Provisioned 11/1/21

It has been two months since my last travel post. Which makes sense - as we have not been doing much traveling - mostly waiting.

And there is only so much you can say about waiting. So I put my pen down and turned my attention to other things.

And then something happened yesterday and I awoke this morning with an itching to pick up my pen and put some words on paper - to resume this travel log and begin again.

But first, a few details to catch you up on where we have been this fall.

After a VERY long and unanticipated wait we finally picked up our new Airstream on October 9th - after spending two months without a place to call our own. It was a very strange place to be, not exactly homeless, but most certainly without a home. We spent some time in Oklahoma at an Air BnB. Drove out west and crashed at my parents house for about a month, and then relocated to a cabin at a KOA in Texas until Biggest Betty finally arrived. In between the settled places we spent nights in some of the worst motels we have ever been in. We have seen cockroaches, broken furniture, odd stains on the walls, ripped curtains, light fixtures full of bugs, yellow water. It was not a pretty site. But it is also not easy to find places to stay when you have 300 pounds of Newfie love in tow, so you make do with what you can get.

When the call came that Betty was ready we moved quickly to pick her up, arriving early before the dealership was open. With time on our hands, Jason decided to take the dogs for a potty break. As he was returning to the truck he was stopped by a homeless man asking for money. Jason didn’t have any cash on him so he came over to car and got some money out of my wallet to give to the man. In gratitude the man asked if he could recite a poem for us that he had written. We of course said yes.

What transpired were words all about the grace of God - about being provisioned even in the hardest of times. His own version of the lamb lying down with the lion and crooked paths being made straight again. As he walked away Jason and I looked at each other and both asked what we had just witnessed. It felt bigger than an exchange between two people. It felt oddly like a blessing - a blessing coming from the most unexpected of places.

After picking up Biggest Betty we traveled to Salt Lake City to visit family and get all set up. We had stored all of our stuff in my sisters garage and it took a couple of weeks to get everything unpacked and in place. We also had a family medical emergency that made us very grateful to be close by for a few weeks. And it gave us a time to get to know our new home without the pressure of being in unfamiliar settings. Needless to say it has been a very busy few weeks.

Yesterday morning we finally awoke with a sense of spaciousness. We will be leaving here on Saturday to head east and our long to do list is pretty much accomplished. With this sense of spaciousness we decided to head out on an adventure day.

We picked up my sister and headed into one of the canyons that line the Salt Lake Valley called Little Cottonwood Canyon. This was my favorite canyon when I was growing up here. As a teenager I would often make a thermos of cinnamon coffee and head up the canyon to write. I had a spot I discovered where a large granite rock extended over the river and I could sit there for hours, drinking my coffee and writing - lost to the world around me. I wanted to go up the canyon and see if I could remember where the spot was. And I wanted a chance to be in the woods that were my first love.

We did not find my special spot but we did stop and walk up a snow covered path through the barren Aspen trees. Over the creek and up the trail as far as we could go before the snow became to deep, following the deep imprints of a bear that had been there the night before, making its way down to the river and back up the bank. The trail was slick in spots, and we had not worn hiking boots, so we were slipping and trying to stick to the edges where the snow was fresh. Jumping across the rocks and mud where the snow had melted and created deep puddles.

I have such a deep love for the mountains of this area. The Aspens, the slick granite, the narrow pine trees that let in light. The air was clean and fresh. My sister and I commented on how it reminded us of when we use to sneak out of school early to go ski on a winter day. At one point we made our way down to the river and I dipped my hand in the water, blessing each one of us with the crystal clear water. Feeling a kinship with the bear that had also drank from the same waters before us. At one point Jason looked at me and said, “you look so alive”. And it was true. My knees didn’t hurt, my heart felt free, and I felt connected to creation in a way that I had not for some time.

We have been in a period of upheaval. Literally living out of the back of our truck. It has also felt like a period of deep disconnection as our rhythms and routines have been difficult to follow. As I stood on the bridge overlooking the creek below, the remains of last weeks snowfall under my feet, I felt a deep sense of reconnection. I jumped up and down a few times, rooting myself into place. As we walked up the hillside we stopped at one point to notice the bright red berries that were left on the bare branches. And the word provisioned came to my mind.

It has been a period of waiting. It has been a period of upheaval. It has been a period of letting go.

But little did we know it was also a period of being provisioned.

From the poem offered to us by the man on the street corner, to the beds that welcomed us when we did not have a bed of our own. To the space given over to our belongings in my sisters garage, to the offers of hospitality that came pouring in when we weren’t sure how long we would be without a home. Provisions have been at hand. Like the berries hanging on the bare branch. Like the bear tracks we found leading us to the bank of the creek.

As we prepare to head out on our own once again I am grateful for all the provisions that have sustained us in this time of waiting.

And now… let the travels (and the travel logs) resume.