Over the Plains, Summer 2022, and Travels with a Toddler

     This summer I took a drive from Northern Michigan to the Colorado Rockies with my husband (who shall be henceforth fondly termed under that name, or at times, when I feel cheesy, The Last Knight), and our then eleven-month-old daughter, whom I have not yet given a cheesy anonymous title.  (She is currently nearing fifteen months, and intimating that nursing her is more important than typing.  Excuse me.)

    That interlude complete, and the child trying to climb my chair with less distress, let's move on to that complicated topic, travel with small children.  

I plan to cover highlights of that trip in a series of posts, one of which I have already posted, but in setting out more from the beginning, I decided to cover something of the issue of driving twenty-two hours with a toddler.  I have now limited experience in long car trips, and camping with a toddler, and there are plenty of people wondering about that topic as they forge into a life with children.  Can it be done? Yes.  Is it a good idea? Yes, but it depends.  Once the children come, much of your life is geared, not toward yourself, but toward them.  In a way, that is quite freeing.  You simply no longer have the same freedom to do things as easily as you may have before, but the trade, anything you may give up, is worth it.  So whether or not you travel means thinking how it affects this little person you love.  Yet, it remains that an important part of a child's wellbeing is learning the lesson that the world does not revolve around them, and that they must also accommodate others.  Then you fall into the complex waters of what your own child can handle, what is reasonable to expect from them at a given age, and at what point you are actually forgetting their needs for the sake of your own desires.  And there is no perfect answer, which leaves parents struggling in the confusion of frustration with themselves and at times their children, and the guilt of wondering when you're doing wrong, in any direction.  The only hope I can give to the problem of no perfect answer, is how I might say it to myself, to simply remind that there is none, and relax a bit, you bundle of self-important worry.

    Here's how it went for us.  Daughter Adorable (eventually I'll get good one), was set to turn eleven months over the course of our trip.  She was then taking an hour or so late morning nap, and around an hour and a half in the afternoon.  She had been walking for about a month, and begun to eat some solids, in the form of purees, or well smashed things off my plate.  I hadn't pushed solids early on, so she may have been behind the normal expectations, but she was not behind on development for her age.  We had never taken a trip of over twenty hours with her yet, and since we didn't know what to expect, we planned to take at least three days driving both directions and enjoy the process, using naptimes for drive time, and be prepared for a nice time in Illinois or somewhere if the trip turned out to be too much for her.  Holding plans loose may be one of the best ways to avoid misery in child travel.

    We set out from home with child in seat and managed to reach Holland Michigan without great difficulty.  Our first day, we stopped to give her a long break at Dutch Village, which I mention because it was one of the times we enjoyed most, though it was merely a few hours from home, and it was a great way to give Miss Adventuress (I'm trying, alright), a good break.  Dutch village is well known to many in Michigan, as is Windmill Island, where stands the last genuine windmill to leave the Netherlands before they were held back to preserve Dutch history.  Though we didn't stop there on this trip, it is a worthwhile stop.  Having been built in the 18th century, it sheltered some hiding from the Nazi's during the occupation of the Netherlands, and still grinds today before the eyes of tourists.  The mill stands over a marsh, surrounded by gardened grounds.

    Dutch Village is more difficult to describe, part shops, part petting zoo, and part park, it is itself beautiful and a whisper of history.

    When her second nap came, we packed her up and went on.  This was a pattern we tried to repeat over the trip.  I found that at times she was happy on her own with one of those bath books, which she would read by way of cute noises to herself, and would not be destroyed when it went into her mouth.  I brought a selection of toys, and board books (which she loves), and switched them out every day or few days with different ones to keep them interesting.  At times she needed company, someone to play with her in the back seat, though she fell asleep for naps better when left alone.  Reading to her was a wonderful thing to keep her happy, and then there were snacks.  Though she was still mostly breastfed, baby food packets were wonderfully portable, and kept her entertained.  Often they helped her get through to our next stop before a feeding.  Now that she's older, she loves plain cheerios (which I always thought akin to parental abuse, but oddly enough are a favorite) and puffs while in the car, since they are less messy.  She also enjoyed some video chatting with family at home, which was fun to be able to do.

    These were useful methods, but they were not infallible.  Our fear of her deeply hating the car was just barely averted.  All told, she did very well, but there were some moments of last half hours before stopping that were filled with tears and struggle as we tried to find a place for the night where we could get her out of the seat at last.  Only in desperation did we pull forth our secret weapon: a YouTube video of a Yeshiva Choir singing Shalom Aleichem which she has always found weirdly mesmerizing.  When even this failed, we turned at last to the Māori war chants.  If my child can perform a perfect haka at the age of five, you will know it is because she spent too much time in the car.

    This post is too long to tell all about the crossing of the plains, but I can say we managed to make quite a few interesting breaks.  One was a little town somewhere along the way that had a beautiful little park where Little Princess got to try the swings, toddle about, and one of the adults got to spend some time up a tree.

  We also managed to visit what another patron on exiting called "The cutest museum ever", spanning the freeway on an enclosed bridge.  

I will not disclose the location of our secret mulberry patch.  

    Our first night camping she did beautifully because the weather was warm.  We brought a tent large enough for a playpen, and the playpen is what she used under canvass and under roof.  In the colder weather, layering pajamas and sleep sacks worked to a point, but in the end we had to limit camping to warmer locations for the child's sake.  Child camping experts can advise better on cold weather camping.  We chose not to try it.  Having her walking was very helpful, however, because then she could be safely on the ground at a campsite without being in the dirt as a crawling baby would have been.

    So as to traveling by car with a toddler, it can be done, but it may at times be stressful for adult and child.  Taking it slowly, and not taking your plans too seriously may be helpful.  Breaks help, driving while napping helps, snacks and books help.  Apparently Australian accents help.  Driving to your next destination in the wee hours of the morning while the baby sleeps because your tent collapsed on you in the mountain wind can help.  (See my vague comments about weather in my Antero Reservoir post)

Playpens, that invaluable traveling tool

A sample of the Knight's photography at a rest area on the plains

Finally, if my calling my husband The Last Knight when he in not actually a knight in the literal sense is confusing to my readership, I must offer that it is merely a fondness geared toward his gentlemanly behavior and his interest in pre-gunpowder weaponry.  If this offends Elton John, I suppose we can talk about it.  If it were the late Christopher Lee taking offense, then I'd have cause to be worried.

Antero Reservoir, Badger Basin, and Fairplay Colorado

     If you drive into the Mountains of Colorado, past the high-walled valleys where Idaho Springs stretches along the wandering valley floors, wandering up the ravines where the Colorado gold rush began, up beyond Ski-lodge wealth of towns like Breckenridge, and into the hills beyond, you will find yourself on a high plateau, ringed with distant mountains.  If you drive the gently moving roads against that distant view, you pass into the town of Fairplay.  This almost incredibly western name is fitted to a town which bears it gracefully.  If you only drive through the center of town, western buildings of wooden siding fill many places beside the road, though when you stop for gas on the other side, you never feel as if you have left your own century, because there is every modern thing you would expect, save perhaps the feeling of mountain isolation that still holds sway where the terrain forces us to remember that once travel was more difficult and time consuming.

    When you have left Fairplay behind, regretting that you never got to look in that neat old library, the road goes on, turning and straightening to run along a great expanse of fields and pastures of the plateau.  Near the road that would take you to the smaller town of Hartsel, you may pass Bager Basin, where a bison herd shelters in doorless barns near the road.

Badger Basin Wildlife Area bison herd

If you decide to stop at the second driveway into Badger basin, your way will be impeded quickly by a beautiful running stream.  If you are not one to be bothered by wading in a bison crossing, and are decent at avoiding buffalo chips, crossing is relatively easy once you strip your shoes off.  I personally have done it with a child strapped to my chest.

  

Once you have crossed the stream, and climbed up the far bank, scarred as it is with bison tracks, you find a hill above you calling to be climbed.  If you can find the right way through the fence, and reach the top of the hill, then a long distance lies before you, tracked by a pair of tire paths leading off toward the dark hills.

You may even see a bison over the hill, and go on hiking in great delight, knowing you are walking the same plain, and then as you shift your view, you may realize you are actually on a hill above the entire herd, and decide if they start moving in your direction at all the most prudent plan is to take your child and zip to the other side of one of those fences.

Beyond Badger Basin, down the road, you will come at last to the drive to the Antero Reservoir.  Known, I believe, largely for its fishing, it is a wide lake, over one side lies mountains, and to the other, lower green hills.  In case you want to climb those hills, you may be prevented by some fencing.  Just a warning.

The air is thin, and the weather quick to change.  When we arrived, rain was in the air, but before long a hot sun was beating down through the thin atmosphere, and the baby soon needing slathering in coconut oil to prevent sunburn in place of a heavy jacket.

Beside the Antero reservoir is an official building of some sort, for boats or something I remember poorly, and next to that stands a rather pleasant picnic pavilion, and a campground with one of the finest views that can be had.  It was, after the rising cost of motels, and the shocking price even of many campgrounds delightfully economical.  Meaning free.  And it was populated, as the evening wore on, with more and more campers and RVs.  Once you have spent a night beside the reservoir, and in its weather, in a cheap tent, you will know why this is the preferred form of shelter.

In case you have further curiosity, decent pit toilets form the bathrooms.  There were fire rings, and picnic tables, so everything a respectable campground typically has.  I scavenged someone's old branches left behind for wood, as we had none with us, and there was little else to burn.  Perhaps some of those buffalo chips would have been helpful.

If looking for a beautiful, free place for a night in the mountains, this is a pleasant one.  But don't tent camp unless you're ready for an adventure.

If You Have Ever...

    Have you ever portioned pieces of grape with your fingernails?  Have you ever made someone so happy they pant and roar with delight in a tiny little voice?  Have you ever been so tired you could not drag yourself out of bed one more time, and then do it anyway, over and over again?  Have you ever read two books with less than ten pages over and over in the back of a car?  Have you ever had someone fall into complete peace and rest against you, pressing comically chubby cheeks against wherever they rest?  Have you ever eaten pureed food that you just wiped off someone else's face?  Have you ever watched a tiny human being play telephone on a pulse-oximeter? Have you ever watched an unspeakably beautiful person go about their little life, tottering about so busily and been unable to grasp the whole glory of being, in part, the source of such a miraculous thing?

    Have you ever been called to a duty so necessary, so terrifying, and found you could only rise to it because the need poured out from someone you loved, not for what they gave you, but at times even for the need itself?  Have you looked in awe at the beauty of the dependance one small baby lavishes on you, and held them close wanting nothing, nothing better than their safety and peace and happiness, that their unthinking trust in you is rewarded with love?

                                                       

    Have you ever been the bearer of a miracle of life and found yourself humbled rather than puffed up to pride to find that you could be a mother to a living child?  To realize that human bodies can conceive a child, but how the joining of mother and father create life is a mystery?  That you, who are in so many ways responsible, could never have planned or fashioned what you were given.  That you grew and nurtured though the nature you were fashioned with in your own mother's womb, but can only give credit for the magic of life to the one to whom it is due.

   

It Begins (Maybe)

Test post, largely, and declaration of mediocrity. 

    I asked myself this morning, why should I start a blog no one will read?  Second, why should I start a blog when I don’t typically read blogs?  Clearly they're not something I spent much thought on, nor something I intend to put much work into to make more than somewhere I type something dreamy ab

out what’s happening outside my window.  Thirdly, what if I post something stupid and then come back years later and realize it has been out on the waves of cyber space like an anthropomorphic penguin hanging six off an intergalactic surfboard?

    The answer to the first question is probably that I don’t really care if no one reads it.  I am aware it is an echo chamber, and like many budding egotists, I like the sound of my own voice, so the echo will be rather pleasant.  On top of this, it gives me an excuse to unburden my mind and engage in one of my most strangely cathartic hobbies, typing, all without stuffing the remains away in a forgotten drawer never to be read.  I don’t hold truck with waste.

    To the second, well, I don’t have to read blogs to make one.  It’s the internet.  At the least I know how to capitalize and everything.  I’m not pretending to be professional.  Perhaps someday I will have time to sit down a read a good blog that isn’t coming between me and the recipe I came for, and I might learn something.

    And to the last, I suppose I could just try not to post something stupid, and maybe get my husband to tell me if anything is idiotic before I post.  There is one great flaw of the internet world--little editing before you vomit all over the web.

    Another problem I encountered was that Blogger looked easiest to use, and I always hated that orange theme.  Then, I must apologize for using a platform owned by Google, which is presently stalking my readers for all their information and probably by now knows whether you had oatmeal or bagels for breakfast.  Sorry.  I am not a website developer.

    And yet, I can just ignore it when I don't feel like paying attention to it.  And maybe it will give me a chance to make fun of food bloggers a couple times.

    And maybe it will be close to a journal that has spell check.