with the not-so-tiny-burrito man next Wednesday, so I will try to post some new pictures soon. I may have to start calling him my taco titanico....

Thank You

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 00:20:00 +0000

Dear Notebook Readers,
We would like to thank you all for the support you've given us throughout this crazy endeavor. Whether you followed us on Twitter, watched us on the news, or just sent good vibes our way, we appreciate that you were thinking of us.

We would also like to send some special thank you's to a few people, without whom this trip would have been a nightmare:

Liz Sawielski. Thank you so much for your great advice. We would have been totally lost without your help. Also, you infected us both with your enthusiasm, and we can't thank you enough for that!

Julie Rosner. Our JPS, Trail Angel, and SuperMom... Thank you for being there (a lot!) for us all the way through. And thanks for never judging us when we whined and said we wanted to quit.

Phyllis McMillen. Thank you for driving to the middle of nowhere's ass to spend a day tooling around in the rain with us. You can never know what that day in "civilization" with you did for our morale. You will have a PermaLog home in heaven!

Love and Peace,

Kate and Erin

More Shore-To-Shore Photos

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 21:44:00 +0000

Gunner waits patiently... sorta.

Lake Michigan

A visitor at Lake Dubonet

Our Trail Angel

Dog Tired

Shore-To-Shore Hike... Check!

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 22:52:00 +0000

Lake Michigan....

We both kept journals on this trip, which is something we don't ordinarily do. It ended up being a great way to force ourselves to reflect on our day, when we might otherwise have just collapsed into bed and forgotten everything. Here, along with some of the photos from our trip, are excerpts from my journal. We've also included daily "Playlists" of songs we had stuck in our heads... Enjoy!

Day One: 07/23/09 9.30PM

After an interview with 9&10 News, we were on the trail around 7PM. We hadn’t gotten far when I realized that I’d left the maps in the car… oops! Erin controlled her rage, and called Julie, who will was nearly home by that time. She’s going to meet up with us at Lake Dubonet and drop the maps off on Saturday. I am still impressed that I remembered to even put the maps in the car.

Drive-by interview with 9&10 News

There weren’t a lot (or any) options for setting up camp, so we parked about 5 feet from the trail in a semi-ditch type area. Hope it doesn’t rain! I was very tempted to approach a farm house and ask permission to camp in their fields until the sight of multiple trailers and a flaming garbage can – all parked in the drive way – brought to mind scenes from Deliverance. Hence the ditch.

Saying "Adios" to Empire

The bugs are surprisingly tolerable, but it got dark before 9.30, and we hit the tent for a little Sudoku.

Gunner is a bit antsy in his pantsy, but was obviously tired under the strain of his 5lb pack. Hopefully he’ll settle down and let us get some sleep. I have no clue where we are headed – sans map – tomorrow. Should be exciting!

Day Two: 07/24 8AM

After a sleepless night in Mothra village, we woke to the throaty sounds of what could only be an ornery mama elk storming about our camp site. We’re getting the hell outta here!

Day Two Continued:

After bailing out of Mothra village, we discovered a campground not a mile down the trail… drats!

We hiked about 5 miles to an MTRA trail camp to get water only to be greeted by a sign explaining that we needed a high-powered generator to run the well pump… drats!

Since we are going mapless today, our hiking had a certain ‘aimless wandering’ quality to it. Running low on water and morale, we finally found Pearl Lake – Amazing! Fish were jumping, birds flying overhead, and I spotted a fawn running along a far bank. The tiny lake, nearly covered over with new white lilies, was an absolute oasis after the late-morning death march that had brought us there. After having lunch, Erin pumped water while Gunner and I took a most glorious nap.

With no way of knowing where we were, or where we were camping that night, we decided to stop whenever we got tired. We didn’t last long, and around 4PM we collapsed in a clearing beneath some tall pines. We started a crossword, but Erin passed out and left me playing alone. We estimate we have about 10 miles to hike tomorrow to reach Lake Dunbonet, where we will hopefully meet Julie and retrieve our maps.

Gunner spent most of the morning off-leash today. He wandered off once, but was good for the most part. In the afternoon, I leashed him to my hip belt and he dragged me up the sandy hells – I mean hills.

Today’s playlist:

“Walkin’ Into Spider Webs” No Doubt

“Young Girl (Get Outta My Mind)” Gary Puckett

“Run Run” Phoenix

“Waving Flag” K’Naan

“World of Pure Imagination” Willy Wonka

“The Hills are Alive” Moulin Rouge

“G-D Bless America”

“Can’t Fight This Feeling” REO Speedwagon

“I’m Yours” Jason Mraz

“A Whole New World” Alladin

Day Three: 07/25 6.30PM

Mostly, it was a struggle from the start. Last night’s rain made breaking camp take forever. When we finally hit the trail, around 9AM, I was already feeling sluggish. We slogged through loose sand trails that are constantly being churned up by horses’ hooves. Struggle, Sluggish, Slogged.

Speaking of sluggish, can I please mention the unearthly size and quantity of the slugs around here?!

Taking a "breather" on a sweaty afternoon.

We stopped for lunch on the Platte River around 1PM. The river was lovely. Rocky and fast-moving, but the shore was non-existent, so we perched on a steep hill of loose gravel to eat. After lunch my morale plummeted once again when I discovered that my Platy – which Erin had spent an hour pumping water to fill – had leaked, releasing 2 litres of delicious river water into my pack. Well shee-it! I refilled my Platy and we set off – in the wrong direction. We soon realized our error and spent the better part of an hour attempting to correct it. Morale? At an all-time low.

Now headed in the right direction, we hiked through deep forest where rolling hills stretched out ahead, covered with ferns. The scenery was lush, but the hills harsh. Around 3PM, we sat down to rest along a two-track. We called Julie to ascertain the estimated distance to the lake (by this time we were calling every few hours, describing landmarks, and hoping she could tell us where the hell we were).We believed we were sitting about 100 yards from Lake Ann Road, which we thought to be very near our destination. Naturally, we were sitting 100 yards from Reynolds Road, and had traveled about half as far as we thought. Morale? Non-existent.

Finally, a trail angel (JuJu), arrived bearing homemade salads, a whole rotisserie chicken, cold beer, soda, fire wood and s’more fixin’s! We stuffed our faces and sat down to enjoy our campsite. No slugs, no bugs. Morale returning.

I learned something incredibly valuable today: “Everything will be OK in the end. If it’s not OK, it’s not the end.” Love that.

Gunner’s pack has rubbed under his arm and given him a pretty nasty sore. I am not looking forward to carrying his gear tomorrow, but I’m sure he’ll enjoy the relative freedom. Thus far, the g-bird has been wonderful (ie tired), and I hope this trend continues.

Today’s Playlist:

“The Brady Bunch" Theme Song

“Independent Woman” Destiny’s Child

“The Hard F***ing Song” Tenacious D

“America the Beautiful”

“Star Spangled Banner”

“G-d Bless America”

Day Three Update:

Nick and Amy stopped by and took us out for a little off-trail magic at Moomers. YUM!

Right now, Gunner is asleep on his back, legs in the air, and snoring. Lucking for me, he is on my lap, so I have a perfect writing table! Such a good boy.

Night night!

Day Four: 07/26

Definitely an interesting day. We broke camp and hiked about 3 miles before coming across Lake Anne Road… yes THAT Lake Anne Road. In the pouring rain, 3 miles in the wrong direction, we stood laughing our heads off. We phoned to see if Nick could come transport us back to the correct side of Lake Dubonet, but supermom Julie came to our rescue.

If you weren't laughing you'd be crying.

She took us home to dry out our gear, where we consumed an entire large pizza – which I later ex-umed onto the side of the road. I felt that it was unwise to dislodge my thick “base-layer” of bug spray, but Erin insisted she would not share a tent with me if I didn’t shower.

Back on the trail, we hiked a brutal 8 miles. By this time the rain had cleared and it was plenty warm. Around mile #6, we came across a road we’d been hiking on hours before. Puzzled, we checked the map only to discover that the majority of the shore-to-shore trail – in all its loose sand glory – is within a mile of perfectly good roads. Thus, we could have hiked to that same spot a hell of a lot easier. Lesson learned.

We camped in a gorgeous field between pine forests, and Erin read the night’s chapters until I was sound asleep – though, when she asked, I vehemently insisted I was still listening. Haha!

I thought a lot about my Dad today. I kept thinking over a line I included in an email to my friends about the trip. It was something like: “we believe every step we take on this journey will help improve the lives of those who cannot do the same.” I really meant those words when I wrote them back in May, but it has been very easy to get caught up in the planning and executing of the trip, and to forget them.

So, today, as I trudged along, cursing the road, I imagined my father walking next to me – something I have only vague memories of him being about to do – and things came back into perspective. I also considered how difficult, if not impossible, it would be for him to take in the view I was then taking for granted. Though we walked a smooth packed dirt road, I knew only too well how rough it would be for my father. Today, after days of relative ease and trail magic, has definitely recommitted me to the trip in an unexpected way.

Today’s Playlist:

The “Aladdin” soundtrack

Day Five: 07/27 8PM

This morning was beautiful, waking up in our own little field, all heavy with mist. Camp break-down was record-breakingly slow yet again, and we didn’t hit the trail until 20 after 9!

We practically bounced down the trail we were so enthusiastic, Perhaps because we’d survived a very dark day, and knew things could only get better. Or perhaps we were elated we’d not been arrested for camping on what we’d assumed was private property. Or perhaps it was that we’d taken the time to make coffee with breakfast for only the second time on this trip. Most likely, we were glad to be hiking with the knowledge that our days of loose sand two-tracks were behind us.

My one-fingered greeting to a sandy trail we avoided.

We laughed our way down the roads with amazing speed, and made it to Scheck’s (where we’d planned to sleep tonight) in time for lunch! Since we’d charged our phones at Julie’s yesterday, we allowed ourselves to be a little more spendthrift with the battery life, and we called family and friends to share our good day.

Scheck’s camp was lovely. The campgrounds were small and sat along a deep, COLD river. After deciding it was far too chilly to swim, we made lunch and relaxed in the sun.

Erin approves of the outhouse.

We hiked, mainly on roads, for about 9 miles to Guernsey Lake. The sites and surrounding campground are nothing to write home about, but the lake is very nice. We treated ourselves to two dinners, AND corn bread down on the beach. The water was warm, but murky, as if after a storm.

This afternoon’s hike was completely grueling. We walked at length in silence down dirt roads that cut through beautiful fields dotted with yellow flowers. The trees and meadows were deep green, and the sky was a rich blue, and hung with thick white clouds. It was, however, difficult to enjoy the scenery after about 4PM, at which point we’d hiked about 3 miles too many in heat about 15 degrees too many.

Resting our dogs at Scheck's.

Day Six: 07/28 9.40PM

Today was another great yet challenging day. Since giving up on the proper trail, we’ve had to get a little creative when plotting our routes. Usually, we make a vague plan consisting of goal destinations and occasionally dream destination: “let’s plan to hit Kalkaska by lunch, but wouldn’t it be great to be in Oscoda for dinner??”

Last night we collapsed into the tent with absolutely NO consideration given to the next day’s destination.

Overnight it rained lightly, which was just enough to ensure we would awaken damp and dank yet again. Despite setting our alarms 30 minutes earlier than usual, we left camp 30 minutes later than usual – at 9.30! We’re not sure what is causing this extreme pokiness, but it needs to stop.

Once on the road, we struggled to determine which road it was, and which it would lead us to. Clueless, we pressed on and ended up planning on the fly. This method proved to have pros and cons. On the plus side, we found the shortest route to Kalkaska. On the negative side, it was a dirt road that stretched out straight as an arrow for miles… and miles. Bo-ring! The hard-packed dirt hurt our feet, but we kept our spirits up with a bit of singing.

We arrived in Kalkaska around 1PM. First we stopped in at the Transit Authority to see if they could suggest a campground for the night. While securing Gunner outside, a man walked by and said “there are bathrooms inside if you need one”… OK... thanks...?

I walked in and saw a counter, behind which sat two women along with the man from outside. He motioned that I should continue down the hall – for the Transit Authority I presumed – and then he said something that made me stop: “down the hall, first door on the left.” I paused, looked around and, noticing the giant “Kalkaska Area Transit Authority” Sign on the wall above his head, realized he was sending me to the loo!

I remained still for a moment hoping my puzzled expression would speak the words I was grappling to find, but alas, it did not. Finally, I broke the awkward silence with: "I don’t need to use the restroom, I’m here to ask a question.”

“Oh!” and all three perked up, but still seemed confused as to why I thought I didn't need a restroom - they obviously thought I did. During the Q&A, all three KATA employees kept a distance which showed great deference to my aroma. They suggested camping at Pickerel Lake State Forest. I thanked them, and was on my way – without utilizing what, I am sure, was a lovely restroom.

Back out on the street, we hadn’t gone far before a familiar car pulled up. Driving was a young man who’d passed us pack on the long, straight dirt road from hell. The second time he’d passed us, heading back in the other direction, he’d pulled over to chat. He was from just outside Nashville, ran marathons, and was keenly pursuing all of the Sandy Lakes Quiet Area by canoe. We never did figure out what he was doing in Michigan… Anyhow, the third time he passed us, he pulled over and tossed out two ice cold litres of water he’d bought us. Wish we’d gotten his name. LOVE that guy!

Thanks for the agua!

Once in town, we found a diner and ordered half the menu to go. Again, we were confronted by confused faces, mildly disgusted at our perceived difference. When I stuck my head out to ask Erin for her beverage order, I stuck it back in too soon and found two waitresses, apparently unaware of my return, making fun of us.

As we sat outside waiting for our order, we received a stream of dirty looks from exiting customers. The thing that bothered me about this was not the confusion, but the total lack of curiosity. Not one person asked us what we were doing before making up their mind. I’m a twenty-something white girl with a cute dog, and I’M getting the look of death from elderly couples?!

I didn’t wallow long in my annoyance over this, and instead laid down in a sunny patch of grass – after consuming my body weight in greasy diner food of course.

We met Julie later in the afternoon and she dropped us at our camp site to organize our incoming food and gear. That done, we drove back down 612 to Lalone’s, a seedy Diner type place with so little business, half the dining area was closed off. Rather surprisingly, the soup was delicious.

Julie left us back at our site, where we set up shop, pumped water, and built a small, cozy fire. Driven in by mosquitoes, we read my new David Sedaris book (which had thankfully been delivered in the drop box).

Sunset over Pickerel Lake.

It truly was a lovely day, and even the nasty looks were positive in a way. Seeing those faces reminded me just how important a role education can play in shaping a society and its culture. I’m glad I’m in a position to do something about it.

Today’s Playlist:

Jamie Cullum on shuffle

“Blowin’ in the wind” Bob Dylan

“Humpback Whale” Dane Cook

Day Seven: 07/29 8.37PM

We actually got out of bed at 7AM and actually got on the trail (road) by 8.30! We struck out with great enthusiasm this morning, and we both seemed to be pushing hard, aware of how distant our goal was. So focused and determined were we that we missed two turns, forcing us to hike and additional 6 miles.

I don’t recall exactly how many miles we had planned to hike before lunch, but I’m willing to guess we ended up doing about 13. Nice work, ladies.

Despite the painful fact that we hiked these miles needlessly, two very positive things occurred as a result. First, as we sat resting in the shade of a tree, a car slowed and the driver, a handsome man with silver hair, rolled down the window and asked if we’d like to take advantage of a proper bathroom – and believe me, I WOULD have been taking advantage! Plus, why does everyone assume we need to use the restroom??

Anyhow, we declined. The man asked where we were headed, “Lake Huron” we replied. I then asked if he knew the distance to Old Grade Road, which we would be taking back to 612. He replied that Old Grade was about 3 miles behind us. He also said it was a two-track seasonal road with no sign – just like Papouse Lake Rd, which we’d walked by about 3 hours before.

The friendly man cleared room in his car (where we met his two “assistants”). I sat in back with 5year old Duncan, who dazzled me with stories of fish he’d caught in each of the numerous lakes we passed, what he’d fed each of them, and which of them had survived.

The kind man, a designer/firemen/zoning commissioner, drove us to a spot on old grade where one can see bald eagles nesting. He also told us about a fabulous blueberry patch just down the road. The blueberries were delicious, but the road offered little shade, and we soon pined for the forest… pined, haha.

A little sun burnt, we arrived back at 612 and headed east toward our goal. We stopped to have lunch on the bank of the Manistee river. We weren’t alone though, as several groups were using our spot as a canoe launch/retrieval site. Nearly every person who passed was friendly and inquisitive, asking about our trip (and Gunner of course), and wishing us well. We even got an offer of a ride, but declined as it was much out of their way.

At this point in our day – planning on the fly as usual – we hadn’t decided whether we would hike south to Manistee River Bridge Camp, or east to Hartwick Pines State Park. The friendly silver-haired man had heartily endorsed Hartwick (He actually got married there!), so we were leaning in that direction. Our map also indicated the presence of a Logging Museum at Hartwick, which was almost too alluring for me to pass up.

We hiked, somewhat unsure, east along 612 until a woman, maybe in her 70’s came walking out toward the street from her house. She shouted to us, asking if we had enough to drink, if we needed anything. We thanked her, no, and kept walking. Moments later, she re-emerged, shouting “Girls, come back!!” when we got closer, she explained that her husband had instructed her to not let us get away.

We told her where we were headed (Hartwick, we’d finally decided) and she immediately recognized the magnitude of the morning’s errors: “oh, that’s SO far” she said. “well,” we explained “we’d be a lot closer by now had we not gotten lost.” She led us inside to speak to her husband about a ride. Upon seeing us, he asked “aren’t you the girls we saw on TV??”

We piled into his car and pulled away toward camp. On the way, Tom told us fascinating stories of working for the DNR, archaeological digs, and the area’s logging past. What a find he was! We were sad to say goodbye when he left us at Hartwick, but excited to explore the sites he had described on the ride there.

After extremely lengthy showers – even Gunner got one – we headed out to see the virgin pine stands about a mile from out campsite – A-Mazing!

The wonderful people we met today not only pointed us in the right direction, made excellent recommendations, but also totally restored our faith in people after yesterday’s disappointment.

The second thing this morning’s mishaps brought us was some of the most beautiful scenery we’ve seen so far. Twin Lakes, Indian Lake, Blue Lake, Bass Lake, all crystal clear and shades of blue beyond imagination and description. Overall, today was very physically taxing, but incredibly rewarding.

Gunner, in his nest, moments after arriving at camp.

Today’s Playlist:

“The Dynamo of Volition” Jason Mraz

“I Believe in Miracles” Hot Chocolate

“Flute Sonata #1” Erin’s ass

Day Eight: 07/30 8.50PM

I can’t say what time exactly, but at some point last night – or more likely, this morning – Erin and I gave in, and went outside to get our emergency blankets from our packs. According to a neighbor, it got down to 44 degrees, making our sleeping bags 11 degrees of useless.

Erin, bundling up, baked potato style.

We got out of a very cold, wet tent around 7.30 this morning, not too shabby. Somehow, though, we tripped and fell into a time warp, and the next thing we knew it was 9.

Our neighbor Larry had stopped in this morning (after his daily 3mi morning walk!) because he’s noticed we had no car, but plentiful gear. After a chat, he headed back to his RV, returning minutes later with a donation from his wife Loretta, whose sister has MS. We lingered to visit with the friendly couple before heading out.

It was 9.15 by the time we hiked to the main gate ad we stopped to make pack adjustments and use the restroom. Time warp again! We were waylaid by a curious DNR employee who happened to be an MTRA member. When I pressed her for information about our day’s hike she replied that we’d be fine today, but that the section past 4 mile camp was commonly referred to as “hell trail” by local riders.

We decided not to linger too long on that label – if sandy two-tracks of doom aren’t hell on horseback, what WOULD qualify for such a distinction?! – so we left Hartwick (at 9.45!!) and hit the road. Our night in Hartwick was not only filled with the glorious modern conveniences only a State Park can offer, but was also filled with warm and generous people, whose support we’d later call upon to get us through a tough time.

The route we took today was on the trail for the most part. Sadly, that meant highways and dirt roads. After struggling down a few miles of 93, we took shelter from the traffic on a small side road. This road, like all the others today, stretched endlessly on ahead without curve or variation. Blaaah… Luckily we were in tremendously good moods from the kind people we’d met and the fact that we’d officially passed the half way mark!

Taking a pit stop outside Gaylord.

The weather also worked in our favor. Just as the sun started rising to its afternoon pinnacle, clouds rushed in to shield us. Lovely.

We stopped at a pleasant little park on the bank of the Au Sable for lunch. We dropped pack and were attempting to doctor Erin’s badly blistered foot when the skies opened up and let loose a downpour. We waited out the rain under a large, leafy tree before heading out.

"it says 'approved for veterinary use'...?"

Rain sprinkled us from time to time throughout the afternoon – just enough to keep us cool and happy.

We pushed hard, and after a brutal 15 mile day, we arrived at 4 Mile Camp. The trail camp leaves a little something to be desired, and it now makes perfect sense why campers (aka “normal people”) opt for the Jellystone down the street. We were driven into the tent, which not feels more like a sauna, by rain just as we finished dinner.

Today was, without a doubt, the most physically taxing day so far. Somehow, through incredible pain, we’ve managed to stay positive and forward-looking. Just don’t mention that we have another 15-16 miles to look forward to!

Today’s Playlist:

“The Road” Tenacious D

“Last Night” The Strokes

“20 something” Jamie Cullum

“Hakuna Matata” The Lion King

“Hot and Cold” Katy Perry (stuck in my head for HOURS!!)

Day Nine: 07/31 5.50PM

I got out of the tent only after some prodding. To our great surprise, we were on the road by 5 minutes to 8! BIG improvement. The sky was still grey, and it remained a bit chilly until around 11AM. This was a huge advantage, and it allowed us to push hard without stopping too many times to rest.

Picking blueberries along the trail

We followed the trail quite a bit today, which meant lots of unnamed seasonal roads and other cartographic shenanigans. We followed the trail up to 72, and hadn't hiked long before spotting a trail marker. We were a bit surprised since we weren’t expecting one for another 2 miles, but we took it, glad to be out of the sun and away from the fast-moving traffic.

The trail wound its way south and east before crossing a dirt road, which was, of course, unnamed. We continued East expecting to hit Meridian, and eventually find a campsite along Big Creek. No such luck. The trail somehow deposited us onto McMasters, about 100 yards from 72. Ugh… The surprise trail maker was marking an old section of trail, but - aside from wasting 3 hours - we'd missed Hell Trail after all.

I had been feeling sick all afternoon, and finally refused to hike another mile. I hitched us a ride to Luzerne in the back of a pickup truck – my first time sitting in a pickup bed. As soon as we arrived in Luzerne, I stopped by Ma Deeter’s to ask about a place to stay because hiking three miles to the trail camp was out of the question. We ended up hiking a mile or so south of town and hopping off the road into Huron National Forest. The site is rugged in a dry way. Not many deciduous trees, lots of scrub growing low to the ground. Not ideal, but I was desperate.

Weeeee... I'm having fuuuun....

Other than not feeling well, and being denied a nap, the day was nice. We saw lots of different scenery despite being mostly on roads. Some highlights for me included a lush moraine valley in the midst of succession following a fire, the sun rising through the misty overcast that hung above a re-forested hillside, and fly fishermen slowly picking their way upstream through the rocky, cool Au Sable.

Walking down the dirt two-track portion of 4 Mile, we were amused by Gunner’s antics. He ran, and jumped, and spun, and dove trying vainly to catch butterflies. It was nice to see him act like a puppy.

Today’s playlist:

“Natalie” The Killers

“The Sun Will Come up Tomorrow” Annie

“Sunrise, Sunrise” Norah Jones

“The Show Must Go On” Moulin Rouge

“The Heat Is On” Glenn Frey

“Lonestar” Norah Jones

“City Hall” Tenacious D

Day Ten: 08/01 11AM

We hiked back up to Luzerne and headed to the IGA Express – whatever that is – hoping to enjoy one of the showers advertised on their billboard. Sadly, they cost about $.50 a minute, and we were both pretty sure we couldn’t shower effectively in 8 minutes, at which point we would be broke.

We’d planned on the shower portion of our morning lasting considerably longer, and we were not excited by the prospect of loitering outside the IGA for 2 ½ hours (Phyllis was supposed to arrive around noon). I’d only been sitting outside for 2 minutes and had already fielded 10 questions regarding Gunner, his pack, his stamina while wearing his pack, and his level of enjoyment while wearing his pack. I was still feeling ill, and lacked sufficient energy to feign friendliness. Thus, we walked back across the parking lot to Ma Deeter's – effectively “across town” – and I stepped inside to ask if we (including Gunner) might partake of a little coffee on their back deck. The woman looked at me as if I’d asked her if she’d mind if I lit her hair on fire: “absolutely not! No.” she replied. Fair enough, I thought, but she didn’t need to look at me like that.

I sat dejectedly in the parking lot grumbling to no one in particular. It was during one such rant that two bikers, whom I’d seen seated at the bar, exited and started chatting with us. If we’d been more awake, I’m sure we could have enjoyed their company more. They were just our type of friend: foul-mouthed, funny, and into the outdoors (I 'spose it doesn’t take much to be our friend). Our bikers, Dean and Chad, were in town for unspecified reasons, riding to undisclosed locations. We learned that Chad had a place down the street, and its proximity to Ma Deeter’s bar seemed the only explanation for their visit. We chatted about the trail and our trip, took some pictures, and bid them farewell.

Erin ducked in for some coffee to go, hoping to escape to the park just up the street. While Erin was inside, the waitress I’d offended poked her head out and asked if I had Gunner’s “certification”… "Which certification?” I asked. “You know, blind… or…disabled”. “Um, no."

She was obviously fooled by his very official-looking red backpack, and shame on me for not thinking quickly enough to take advantage of her confusion: “Why yes, he is my service animal. I am disabled” would surely have sufficed, but my head just wasn’t in the game. We took our coffees and headed to Comstock Nelson Park.

Day Ten Update: 9.20PM

Phyllis found us at the park shortly after noon – she’d left late and driven 100mph to compensate. Well done. We went straight back to Ma Deeter’s for lunch. The food was surprisingly good, but the staff was no entirely knowledgeable. When asked for the history of the restaurant, our server stared blankly and sort of shook her head. “What was this building originally used for, a lodge?” I offered. “Yes, a lodge... and rooms for rent” Redundant Rita replied. We learned later from Julie that it was originally a whorehouse. Lodge indeed.

After lunch we drove toward Mio to find Blueberry Hills, a farmers market we’d read about online. When we finally arrived at what was billed as the Dixieland Flea Market of produce, crafts and “honey goods,” we found one stall of decent veg with a tiny end table supporting half a dozen bottles of honey. We bought two peaches under the watchful gaze of the 8 employees occupying the 20 square feet of store.

On our way back into town we spotted a flea market, and decided it was worth a visit. As soon as we stepped in out of the rain we were met with a man sandwiched between a display case of ammo and a wall of guns. YES! This place had it all: antique glassware, auto supplies, black light posters, and a diner, the walls of which were plastered with old adverts for Coke, Elvis and Betty Boop. Phyllis bought Bob a fine leather do-rag, but nothing else caught our eyes. I did find it fascinating, however, that a ‘gymnast Babrie’ retailed for $45 at the same stall that offered Hull and McCoy ceramic pieces for $8-10. Wrong, so wrong.

We left the freak show and headed to the fairgrounds. Someone I’d ran into at Ma Deeters last night mentioned that all the hotels in Mio were full because of a quilt auction. Now THAT was something I had to see. The fairgrounds were packed in spite of the rain. We had arrived at the tail end of the auction (another first for me), but just in time to see a large quilt get sold for $2,200! We wandered around the stalls for a while, but most were closing up shop, so we grabbed a tasty piece of pie, bought some shampoo for the shower we hoped to take, and headed back to Mio.

We hit up a couple of the local campgrounds hoping to get permission to use the showers. After a few "No's,"we rolled up to [name redacted] campground, the most trace-leaving, anti-wilderness place on earth. This nearly naked plot of plan was covered with tents and RVs, people elbow to a**hole. There could be no reason compelling enough to make me part with any sum of money to stay there. Yet, plenty of people felt differently – why??

We had loads of time to consider this question while in line for one of the camp’s only 4 showers. Baffled, we finally asked a fellow line-stander and she explained she was there to go river tubing. Well, surely, I thought, this place must offer free shuttles to the river… “no,” she replied, “someone has to stay behind to drive.” “oh.”

By the time we’d neared the front of the line, truckloads of drunken hillbillies had returned, wasted, from 4 hours of drifting downstream tied to a cooler. From the urine-scented shower I could hear them cursing loudly (~10ft from the playground) and threatening to “pound the f*ing door in,” if I didn’t hurry up. Nice folks, salt of the earth. We sorted our resupply as quickly as possible and high-tailed it outta there.

Goofing around at the PermaLog HQ

It was really nice to see my mom today, and I am glad she was generous enough to spend the whole afternoon with us. I feel good knowing she was able to be part of the trip.

Today’s playlist:

“Don’t Stop Believing” Journey

“Landslide” Fleetwood Mac

Day Eleven: 08/02 7.35PM

Not sure how it happened, but we managed to break camp by 7.30 AM today. Sadly, our rapidity failed us not long after when the hamstring(s) I had pulled power-walking down M-72 suddenly constricted under the weight of my pack, leaving me tottering down Keeley Road like a tin soldier.

After begging Erin to slow the pace, I struggled to make even the most modest progress down what seemed at the time a bleak, treeless ribbon of sandy doom unraveling endlessly toward the sunrise.

Suddenly it occured to me: Ace wrap! I dropped trow in the middle of the road, wound the ace wrap around my thigh until the fat yelled “uncle!” then plowed ahead.

My time as an invalid was short-lived, but it had cost us. We’d traveled 2 miles an hour (no joke!), and it was now going on 9.30. I tried my best to make up the lost mileage, but occasionally I was forced to stop and admire the amazing scenery. We hiked around 6 miles along Keeley, all within the Huron National Forest, and mostly Kirtland Warbler habitat. SO cool. A lot of the habitat was re-growth where fire had recently made way for the fast-growing Jack pines – the Kirtlands’ home of choice. I wasn’t previously aware, but this area is the only place in the world where Kirtlands live.

Toward the mid-section of our hike across Keeley, the road narrowed and the piney fields were replaced by tall, dense, lush aspen stands. The sun was still rising, but the air retained much of the morning’s chill as we descended into the forest’s shadow. The weather not only allowed us to hike in comfort, but made the views that much more pleasant. Along the sun-dappled road, we could see wild flowers still strung with dew taking on a frosted appearance in the morning light. Gunner bounded in and out chasing sounds and scents, only to emerge soaked and panting.

Heading toward Curtisville, the roadside was thick with Queen Anne’s Lace, some still taking the form of downy birds’ nests. The road alternated between paved and not as it climbed and plunged, weaving its way between small farms. The views from both hilltop and valley were perfected by the balance of rich green fields dotted with trees and line with fences against amazingly blue skies and pure white clouds. The sun had hit its apex and our work had become harder as a result, but we pushed on, certain Curtisville lay just around the next bend.

A little comic relief on the trail

We stopped for lunch outside the Curtisville Trading Post, where I supplemented our lox and pita with donuts, chips, ice cream and chocolate milk. During lunch, a breeze picked up, urging us onward but also making the final stretch of our day’s journey that much more pleasant.

The nearest campground was a county park along Alcona Dam Pond, a small lake inhabited solely by seasonal RV campers. It seemed odd, looking out over such a lovely scene and seeing boats docked in front of “Prowlers,” “Winnebegos,” and “Itascas.”The campground is a bit odd. Drunken hillbillies are plentiful, of course, but the strange part is the total lack of management. All around are signs posted referring to the “office”: “shower tokens available at office,” and “permits obtained at office,” and yet, there is no office to be found. There is even a sign assuring you that you should select a campsite, and “an attendant will be along shortly.” Our hearts skip a beat each time a car rounds the bend, but its never any one from the "office.”

I’m starting to get excited about our proximity to Oscoda. Only 2 ½ days left on the trail… just seems impossible – although my body can testify to each of the 200 miles hiked so far. I am looking forward to eggs and toast, fish, and veggies. Really, just excited to be back on a “real food” diet.

Today’s playlist:

“If you wanna be happy for the rest of your life” Jimmy Soul

“How lucky we are” Meiko

“Aint no Mountain High Enough” Marvin Gaye/Tammi Terrell

"Evert Breath You Take” The Police

“Lookin out For Love” Fleetwood Mac

“Captain Planet” Theme Song

“Salute Your Shorts” Theme Song

Day Twelve: 08/03 (watch died in Mio)

Remember yesterday’s entry when I briefly mentioned we were sharing our campground with some not-so-sober hillbillies? Well, our relationship with them ended up not being so brief. Let’s go back, shall we?

Long before quiet hours began we could tell that their good time was not winding down any time soon. By the time we crawled into the tent, the party down the street was beginning to heat up. It turned out that our neighbors were no strangers to the area: they obviously knew half the population of Curtisville, and as not to be rude, had invited the other half over for drinks as well. People -- or should I say Townies – came and went, on foot and by pickup, past our campsite through the night and into the morning. I can say with confidence that this was the worst night’s sleep of the entire trip- but it wasn’t over yet.

Around 4AM, just as the din of the party was softening, and the pickups were rumbling away, we awoke to an unfamiliar rustling outside our tent. Now we’ve encountered many a critter in our day, but nothing prepared us for this. After a thud from outside sent me groping for my headlamp, I opened the tent fly to find an adolescent raccoon with his face buried in a bag of granola. Suddenly, it hit me: “that little ring-tailed a**hole ripped my new stuff sack!” Indeed. Instead of gingerly un-snapping and un-rolling the bag to enjoy a feast of all its contents, he had decided the situation called for a more direct approach.

I shoo’ed him away and secured the remaining contents of my food bag in Erin’s more durable vinyl bag, but the memory of his coon-anigans will outlast even the new bag I buy to replace the ripped one.

The next morning – this morning -- still feeling a bit violated, I put the water on for coffee and was busying myself with camp-breaking when small rain drops began to fall. By the time the coffee was done, we could barely drink it as the downpour landed in our cups and splashed hot coffee in our faces. It poured and poured. Soaking wet (through my rain pants!), a truck slowed and the windows came down. In the driver’s seat was a man we’d met earlier while suiting up in the bathroom pavilion. He offered us a ride, indicating that he (Bill) and his wife (Leah) were on their way to Tawas, so taking us to Rollways was no inconvenience.

They dropped us off, and we ran for the cover of a vault toilet. Under the somewhat stinky awning, we erected our tent and made a pot of hot cocoa to take inside with us. We stripped off our wet clothes, hung them under the awning, and made a dash for our campsite (holding the tent over our heads as we ran!). We piled in, huddling near Gunner for added warmth. Cold and damp, we fell into a most-pleasant nap. That is, until the camp “host” stopped in.

“HELLOW? HELLOOW??” an increasingly shrill voice broke through our dreams and forced us back into consciousness. “hello?” I responded. The voice told us, none too delicately, that our “things” (aka soaking wet gear) could not reside beneath the toilet awning. The implied request that we emerge from our warm nest, collect our wet “things,” and introduce their chill to our tent was not greeted with joy. The voice explained that she’s had to shove our things aside to complete her “TP check.” I’m sure you can imagine how this story of adversity touched us, and moved us to comply with her ridiculous request. I say ridiculous because it was not only still raining, and our gear still wet, but the toilet in question was one of FIVE shared by 19 campsites – only five of which were occupied. On our half of the campground, we were the only potential users of the 2 available toilets, since all the river views were on the other side.

We complied, and went back to our Sudoku-induced relaxation.

A couple hours later, the voice returned. This time informing us that her “boss” said that if we intended to “sleep here all day” we’d have to pay the $15 fee. The way she accused us of "sleeping all day" made me feel like the unemployed, 30 year old loser living in her parents' basement, slacking the day away playing X Box and eating Doritos. After she left I wondered aloud “who’s your boss, Smokey the Bear?”

Today’s playlist:

“My Father’s Gun” Elton John

“Rain Rain Go Away”

“I'm Gonna Be (I Would Walk 500 Miles)” The Proclaimers

Day Thirteen: 08/04 ?PM

We kicked ass and took names. Hiking from Rollyways to Old Orchard was a bitch, an angry, vindictive bitch. 16 miles of highway in “scenic byway’s” clothing. Despite being within spitting distance, we saw the river only twice.

We were on the “trail” by 7.30AM (doo da doo!), and by 9 we were ready for a break. The sun seemed awfully high for the hour, and it was muggy as hell from last night’s rain. So we stopped in to the Au Sable Resort, a collection of quaint red cottages anchored by a general store. We went in and, while chatting with the proprietor, perused the aisles of junk food, finally settling on cheez-its, sun chips, juice, and a rather neglected-looking Ho Ho. We snacked outside on picnic benches, relishing the 4 miles already behind us.

View of the Au Sable from the Logging Memorial

By 11AM, we were dripping in sweat, and stopped to rest at the loggers' memorial visitor center. There, it seemed, every high school athletic team in the county had gathered, and were exercising lustily in the public walkways. We tried to overlook the sweaty, dirty young boys jogging about shirtless, occasionally dropping to the ground for push-ups or crunches, but we’re only human!

Aaaaanyhow, back to the point. We thoroughly enjoyed the museum, but had to get back on the road, which – as the owner of the Au Sable Resort had explained – was designated as a “Scenic Byway” (the 70^th most beautiful place in America… according to whom, we don’t know). Around lunch time, I discovered I was out of water, so as I walked my mind wandered, considering all the unpleasant consequences that might befall me as a result of my imminent dehydration. It was from this place that my mind was brought back to reality when, about 100 yards ahead, I saw a woman’s figure emerge briefly from the thick forest, glance in our direction, then slip back into the cloak of trees. Huh??

“Erin,” I said “I just saw someone behind that dead tree up on the left.” Naturally, with no such person in sight, Erin doubted my claim, which, when coupled with the near total isolation of the road, seemed pretty specious.

As we approached the tree in question, I noticed a small seasonal road, on which was parked a shiny new royal blue car (I think a Chevy HHR or something similarly silly looking). I assumed the woman had been taking a pit stop, and when she failed to materialize, I quickly forgot her and re-focused my attention on my coming hydration-related delirium.

About 20 feet down the road, I heard Erin’s voice, an urgent whisper, telling me something about masturbating in the woods. My mind snapped back to reality and the first logical thought it called up was the memory of the David Sedaris story we’d read the day before (the one where a man, confusing David with an erotic cleaning service, proceeds to masturbate in front of him while David attempts to vacuum). Erin’s voice again: “To – The – LEFT!” I realized suddenly she has been in reality the whole time, and is trying to subtly inform me that a real live man – not a woman after all! – is REALLY whacking it in the very real woods. Somewhat curious to see a man seated on a stump, pumping away at his own -- not to mention thrilled to have proved Erin wrong about the mystery woman-- I turned to look…

Sadly, as is so often the case, my imagination failed to align with reality. The man was not, as I had assumed, sitting on a log, pants unzipped, but was instead standing, completely nude, facing us. Horror.

As I locked eyes with this strange stranger, he raised his hand and waved at me. I turned me eyes back to the road, waiting for a reaction to cement in my mind, but it didn’t, and I stood completely stunned and frozen.

We dialed the police, but by the time I connected with a dispatcher, the blue tool mobile was pulling out of the seasonal road. As it drove away we noticed a dishtowel, hung from the back window, obscuring the license plate. After finishing my call, I stood in silence for a long time, imagining this disturbed individual driving away in his uber conspicuous car, clothed only above the waste. Of course, whether or not he had time enough to don his pants, I don’t know, but this is how I imagined his getaway. It was, however, certain that the whole show had been premeditated, orchestrated with thought and care for our eyes only.

For the next two miles our eyes were wide, scanning the road for potential nudists. Despite all this, we trooped on, making camp before 3PM. Flashers aside, we feel very proud of our ability to not only meet the physical demands of a 16 mile hike, but also to do it all with a smile and a song.

Tonight we are staying in yet another hillbilly haven. We arrived at the [name redacted] campground after a grueling, hot, sweaty, and occasionally water-less hike – every mile of which was printed on my face when I stumbled, loopy from dehydration, into the main office. I stood for a while before a large woman wearing some goofy kitty sweatshirt and oddly sleek, Sarah Palin-esque eyeglasses approached the counter. I indicated my very strong desire to exchange cash money for one of the numerous camp sites on offer. She asked which site I wanted, and I stared blankly at her, hoping she was kidding (there are nearly 1,000 sites at this campground, which stretches over 2 miles…). She explained that we needed to go set up, then hike back to her and register, then hike back to our site (effectively adding 3 miles to that day’s journey). I must have looked completely homicidal at that moment because I was wavering on the brink of a meltdown, but she was unmoved, and sent me on my way with only a giant wall map to guide me.

This joint is run by the county in “partnership” with Consumer’s Energy. By “partnership,” it was obvious they meant Consumers had bought up a mess of land along the river to run power lines from its hydro-electric plant and then decided to make a buck leasing it out to the county, who in turn established a giant, poorly operated campground.

We wandered aimlessly away from the office, hoping to find a tent site (80% were reserved for RVs), and managed to find a stretch of unoccupied sites by some showers. As if this place weren’t odd enough, we soon realized these sites were vacant because they were beneath the humming power lines, and adjacent to the “scenic byway.”

We feasted on mac n cheese (our traditional meal for the last night on the trail), and crawled into our Deuters, joyous to have such a short day to look forward to tomorrow.

Today’s Playlist:

“Empty heart” Josh Ritter

“Wait For Live” Josh Ritter

“Distrubia” Rhianna

“Over The Rainbow” Judy Garland

Day Fourteen: 08/05

Despite planning to sleep in until 7, we were both awake before 6 and were soon up breaking camp (for the last time!!) and preparing for our pancake feast. With our packs set, we sat down to a delicious meal of honey-soaked flapjacks (thanks to some “shake and pour” batter from the general store!).

We hopped the fence intended to keep wayward campers from becoming splatterpaint masterpieces, and headed east along the highway. No more than 100 yards down the road, we both needed to stop and doctor foot ailments. Today’s hike was a continuous struggle to maintain motivation, and sadly, momentum!

The sun crept upward, and the sweat started to roll… slowly, painfully slowly, the miles started to add up behind us. We finally reached Oscoda and, marveling at its surprising quaintness, we enjoyed the sight of a small town with no visible hillbillies! We crossed state street and I broke into a run. I was so impatient to be on the beach, I sprinted – pack and all – the last two blocks. In one fluid motion, I dropped my pack, and collapsed into Lake Huron.

Boots and all...

After donning dry clothes, we headed back west (for the first time in while!) to a tiny little coffee shop where we sipped iced chai lattes until Paul and Kelli arrived to retrieve us. In the car waited not only turkey sandwiches and fresh fruit, but homemade power bars from the farmer’s market – and a bowl of dog food for the G-Man. And all we had to do was hike across the state!

That night, Kelli stuffed us full of stuffed cabbage, bean salad and bread before herding us outside for a boat cruise, followed by a gigantic bonfire. As the full moon rose over Hubbard Lake I thought to myself: “worth every mile.”

Lake Huron...

Let the Training Begin

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Wed, 27 May 2009 01:19:00 +0000

In retrospect, it seems we did something totally and radically different. And it was totally unintentional...

You know us, you love us, and you tolerate our obsessive planning. But, for one reason or another, Erin and I decided we needed to hit the trail and just couldn't be bothered to plan. Normally, we spend months scouting trails, researching backcountry sites, plotting routes - but not this time.

Day 0
I left work Thursday and drove to Traverse City to rendezvous with Mizz E. As is our custom, I store and haul all the gear, so upon arrival, I dumped 12 years worth of equipment on Erin's living room floor to be sorted, checked, and packed for the next day. Plenty of time, no worries... right?

First on our list was a trip to (massive plug) BACKCOUNTRY OUTFITTERS on Front Street for a few last minute purchases - oh yeah, and to figure out why our stove exploded in my face last Sunday. The fact that we even needed to purchase anything the day before a trip was a panic attack in and of itself, but we kept it together. The freakishly handy staff at Backcountry not only exorcised the demons from my stove, but repaired and cleaned them both at no cost. Can't thank them enough - plus Joe is a hottie, and we would never miss an opportunity to oogle him.

After we were fairly certain our stoves would function in a non-lethal fashion, we moved on to yet another loose end: what are we eating?? Yes, friends, we had no food 12 hours before leaving. After a frenetic half hour at Tom's, we managed to acquire all the essentials... and maybe a few extras. Over-packers anonymous here we come.

Day 1
We managed to get everything in decent order that evening and we set out early-ish the next morning. After posing for 2 or 12 departure photos, we bid JuJu adieu and headed toward Gaylord. Now, we did do some research. I called the Pigeon River Country DNR Head Quarters in an effort to grope my way toward an understanding of the trail. We'd been unable to even find a map of the trail, so I figured a ranger would be our best bet. The friendly voice on the line informed me that our chosen path sounded lovely and that, other than a tiny little detour, we'd have a great weekend. She also suggested purchasing a map - what a novel idea! - in Gaylord.

We arrived in Gaylord, acquired said map, but were unable to locate a toothbrush, so we continued on to Vanderbilt and grabbed some last minute junk at the Village Market. We hung a left on Main street and were within miles of the trail head. Suddenly before us loomed a hideous orange sign announcing that the bridge was out, and we had to reverse and follow the detour... oh, that detour. We turned around, and drove about an hour (right back through Gaylord), to the East side of the bridge and arrived at the HQ to receive some more valuable information (what you might even call "unformation"). Did you know the photo in the office of a man in a canoe was taken at one of the sink holes you'll be passing on your route? Wow, I feel so much better now about our total lack of planning. After going over our proposed route - again - with the DNR staff, we felt confident enough to set out.

About an hour later we finally located the trail head, which was marked by a blaze of faded blue paint that must have been applied in 1873 by Lewis Cass himself. This was our official intro to the DNR management style.

Can you spot the blaze??

We were on the trail around 1PM, so we had a short day and camped on the marshy shore of Grass Lake about 6 miles south of the trail head. We were slowed by poor signage (or total lack of signage) that led us astray for a few miles. But the lake was lovely, and gave us some of the only wildlife sightings on this trip. The friendly DNR staffer had told us not to bother bringing our water filter, but we were VERY glad to have it. The southern shore of the lake is a reedy mess completely unsuitable for consumption. To pump just 32 ounces took 10 minutes, and required the filter to be cleaned at least once. The resultant liquid was a shade of amber that had we not been desperate, would have turned us off entirely.

Erin lounges at Charmin Junction.

The one feature of this camp site that was immediately noticeable - and even more off putting then the water - were the welcome banners of TP strewn about the trail and woods as you approached the site. C'mon people, six inches means six inches! That night I dreamt I was shopping at Jay's Sporting Goods in Gaylord, and as I walked by the archery targets (plastic dear and whatnot), I saw a perfectly rolled length of toilet paper resting on a fake log....

Day 2

Perhaps it was because this trip had such an odd beginning, but for whatever reason, we had a really hard time getting motivated for Day 2. We normally power through the miles every day, but this day we had a super slow morning and hit the trail late - we have no idea how late since I packed in such a rush I never found my watch. We hadn't made it far before we happened upon the most peaceful bend in the river. We decided it was an absolute imperative that we stop and have a snack at this spot. Nearly 2 hours later, we reluctantly packed up and hiked on.

Erin soaks up the serenity.

We hiked back into the woods, away from our beloved river bend, and were soon confronted by one of the most spectacular features of the Pigeon River Country, the sinkholes. The name does them little justice, but if there is any reason to tolerate the DNR and their uselessness, it's to come see the sinkholes. We were told the water was amazing on a clear sunny day, but we were plenty amazed at their color on an overcast morning.

Gunner takes a dainty sip.

Shortly after seeing Junction 4 Lake (aka a pretty sinkhole), we were met with a sign indicating that the portion of trail we'd planned to hike that afternoon was closed - yes, the same portion of the trail we asked the DNR staffers if we could hike. It turns out that the bridge detour - yes, that detour - was also affecting the trail. We followed the sign's suggested alternate route instead. This route included a lovely tour of clear cut forest wastelands (yes, the DNR allows logging), and miles of loose, sandy two track roads. Possibly the most memorable aspect of the alternate route was the intense vehicular traffic that kicked up clouds of dust that coated us in a dry film.

We're on track, but to where?

The alternate trail (aka crappy seasonal road) deposited us on the West side of the bridge on Sturgeon Valley Road... and can you guess which side we needed to be on? That's right, the "alternate trail" lead us directly to the bridge we'd spent hours circumnavigating the day before. Yes, THAT detour. We still cannot fathom why 1. the alternate trail ended on the wrong side of a detour and 2. why no one at the DNR HQ mentioned this hiccup... But hey, that is where we found ourselves and we needed to find a solution.

Erin knows how to flag a ride.

Our first thought was to hitch to the other side via that very same annoying detour. As we stood considering our options, several cars wizzed by and - unlike us- did not turn around and pursue the poorly signed detour, but instead hung a left onto the very same dusty two track we'd just left. We decided it would be too depressing to hitch hike 3 miles back to the place you just left, so we headed into the construction site to check out this bridge situation.

Northern Michigan Wilderness.

The bridge was nonexistent, but luckily, we had arrived on a Saturday when all the workers were gone. We helped ourselves to the rickety plywood causeway that had been erected for their use, and happily closed that chapter of our trip. We stopped briefly in Pigeon Bridge campground to rinse the dust off, and plotted the rest of our day. It was already 3PM, and we'd expended nearly all our reserves of mental energy grappling with the detour, so we decided to hike a mile or so north of the campground and make camp. As we left the campground, we again struggled to grasp the DNR's system of trail marking, as various trails would be simultaneously listed on a map and not present in reality.

About a mile up the trail, we found a peaceful little meadow alongside the river (remember that serene little bend?) and toyed with the idea of setting up camp. When we walked in further off the trail, there was absolutely no breeze and the humid air just hung in the tall grass. We hiked another mile and settled on a glade nestled in a pine forest. It was lovely for about 20 minutes - exactly the amount of time it took us to unpack, set up the tent, and start cooking dinner. We were pretty well established in the site by the time a squadron of mosquitoes descended upon us. They were completely unfazed by all attempts to make ourselves less appealing. Being stalwart campers, however, we persevered.

Chef Kate attempts to camouflage herself with a kitchen towel.

It was around this time that we decided we had no interest in sharing another night with the DNR, or the bugs, so we planned to hike out the next day. Thus, we enjoyed some last-night-on-the-trail luxuries including wine and Jiffy Pop (best 8 ounces we've ever carried).

Totally worth it.

Day 3
We had been chased into our tent by 5.30 the previous night, so we were up and out of camp by 6.30AM. We hadn't spent much time planning the day's route - otherwise we would have known better - but we hit the trail with enthusiasm, dreaming of the french fries and milkshakes awaiting us in Gaylord (we'd decided we would be lunching at Big Boy). This day was a total blur of green and brown. We hiked north into a deep forest that alternated between green conifers and green deciduous trees. We considered this mental training for the "Green Tunnel" on the AT. Next was a roller coaster of trail zigzagging up spines and down noses, revealing even more logging sites. We occasionally broke from the forest (mostly because it had been cut down), and traveled briefly along seasonal roads. We found the source of our confusion on Day 1 when we stumbled upon several downed trees bearing blue blazes that had been knocked down by loggers and not replaced by the DNR. We ended up hiking 11 miles and were off the trail by noon.

Holly the Hiker says "We Can Do It!"

With our feet numb and legs in searing pain, we collapsed into the car and promptly drove straight to Big Boy to celebrate.

Ode to my Oldest Friend

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Wed, 20 May 2009 00:28:00 +0000

I had a little housewarming party a few weeks ago, just family and a few friends. We had a really nice evening, good drinks, good conversation, and Erin made some spectacular food. One of the best things about the party though had nothing to do with the events of the evening, but with the confluence of friends.

Occasionally I find myself a little nervous at the idea of having two of my friends meet one another for the first time. I wonder "will my drinking buddy work friend like my intellectually uninhibited school friend?" And I find that usually the answer is "no." A few years back I decided it was about damn time that two of my dearest friends met one another. I embarked on this journey with extreme trepidation remembering all the boyfriends either or both of them had hated (and unceremoniously chased away).

The day Ally met Erin was beyond perfect. It was as if all these years my relationship with each of them had been missing the other. I suddenly realized what unbelievable luck I had to not only have to magical best friends, but that they were now friends... wow.

I say Ally is my oldest friend in this world, and this is true only because Erin was such a whiny baby when we were kids, that I refused to play with her until we were adolescents (she's way cooler now, and has ditched the Barbies). Ally, on the other hand, I knew to be the epitome of coolness from the day we sat next to one another in art class. She was aloof, insightful, witty and intelligent... oh man, did I want to be her.

Looking back on this day, more than 10 years later (which is hard to even type, let alone believe), I remember how much I idolized Ally for her bold, unapologetic self. I'd never seen someone so confident. It was as if once she formed her belief, she was taking down anyone who dared challenge it... She was truly masterful. Ally was my fashion, attitude, and music hero.

I no longer wish I were Ally the way I did then - and this is not because she has in any way become less perfect and amazing. Rather, I have realized that Ally is perfect and amazing, and that if I were perfect and amazing in all the same ways, our friendship would have fizzled out years ago. I love the crazy, wild, offensive things she says because I would never have the nerve to say them myself. I see now that if I'd succeeded in making myself like her, we never would have been the power-bitch duo that terrorized 6th graders and French teachers alike.

The best part about Ally is that she is relentlessly prying me from my shell (and usually shouting "no one likes a p*ssy!" while she's at it). At the housewarming party, Ally was the first to notice cars pulling up to my neighbor's house. She was immediately intrigued, and insisted we were going to go crash and meet my neighbor - something Cautious Kate would never dream of doing. After pulling on my sleeve for 2 hours, she gave up on me, grabbed a drink and walked straight over to the other party and started introducing herself as their new neighbor, meeting every stranger with her trademark cool smile that says "I don't care one way or the other if you like me, but hand me a beer, wouldya?" After ingratiating herself to my neighbor, she returned to my house to deliver her report. Within minutes, she had chased Erin and I upstairs and we were changing our clothes, re-applying make up and donning higher heels and tighter jeans.

Where does a tiny woman like her get bravery like that?

New Noah Picture

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Wed, 20 May 2009 00:20:00 +0000

In celebration of a mini-milestone (Noah turns 20 weeks old today!), here is an updated portrait of me and my wee burrito:

Progress Report - Long Overdue

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Tue, 19 May 2009 23:59:00 +0000

As you're all aware (and I should have known) this restoration has been a bit like a crescendo, wherein each project undertaken reveals 4 more and everything just keeps piling up (see previous posts about loss of sanity). So, as you might expect, the Katie-Do List has gotten longer with time.

I've now owned my house for 5 1/2 months, and I've officially inhabited it for 1. The project is by no means "completed," and veteran home owners like to tell me the project is never "completed." So with that in mind, here is what I've been up to over at 1480:

Things I'm currently working on:
1. Exterior paint/Stucco work
2. Lawn/Garden rehabilitation
3. Build/Install kitchen cabinets to match original built-ins

Things I've completed:
1. Strip trim/cabinets in kitchen
2. Stain & Poly trim/cabinets
3. Scrape/brush basement walls
4. Waterproof basement walls
5. Tear out master bathroom
6. Total bathroom overhaul including:
a. Repair joists & replace sub-floor
b. New plumbing
c. New walls and skim coat on ceiling
d. New tile in master bathroom
e. New bathroom fixtures
f. Install insanely complicated shower curtain ring
11. Electrical overhaul
12. Replace lead/galvanized plumbing throughout
13. Misc. carpentry: basement stairs/joists
14. New furnace
15. Re-build/plaster master bedroom wall and closet
16. Scape and sand paint from bedroom walls
17. Skim bedroom walls
18. ReFinish wood floors throughout
19. Interior paint throughout

I'm getting around to posting updated photos, so bear with me.

New Noah Pictures

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Sat, 31 Jan 2009 23:25:00 +0000

My little burrito was released from the hospital about 2 weeks ago, and has put on 2 lbs since then. He is still -1 week old, as his due date was Feb 6th, but he seems to be doing just fine. Noah is getting ready for his first trip to meet family back in the mother country, and even sat for his first passport picture this week.

Restore My Sanity and My House

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Sat, 31 Jan 2009 22:16:00 +0000

Cautious Kate, ready for action.

Over the last couple months of home restoration, it's become clear that there are some projects that tax you more than others. I wish I could say stripping 80 years of paint from the kitchen was only physically painful.

Erin and I began work on Dec 13th by removing the cabinets from the built-ins, removing the hardware, and applying a nasty chemical stripper (which we later learned was slowly killing us). After a few beginner's errors, we had the majority of the paint scraped away from 5 cabinet doors and 2 drawers - I'd estimate this took us at least 3 days. The lesson gleaned from this was that paint LOVES cracks and cranies, so prepare yourself accordingly. You may want to, before beginning a day's work, do some mental strength-building exercises -- maybe some meditation even -- before you take that metal scraper to that 80 year old walnut door.

We then began sanding the cabinet doors and drawers (mostly by hand, as Skil makes the shittiest 1/4 sheet sander known to man, and it repeatedly failed to get the job done) - I'd estimate this took about 5 days total. Be prepared to waste your money on this step. Why just buy one crappy sander when you can own 3 or 4? try a variety before settling on the worst one and blowing hundreds of dollars on sand paper to fit each unique aparatus.

Then we moved back into the kitchen itself, we attempted to use a caustic stripper on the baseboards and trim with very little success. Often, it would not stay in place, or go on thick enough to be effective. We switched to a more eco/skin friendly version called "Strip Away," which - after realizing you MUST cover active stripping agent with plastic - we managed to scrape off the last layers of stubborn paint and varnish. Meanwhile, the casutic stripper had been eating through the biodegradable plastic drop-cloth, chewing through the floor's varnish, and depositing multi-colored paint in a seagull shit-esque pattern on the kitchen floor. It's a real conversation starter. What's that famous quote?.. something like "every invention that solves a problem, creates 10 more problems"? YES. YES. Y-E-S. At this stage you may want to sell your house and cut your losses. So what if there are no cabinets or trim in the kitchen? It's "rustic."

"Is that poo on your floor?"

Erin bailed out and left for Singapore before the last of the paint came off, so she missed out on a lot of mental anguish (but she'd earned a vacation). Phyllis took over for her during the week preceding New Year's, and we managed to start sanding shortly thereafter. At this stage, it's important that you be honest with yourself. Ask yourself some important questions: Do you ever want to move into this house? Do you ever really want to have children? If the answer to either is "No," then go ahead and sand without drop cloths or barriers between rooms. Yes, let that dust float freely throughout your home, depositing microscopic toxins in every nook and cranny. Hell, why don't you turn up the heat and get some air movin' in there??

Dust-control measures taken 3 weeks too late...

The paint was mostly sanded away about a 2 weeks later - working with 60 grit paper on a DeWalt 5" orbital. We did a fine sand (maybe 150 grit), and called it good. Now bear in mind this project begun on Dec 12, and the paint removal alone took a month. By mid-January it was becoming very tempting to entertain thoughts of our imminent completion. But, when you think about it real hard, you're nowhere near done, are you? And soon the project is once again so overwhelming that you're completely paralyzed by anxiety. That's much better.

As with any project worth undertaking, the enormity of the task(s) was only apparent long long after the point of no return. At this point we're in the process of staining the trim, cabinets, etc. to match the window sills (which were thankfully spared from layers of chromatic abuse). So we're almost done, right...?

You may also want to consider how you will deal with friends and family during this trying time. Acquaintences are going to periodically tour your home to monitor your progress. It does not matter how frequent these visits are, they will all say the same things each time:

First, they will marvel at just how much work you have ahead of you, unaware of your imminent meltdown. "Wow, what a big job."

Second, they will thank their creator - aloud - that they are not you. "Man, that's a huge job you got there."

Finally, they will - in an effort to encourage you to perservere - tell you "it'll look great when it's done though..." And it will.

Will Work For Food... No, Really.

Progress Report

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Sat, 31 Jan 2009 21:31:00 +0000

Apologies go out to those of you to whom I swore I'd send photos. Here's a very belated update on the many many projects going on at 1480.

Things we're currently working on:
1. Strip trim/cabinets in kitchen (DONE!)
2. Stain & Poly trim/cabinets
3. Scrape/brush basement walls (DONE!)
4. re-waterproof basement walls
5. Tear out existing bathroom (DONE!)
6. Repair bathroom joists & replace sub-floor (DONE!)
7. Rough in plumbing (DONE!)
8. Replace/repair bathroom/dining room plaster (DONE!)
9. Lay new tile (work in progress)
10. Install new bathroom fixtures
11. Electrical overhaul (DONE!)
12. Replace lead/galvanized plumbing throughout house (DONE!)
13. Misc. carpentry including basement stairs/joists (DONE!)
14. New furnace (DONE!)

Coming attractions:
1. Restore windows
2. Rebuilt chimney/misc. masonry
3. New light fixtures
4. Strip/refinish 1350 sq. ft. of wood floors
5. New flashing on roof
6. Exterior stucco work & paint

Some shots of the progress we've made....

Kitchen cabinets BEFORE

Kitchen Cabinets minus 10 shades of paint.... Work in progress

Guest bathroom BEFORE

Guest bathroom AFTER

Furnace BEFORE

Furnace AFTER

Master Bathroom*... Work in Progress:

*While these photos were taken over a month ago, things look pretty similar today. The photos don't show it well, but the floor joists were actually warped from the weight of 4" of concrete that comprised the original floor. The old joists were so notched out that new joists had to be put in to level the floor. Next the plumbing was roughed in, then the sub-floor, now we're working on tile (and by "working" I obviously mean "waiting for tile guy to show up").

Big Thank-You's to:

Wendell Hutchinson
Hutchinson's Electric
(Waterford)
248.623.8480

Brett Severson, the magic plaster man
T.H. Marsh Construction
(Royal Oak)
248.586.4130

Stan Moore
S&B Plumbing
(Waterford)
248.623.8888

Jim Tanner
Tanner Building & Construction
(Clarkston)
248.625.5636

Who's your Auntie??

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 23:36:00 +0000

Introducing Mr. Noah Vincent Shea

My tiny burrito

Becky and I in the NICU

I was just getting around to posting photos from Becky's baby shower when I got a call from Tim yesterday saying Noah was already here!

So here he is! finally! After 10 years of waiting, we got to meet Noah today. He was born Dec. 30th at 1.56 pm, he weighs 4lbs, and is 17" long. He has huge dark dark blue eyes, and downy brown hair. He'll be in his little pod in the NICU for a couple weeks before he goes home (hopefully just about the time his nursery is done).

Thanksgiving 2008, Part IV

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 01:14:00 +0000

Race Results are finally in...

Erin, Phyllis and I ran in the Turkey Trot on Thursday morning. The results of the race remained a mystery for days, however, as the web site imploded on Thursday afternoon as 10,000 runners attempted to view their times.

Anyhow, here they are:

Erin ran the 5k in 28min, placing 26th in her age class (of 250 women aged 20-25), 160th by gender (of 1900+ women of all ages), and 519th overall (of 3300+ runners). That's a 8.75 min pace.

After 3.1 miles of -- rather unsuccessfully -- attempting to keep up with Erin, I took advantage of her having never ran this race before (and thus not knowing the route) and sprinted past her in the final .1 mile, finishing a whopping 1 second before her. Totally unsporting, I know.

Phyllis ran the 5k in 33min, placing 6th in her age class, 592nd by gender, and 1360th overall.

Nicely done ladies...

Thanksgiving 2008, Part III

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 01:09:00 +0000

Down on the Farm...

The Annual Bake Off gets underway.

Miguel and Graham do not participate...

Hunting for the perfect tree.

Nick & Erin with their kill.

Thanksgiving 2008, Part II

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 00:55:00 +0000

Eat, Drink, and be Merry...

Cocktail hour begins.

3 Martinis and a glass of wine...

Same.

Cocktails make them sing.

Ted, Julie, Graham and Becky.

Miguel and Erin.

Thanksgiving 2008, Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Thu, 27 Nov 2008 23:03:00 +0000

26th Annual Detroit Turkey Trot:

Erin & Kate getting into the spirit.

The girls get ready to run...

Phyllis, JuJu & me, watching the Hudson's Parade

I May Have Spoken Too Soon....

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 00:27:00 +0000

So, I jumped the gun slightly when I wrote yesterday that the house purchase was falling through. I got a phone call this morning (yes, on a Sunday) from my Realtor that went a little something like this...
. . .

Realtor: Hi Kate, I have a question for you.

Kate: Shoot.

Realtor: Will you be happy if I tell you that you got the house??

Kate: Is that what you're telling me?!

Realtor: Yes, I am.

Kate: shriek. silence. sobbing.
. . .

Here is a photo of my NEW HOUSE!!! It's a 1929 Craftsman bungalow in the village of Sylvan Lake ("The Prettiest Little City in the State").

That paint color has GOT to go...
I think it's called "Boredom Beige."

View of the living room from the stairs.

Oooh... Original wood work.

Breakfast nook. Like the avocado counter tops??

Third bedroom (a.k.a. my new studio!).

Living room window, looking out over my porch.

I may be turning this photo essay into a house restoration blog. At the very least, I will try my best to keep you all updated on any progress I make on the house (there will be PLENTY of work to write about and photograph).

Photos, but no Essay today

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Sat, 01 Nov 2008 21:09:00 +0000

I have been sifting through photos today, and thought these were worth sharing...

Sweet Victory.

Me, Graham, and Miguel atop Sleeping Bear Dunes.

My fuzz, Natty at my Birthday Party.

Gunner in Nashville.

Me and my girl, good bye lunch.

The PDI gang at the UAE Embassy.

Kate & Steph's Tourist-for-a-day Day.

Eastern Market after the fire.

DC sunrise from the bus.

Hey Y'all, That's Lake Louise!

Miguel refusing to get out of bed.

The great Annual Bake-Off

On the farm, Thanksgiving '06

Jamie Cullum Part 2

My very first Jumbo Slice.

Me and E-rine in Singapore.

Nationals, junior year.

As Winter Approaches...

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Sat, 01 Nov 2008 16:24:00 +0000

Outsiders are often tempted to believe that those of us who, whether by choice or coercion, live in the unforgiving MidWest, would grow accustomed to the long, dark winters. Sadly, this just isn't so, and even we veterans fall under the wicked spell of winter. Around this time of year, each and every year, we begin a process of cycling-down, a sort of pre-hibernation ritual marked by a shift of our energies. We retreat from the outside world with a sharp decrease in physical activity and choose instead to dwell almost entirely indoors. Not so long ago, we took time to call on our neighbors, walk the streets, or spend afternoons devoted to yard work. Somehow, we are perennially surprised to find these activities have no indoor equivalent to replace them and we are left alone... to think.

As the days are growing both colder and shorter here in the arctic Middle West, we tend to become a bit introspective. Much as our lives cease to exist out of doors, our minds turn inward and engage in a series of self-interrogations.

What's on our minds, you ask? Well, any number of mundane annoyances, like household chores and family obligations, can consume our conscious time these days. But it's those just-under-the-surface thoughts that are most troubling. It seems that the deepest days of autumn alert us to the certainty of five consecutive months of boredom that will soon be upon us. The first frost acts as a sad winter pantomime that suggests a much earlier time when you may not have made it 'til spring (remember the Grasshopper? He lived in Michigan). And thus, when being pelted by the season's first stinging hail storm, each summer-loving Michiganian wonders not only how they will occupy themselves all winter, but also whether they spent their warmer days wisely.

Autumn in Michigan is almost like Yom Kippur in Antarctica. As the darkness descends, we fret over the number of times the boat got used, whether we devoted sufficient time to camping, picnicking, and star-gazing, worried it may never lift again.

This fall I find myself more vulnerable than usual to such thoughts. I'll tell you no lies, my life has been great this year, I have little to whine about, and my naturally buoyant personality prevents me from being completely serious as I write all this. However -- as only a few of you are aware -- I experienced a rather life-altering event this Summer, the effects of which I'm still shaking off. In early summer, June the 13th to be precise, I was one of two victims of a rather horrific near-drowning. We survived, obviously, but we have both been left with lingering -- although widely different -- feelings about the event specifically, and life more broadly.

I had miraculously no physical signs of injury save bruises and cuts hidden under my clothes. But the accident took me out of commission for quite some time. Thesis, travel, work, family. Everything was shoved aside. I literally couldn't function that first month. I battled emotional and physical reactions to the stress. I struggled to follow the plot of TV commercials, started losing my hair, had no appetite, and was covered in rashes of unknown origin where the tree had been pressed against my body.

Desperate for relief, I soon replaced paralysis with constant, frenetic work, and was able to forget my experience for brief stretches by equating busyness to progress. This strategy allowed me to complete my thesis, pass my language exam, travel a bit, and smile when being sung "Happy Birthday." By all accounts I had recovered, but I longed to scream in the faces of passing strangers that they were lucky to see me, and that I was justified to feel rage. I tried exercise, therapy, baking, anything. But I still wanted to bark back at the neighbor's dogs, and I still couldn't process what had happened to me -- or was it what had nearly happened?

By August I was inundated with happy events. Erin was home, Aimee and Minh married, my big sister pregnant, and our "non-traditional" family enlarged. I felt real joy for all these things, and I was able to forget for longer stretches. Nightmares were less frequent, flash backs less gripping (thesis turned in!). Then I got a job.

As my time became less and less my own, I unwittingly invented new ways to distract myself - how about buying a 100 year old house this Fall?? It appears, as I write today, the purchase will fall through, and my job is settling down. So, when all of Summer's frivolity and activity have tapered off, I, like every other MidWesterner, am left to contemplate my life.

I cannot be sure that a day will ever come when I don't remember the way my mother looked, blurred but brilliantly visible, as my face was dragged below the rushing water, or the way it felt to be so completely helpless - to give up. But I cannot be entirely sure I want that day to come. The memories of the accident remind me not only to be grateful and intentional in all that I do, but also remind me of strength, family, and all those things I almost lost that day.

Rather unexpectedly, it has reminded me of Bobby, and how my story nearly became his. I was tortured for weeks by the idea that my friends were almost put through the pain of a second classmate's body being pulled from a river on the evening news. And while each October I unconsciously spend time thinking of all the things he has missed, this October I was closer to him than perhaps I had been in life, and felt his benign presence everywhere I went. I hesitate to discuss these thoughts with people, for fear that they - as many have - will respond with the apparently logical "Yes, that almost happened. But it didn't, you should be so thankful."

"But," I want to say, "I was grateful before, so what shall I be now??" And wouldn't it be so much easier if all I had to learn from this was gratitude?

While I have yet to process these events entirely, I do feel that Autumn will prove to be the perfect time for thinking them over again. And perhaps taking this second look, without hurry or the desire to "move on," might allow me to glean a little something from them. I hate to leave you with so few answers and so little conclusion, but I do hope to leave you with the urge to do a little more reflection than usual this Fall.

Oddly enough, this post began after unearthing a photo from Aimee's birthday 2 years ago that got me reminiscing. Take it as you will, but it was unplanned and not intended as a Reader's Digest "survivor's story." I spose it was just an open letter to the rain gods.

Seems like ages ago.

Welcome Home Baby Erin

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 02:49:00 +0000

Me and Err-Berr relax in Central Park.

Table for four?

Always travel on a full stomach.

As some Notebook readers may be aware, my dear friend and cousin Erin spent several months
this summer studying in Cairo, Egypt. Ever the world traveler, Ms. Rosner used her time in Cairo to her advantage, taking time for side trips to Mt. Sinai and other regional sites. To celebrate her return to the united states and the near co-occurrence of my own birthday with that of my brother, we gathered in New York for a relaxing long weekend. Having waited, as usual, until the last possible moment to book my flight, I arrived 3 hours before Erin's flight from Cairo. With a stomach full of some particularly foul airport food, and a lingering numbness in my ass, I collected Erin and promptly shoved her in a cab bound for Chelsea.

We spent much of that day recovering from our travel and catching up. Bright and early Saturday we were off in search of what some consider the mecca of all things baked and buttered: Once Upon a Tart. We fell in love with the shop a number of years ago after I purchased their eponymous cookbook, from which I've pilfered nearly all my "famous" recipes. After treating ourselves to a feast of tarts, soups, salads, and madelines, we waddled back out into the streets to explore. (We made a point of stopping back before leaving to be sure we'd tried one of everything).

We spent much of the remainder of that day shopping and touring and eating. Sunday was a real treat. We not only browsed the local flea markets, we trekked to the farmers market to plan the menu for our birthday picnic, to be held the following day on Governor's Island. As luck would have it, the entire day proceeding was waterlogged and grey. Thus, the picnic was turned indoors and we feasted on what seemed like mountains of fresh local produce. Fingerling potatoes with dijon vinagrette and fresh taragon, quinoa salad with pheasant sausage were just two of the taste treats we enjoyed that weekend.

Before leaving, we took advantage of the close proximity of Chelsea Market and scored loads of ice cream and other goodies from Green Table (an entirely local, sustainable, organic restaurant in the Market). I highly recommend trying all their rotating ice cream flavors (our favorites were sweet corn, yes corn, and coffee). The menu is seasonal, so options change rapidly.

The weekend was both a lovely way to celebrate with Graham, and a fun -- if a little over-fed -- re-entry party for Erin. I look forward to the next time she goes away, so that we might all get together to welcome her back.

We should to this every year... as spectators.

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 02:16:00 +0000

View from our villa.

Celebrating with the designer backstage.

Delicious and Handmade.

The Tent - set up on the beach, where all the shows were held.

After yet another long respite, it's time to get back to writing down my adventures. When we last left off, I had just returned from 2 weeks in Hyeres, France. Our time there was lovely, and enough cannot be said about the town, its charming inhabitants, its delightful weather, or its picturesque location. We rented a villa atop a mountain (perhaps a foothill to those living outside the MidWest) overlooking the sea and the town of Hyeres proper. The villa was truly amazing and supplied every luxury a group of vagabond fashionistas could dream of.

The shows.
The runway shows were held once each evening from Friday through Sunday, culminating with several prizes being bestowed upon a trio of the designers. Sunday night, the weekend was capped off with a dance party of epic proportions held at Villa Noaillels overlooking the city. While he did not receive an award, a certain Mister Graham Tabor shone quite brightly in his own right. Graham was not only the sole American invited to show at Hyeres, he was also one of only 2 menswear designers. After several near catastrophes, Graham and his crew of dedicated colleagues put on
an incredible show that will linger in our memories for some time to come.

Following the excitement of the Feastival D'Hyeres, we traveled to Paris for a few days. The weather was gloomy, but the members of Team Graham Tabor seemed bouyant after such a successful weekend. Their time in Hyeres seems to have been well spent, as Graham and his crew have since received a great deal of media attention for their work. Graham's collection, accompanied by photographs by Miguel Villalobos was included as an official event at Paris Men's Fashion week. As the only American -- and most talented -- designer at Hyeres, Graham was also the focus of a number of media spots following the Festival.

The trip was a whirlwind of work interspersed with goofiness and the enjoyment of good company. Graham has surrounded himself with a group of loving and talented people, and it was quite an honor to be allowed to tag along.

Thinking of Going?
The Festival D'Hyeres is held in late April each year in Hyeres France (Connect at CDG, continuing on through Orley Ouest by bus, then to Toulons). Make sure you can drive manual transmission before renting a car and attempting the winding narrow mountain roads.

Must Sees.
Take a day to visit nice, a short and very scenic drive down the coast from Hyeres. Shop the Medieval markets and enjoy the promenade along the water. Consider a pair of handmade leather sandals, local olives, visit the flower market for a pleasant stroll. Unless you like wasting time and money, you can skip the trip to Monte Carlo. The scenery is lovely, but can be found in far less congested spots.

Be sure to visit the shops in the old district of Hyeres. There are numerous patissieries well worth nibbling your way through. The tiny stone streets are not only a window to another time, but seem to have preserved aspects of French culture and food within their shops. Try the fresh handmade pastas, or sample traditional biscuits. The square provides a pleasant setting for lunch or an afternoon tea. Remember that food is serious business and restaurants will close periodically throughout the day, so plan accordingly.

Making Headlines

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Thu, 08 May 2008 14:49:00 +0000

Dear Notebook Readers,
Click here to read a very nice article written about my students at Pontiac's Lincoln Junior High School. Sadly, the wonderful photos of the kids were not included in the online version, but the article is great nonetheless. We truly appreciate all the support the community has shown us this semester. Also, an update on my class: Wednesday marked the first successful mediations undertaken by my students. As usual, they surpassed all my expectations and proved just how enthusiastic and dedicated they really are.

Peace,
k

PS: Please excuse the goofy scenario that opens the article. After I refused to divulge any actual conflicts my students had shared with me, the journalist invented "Rosalie" and "Edward."

Festival D'Hyeres 2008

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Thu, 08 May 2008 14:26:00 +0000

Dear Notebook readers,
please take a minute to check out the fabulous interviews Diane Pernet conducted with some of the members of Team Graham Tabor. Also, there are a number of beautiful photographs by Miguel Villalobos showcasing Graham's collection designed for the 2008 Festival D'Hyeres. My posting, along with photos and videos, from this event is in the works. Stay tuned.

Peace,
k

Here is a sneak preview of our time in Hyeres....

"Road Trippin' with my Two Favorite Allies"

noreply@blogger.com (Kate Tabor) — Thu, 01 May 2008 10:41:00 +0000

Heaven Pie.

Daddy and his girls.

On the Gulf.

Bicentennial Park.

Nerd Alert in Nashville.

Exploring the Mammoth Cave Gift Shop.

Grouchy-Puss Erin is camera shy today...

The idea of a road trip hatched long before it ever occurred. Its final form was the result of minimal funding and my mother's strong will. When it came time to buy plane tickets, they were far beyond our budget, and the rental car became the next best option. However, as is the way of mothers everywhere, Phyllis was "the decider" and declared herself unwilling to allow us to set foot in a rental. She ponied up her own car, and planning continued.

As usual, we packed enough food for 8 growing boys rather than two delicate flowers such as ourselves. We crammed all our treats and treasures into the car, leaving a Gunner-sized nest on the backseat, where he road out the adventure.

Day 1: Erin had to work, or go to class, or something of a lame nature until mid-afternoon. I arrived with the Gman in tow, made room for her gear, and we were off. A sudden blizzard slowed us slightly as we neared the Ohio border, but in reality it was more a spectacle than a nuisance, producing only big, puffy flakes that bobbed around before landing and melting on the asphalt. Then the rain came, and followed us for the remainder of our time in Michigan, as well as Ohio, and Kentucky. We arrived in Harrodsburg, KY around 10pm and spent our first night with dear family friends whom I hadn't seen in years. We stayed up late into the early morning hours talking with Christine and generally basking in her truly inspiring being. After a beer and a walk around the farm, it was bed time -- though Carmen the beagle had other plans. She dashed off snuffling after some animal, only to return hours later and implore us to follow her to what she'd found.

Day 2: Christine treated us the next morning to a feast of blueberry pancakes, and Dawson regaled us with name and instrument of each attendee at his shell party. We stayed and enjoyed the company and conversation of our hosts until time dictated our departure. We took off in the direction of Louisville, but soon decided we should skip Churchill Downs in favor of a relaxed pace in the afternoon. Instead, we headed to Elizabethtown, yes that one. We arrived in a deluge and attempted to navigate the surprisingly vacant town. Once we had our bearings, we made a stop at the Vault Cafe, where we were plied with exquisitely greasy fare and sweet tea until we thought we might not walk again. After learning all we needed to know about the town (that it looked nothing like the film and boasted few open businesses) we drove on toward Mammoth Cave. We arrived in the park just as the rain stopped and purchased tickets to the final tour of the day. Having been there before I was aware of what this tour was lacking -- chiefly a giant cave. The tour was short and informative, but skipped the more impressive bits in favor of a history lesson. Our tour guide was fabulous, however, and coached me as to how I might best begin my career as a park ranger - watch out Ranger Degue! After our tour, we drove south toward Nashville, arriving just after sunset. We collected ourselves and headed out for a night on the town. Seeing as it was a Friday night, we were appalled at the utter lack of night life: outside of karaoke bars and a Kid Rock concert, entertainment was thin on the ground. We had a delicious dinner and cocktails before turning in.

Day 3: We woke around 8 to check out of our hotel. After discovering that the "free breakfast" consisted of mini Sara Lee donuts, we packed up the car and headed back into the city for a picnic in Bicentennial Park. It's fair to say that this picnic saved Nashville in our minds. After a wonderful breakfast en plein air, we took an unguided walking tour of the city. What a fabulous town. It seemed to us that only the college kids and tourists had been out the night before, and Saturday morning brought the re-emergence of actual residents. The town was not only very attractive, but entertaining, even on a budget of $0.

We were sad to leave Nashville after our wonderful morning, but Montgomery, AL was calling our names. We arrived just in time for lunch, but were more in need of a restroom than a picnic. We scoured the downtown area only to realize nothing -- NOT A THING -- was open. The one cafe in town was closed on weekends, clearly on there to serve the work a day crowd. After settling on a rather unsavory gas station (where the ladies room key was chained to a hubcap), we headed back to Freedom Park and cracked to cooler for another abundant picnic. We had planned to see the park as well as the 16th Street Baptist Church, which was conveniently located across the street from the park. After killing both birds we made note of how completely depressing the town was (more bombed out that Detroit), and moved on.

We drove straight East from Montgomery until we reached Atlanta. Our sole purpose in stopping here was to nab a slice of lemon icebox pie at the Silver Skillet. We drove south of the city and stopped at a Waffle House to determine where to stay the night and have some vittles. However, as we pulled off the road, we noticed traffic heading north back into the city was at a standstill. We debated whether to stay or move on until the worst service in the world drove us south.

We had intended to drive the next day until reaching Ocala, FL and then spend the next morning with Erin's grandparents in Punta Gorda before crossing the causeway to Sanibel. However, as we neared Ocala, it became clear that spring break was in full swing, and there was no room at the inn. After literally 4 hours of searching, we finally found a room in Punta Gorda. We checked in at 6.30am, received a generous locals' discount, sneaked Gunner into the room and crashed.

Day 4: We awoke early and headed for the GP's condo. After a tour of the joint, a wonderful surprise lunch and some good conversation, we had to hit the road again. We arrived on the Island shortly thereafter and I gave Erin a quick tour. We got to the house and after acquiring bicycles, we took a leisurely stroll down to the Lazy Flamingo, my requisite first-day-home dinner spot.

Day 5 - Day 9: The days we spent on the island are a total blur. I remember compulsively over-eating, laying on the beach, meeting old friends at the Bean for chats over lemonade, and relaxing bike rides (well, maybe not ALL relaxing).

Day 10: We hit the road around 10am, headed for Savannah, GA. We, as you may have noticed, planned a great deal of our trip around food. Thus, it should come as no surprise that we hoped only to dine in Savannah before heading further north. However, our dreams were dashed by an evil automated reservation system, and we re-routed back to Atlanta. We arrived late that night and, after an unpleasant run-in with the clerk at a rather janky Days Inn, we went to sleep. I had also become separated from my wallet earlier in the day, which made paying for the room that much more of a treat. A day had never been shittier, and bed had never looked so good.

Day 11: After about 3 hours sleep, we jumped out of bed and made haste to leave the hell-tel. We arrived at the Silver Skillet 10 minutes after opening and, much to our surprise, there were only 2 slices of lemon ice box pie left! After the most wonderful slice of heaven, we were treated to sammiches on homemade biscuits and never-ending coffee. We rolled ourselves to the car and continued north. Somewhere around Ohio we kicked ourselves for not having taken that second slice for the road. We arrived in East Lansing around 9 that night, pleased with our early return, we said good night, and I drove back East toward home.

As does all travel, this trip provided us with some wonderful insights, here are a few of my favorites:

If you lose your wallet in the vicinity of a Starbucks, call there first, because their employees are actually angels in baristas' aprons just waiting to help you out.

Regardless of what you say, your grandparents will stuff you with food you didn't think you needed. This does often result in the ingestion of thousands of calories, but also in the discovery of new favorites, like key lime pie.

Just because they seem nice on the Food Network, doesn't mean they want you in their restaurant. Trust the Splendid Table, not the Lady and Sons.

A kennel that charges $5 a day, is probably not worth it.

Children do best without TV. Yes, I can hear the flutes.

Coconuts on the ground need not be opened.

Captiva is NOT 6 miles away.