HEART LAND

Think of the terms that are now commonplace that did not exist twenty years ago, at least not used as they are today. There is emailing, emarketing, networking, social networking, online dating, googleing, twittering, LOLing, online banking, doctoring and stock trading. We have friends and fans, tweets, texts,bulletin boards and of course blogging! In many ways I have been an ostrich about this new wave in communication. I believed that by becoming so attached to our computers that we were losing the ability to communicate face to face. I feared texting was replacing conversation. In a way I believe I was most concerned about people being so hidden from one another. The internet provided a way to express thoughts and present a carefully designed face for the world to see without the personal risk of censure or rejection.

Once more, it was my dog that guided me to a new world and started the conversation. When Indy first came to join my life, I was very poorly prepared for the level of training he would require or what options for activities were out there for us. I called the local kennel club, went to puppy kindergarten, attended “Paws in the Park” group dog walks, read a bunch of magazines and bought video cassettes, (yes, VCR tapes)! I did see a lot of happy pet owners, but I knew I wanted to do something more with Indy. After losing my previous dog, Harry, so early, I was only too aware of how short our time would be together. I wanted to make each and every moment count and to find a way to entwine our lives completely.

One slow afternoon at work, I found myself surfing the internet for all things dog related. I found sites for puppy training, breed specific sites for more breeds than I knew existed, dog health and veterinary sites, obedience, agility, search & rescue sites, show ring and sheep herding sites, and finally stumbled across one for Retriever Training! Sadly, the post I had stumbled upon, was the news that my pup’s sire, Cruise, had died of cancer just prior to competing in the National Championship for retrievers. When I looked at the date of the post, I saw that he had died many months before my discovery. I started reading that thread, and was amazed by the sincere condolences and depth of understanding expressed by literally hundreds of friends to the owner of that dog. What a lucky woman, I thought. To have that many good friends to support her when needed. It was only after months of reading the Retriever Training Forum, that I came to realize, the large majority of the people that expressed sorrow for the loss of Cruise, had never even met the dog or his owner. I had stumbled into a community of retriever people that were truly a family. Immediately I decided to try to be adopted into this family, because I knew I too would need that kind of support someday.

Like any really big family, the Retriever Training Forum, (RTF) certainly has its share of dysfunction. There are the blowhard brothers, snide sisters, creepy uncles and aunts and short bus riding new kids that never will learn anything. You also have your long suffering but loving Dad, Mom and older siblings who do all they can to keep the family working together for the common goal of advancement of retriever training and the preservation of our retriever community. There are also con men, thieves and liars lurking to take advantage of this sprawling, brawling and passionate family.

So, in spite of advice from my friend who said, “You can’t learn anything about dogs on the internet” I dived in wholeheartedly. Yes, I’ve gotten some bad advice, made some stupid posts, argued with block heads and been a block head myself, but the discussions and give and take on RTF have given shape to my understanding of these incredible dogs and the things they, and we personally, are capable of. When we left our home behind, heading for a new life, I counted on the RTF family to welcome us into and hopefully educate us about their far flung community. I could confidently say, we “knew” somebody in every state we would travel through, even though I would not recognize one of them if they walked up to my face!

After the disappointment that was Claremore, OK, I was looking forward to meeting one of my long time RTF acquaintances at a AKC Hunt Test being put on by the Tulsa Retriever Club.

The moment our wheels rolled across the Mississippi into Arkansas we began to feel the pull of the west. There was a palpable easing of tension in our bodies and minds as the landscape opened up before us. We did not stop in Arkansas as I was anxious to make it on to Oklahoma to meet up with a woman I made friends with on the internet. As usual, no matter how much time we take, we never take enough to see everything we ought to. Arkansas manages to be beautiful even from the platform of I-40. It is a place that calls out to all who enjoy water-fowling. Everywhere there are wide green lakes, marshes, dark olive foliage and rolling hills. And the ducks! If this had been the hunting season, I doubt we would have made it out of Arkansas. We saw great flocks of Mallard, Teal, Woodies and Canvasback where ever the tree line opened up enough to see the lakes. I know that one day Ralph and I will visit here for the hunting. These two dogs of ours can come along and do what they were born to do. This is what all the endless hours of training are really for after all.

We spent our first night in Oklahoma at a KOA near Salisaw. In general, you can count on KOA’s to be clean, secure and convenient resting spots, even if they have little to do with camping.

This one was no exception, and it was right where we needed it when we needed it. When we pulled into our slot for the night, we were beside a large “toy hauler” type of motor-home. There were several portable kennels outside of the door. It turned out that the RV was the home of a couple that were professional show dog handlers. They were on the show circuit with their little group of about 6 dogs of the small breeds. There seems to be no end to the reasons that people are living the mobile life.

The next day would carry us on towards Tulsa, OK. The time had also come for Indy’s next bandage change so we looked for a KOA close enough to a town to find a vet. Our KOA guidebook showed a listing for a park in Claremore, just a few miles out of Tulsa. This particular “camp ground” was on the site of Will Rogers Downs Race Track and Cherokee Casino, or as referred to locally, the “Racino”. In sharp contrast to the lush green landscaped parks we had enjoyed so far, this one was nothing but a great big, mostly empty, shadeless gravel parking lot with water pipes and power posts separating the numbered sites. The few occupied sites appeared to be permanent homes for some weathered and rusting travel trailers. The people that lived in them all looked like they had some true hard luck tales to tell. This was not a place where we would be going for a walk and leaving our trailer unlocked or our dogs unguarded!

As soon as we were parked and hooked up to the necessities, I opened my laptop to look for a vet to change Indy’s bandage. From what the ortho surgeon had told me back home, it should not be a problem. He suggested I call any vet and that they would probably do it for about $20. Optimistically, I picked up my cell phone and started dialing. The first office I called said they would be happy to do it for $20, but they required that Indy become “their patient” first, which included a full exam and office visit for $135. It made no difference to them that we were on the road and would not likely be in their office again. After 3 more equally frustrating conversations with other pet vets, I called one that advertised as a “General Practice Veterinarian specializing in Horses”. When I explained our situation and needs, the girl on the phone immediately said, “We’d be glad to take care of it for you. Let me just be sure one of the vets is free now, and you can come right over”. I was so pleased I would have been willing to drive any distance. As the girl was giving me directions and I was diligently writing down her every word, it dawned on me that the road names and landmark descriptions sounded a little familiar. As she summarized, I looked out my window and across the race track to a small red A frame building. They were right across the street from me! I was in the office 10 minutes later and within the half hour Indy had a bright yellow bandage with little “cast stickers” on it for fun. The bill was $20.

When I returned from the vet’s office I found Ralph talking with our next door neighbor. He was a wizened, leather skinned small man, somewhat bowed over from age and effort. He could have been 65 or 95. His eyes were permanently squinted and his face weathered from years of toil in the hot sun and red dust of Oklahoma.
Once again, the dogs were the catalysts that brought us together with a stranger. Behind the old trailer, 3 dog houses were lined up against the back fence. Each one had been furnished with old pillows and cushions and had a bowl of water placed in front. The evidence of another dog lover was borne out by the gentleman’s interest in Indy and Scout. He told us about a daughter and son-in-law that had a lab, “just like that one” meaning Indy. After telling us all about that dog, which he had not seen in years because the daughter, well “she just doesn’t get by this way too often anymore”, we met one of his companions. She was a tubby little shepard/huskie mix that gazed at her human with pure devotion and worship. The other dog was a small dachshund as round as she was long. She somewhat resembled a black football with pegs on the bottom. The third dog house occupant, was in fact a cat. And it was this cat that was being taken to the vet for shots, so she was in a crate on the back of the old pick up. After loading the two dogs up in the cab, he rolled off to care for his friends. As the truck rumbled out the driveway, I could hear the cat howling her protests at having to ride second class.

After dinner I told Ralph of my intention to go have a look at the casino. I have never been in any type of casino and my only conception of them was from movies and the television show, “Las Vegas”. I am not a gambler so I did not plan on spending any of our meager loose change. I guess I expected to see a little bit of razzle dazzle and night life. I expected music, laughter, bright lights, a bit of spice and a dab of naughty. It was a heavy humid night and outdoors was quiet and dark. The parking lot was at most a quarter full. As I walked in the door I saw a bored hostess standing at a desk. She waved a handful of brochures listlessly in front of her face to dry the sweat. I slipped by without drawing her eye or attention. The first thing I noticed was the lack of music or human voices. There was a steady clanging, beeping, whirling and clicking from machines in constant motion. There were bright lights, all emanating from these same machines. Even at the bar, there was no conversation. Once in a while a bartender would deliver a sweating bottle of beer to one of the machines. At each machine in view, there was a man or woman hunched down with their faces pressed up close to the screens. The lights reflecting back on their faces provided the only semblance of emotion or expression. Expecting celebration or festivity I was taken aback by the almost desperate intensity of the players. I felt clammy and uncomfortable as if I were viewing some private depravity. If this was the escape, my God, what was the real life they were escaping?

The following morning I rode back out on my bike to look at the race track. Mist was rising off of the lake in the infield and the grandstands sat hushed and empty. Thoroughbred racing had ended for the year last week so there were not even any horses being worked in the early morning. In the perfect quiet I could imagine the thundering hooves, shouting jockeys and screaming fans. The excitement I could only imagine was more real than the neon fantasy I had actually seen last night.

I was happy to leave Claremore and looked forward to meeting Tina and getting back to the “dog folks” again. Ralph and I both could use some fresh air, green fields and friendly conversation.

Our last trip home to visit family left Ralph and I with more than happy memories. One week after having our “goodbye” dinner, we both came down with the nastiest colds I can ever remember having. I guess the folks wanted to be sure we did not forget them soon. Sometimes I think our immune systems are chronically underdeveloped because we spend so little time in the presence of large groups of people. We are not around kids, schools, clubs or crowded offices. All of our contact with our fellow man is in the great outdoors. When we do find ourselves in enclosed surroundings, all those latent germs and bacteria seize the moment and attack us with a ferocity reserved for those unaccustomed to the social civilized life.
Our next destination was Brevard, NC and the Pisgah National Forest. Ralph had been looking forward to this for months as an opportunity to get a lot of riding time on both his road bike and his mountain bike. The mountain bike trails in this area are some of the most challenging and popular on the east coast. The paved mountain roads here are also well maintained and bike friendly. By the time we arrived in Brevard, we were both so ill that even the thought of bike riding was painful. We stayed five days until we were both nearly sound again. Ralph managed one short road trip and an even shorter trail ride while I was satisfied just to be riding my bike around the campground and taking Indy out for his brief airings.
The campground had a beautiful grassy field that was just perfect for running Scout on a few of the drill’s Bach had recommended. It did not bother Scout at all that his handlers were wheezing, snorting and coughing while he did all the work. He is thriving on all the attention.
Trying to keep Indy happy and occupied, I gave him a raw beef back rib to munch on one afternoon. It delighted him, and after a few hours of contented chewing there was nothing left but a neat white bone. Do not try this with a dog confined to a crate during the day and sleeping with you in a small camper at night! He whined once at about 3:00 AM and then let loose with a violent bout of diarrhea. Oh my god, the smell was worse than a chicken house! Obviously it revolted Indy as well; as soon as his pipes were cleared he literally flew out of the main room onto our bed to get away from the stench. Poor Scout who had also been rudely awakened, was blocked in at the scene of the crime and I swear his poor eyes were running from the fumes. With one hand tightly pinching my nose shut, I fumbled around for my glasses and grabbed a dust pan and towel and cleaned up the mess. By now both dogs and Ralph were sitting comfortably up on the bed admiring my fortitude. Never, ever a beef bone again when Indy is not free to relieve himself at will!
In time we all recovered and were ready to roll on. Our next destination was Tulsa, OK where we would finally meet an internet friend in person and possibly attend a hunt test just to watch and help out. This leg stretched almost 1,000 miles so we planned to break it up into two stops.
Once more our demons, (or maybe angels) were conspiring to hold us close to home. We had been living off of auxiliary battery power for the last few days, occasionally running the truck engine to recharge. When we were ready to hook up and roll out, our electric slide out did not have enough power to close! Its times like this when it really, really pays to have a Ralph around. His “Mr. Fix-it” skills are awesome. He is the total master of duct tape mechanics and almost never fails to find a way to get us going and eventually to solve the problem for good. By pulling out the small battery charger we carried on board and running it through the truck’s alternator, we were able to get the slide closed.
The more serious question was why the trailer batteries were not getting charged from the engine while under way. When purchasing the truck, Ralph was explicit with the dealer about what our plans were, and made sure that all the trailer towing options were included in the package. For now, we needed to get on the road, and as we drove through the Appalachians, I had the Chevrolet manual on my knee, looking up and reading to Ralph the parts that might be pertinent. It soon became apparent that the dealer had failed to hook up the wiring for charging the camper battery. We stopped at a Chevrolet dealer near Jackson, TN. They wanted $75 just to look at it and see that yes indeed the wire was not hooked up. That did not include what they were going to charge to do the work that should have been done to begin with by the dealer in Beaufort. To add further acid to the wound, they would not look at it until 2 days later!
It seems that it is becoming more and more common in this country, that competency and service are taking a back seat to salesmanship. Here you have a company, GM, that is tottering on the brink of insolvency, taking government aid and crying mournfully over their poor sales due to foreign imports. Where is the drive to satisfy the customer? Where is the skill and knowledge to back up the product? Where is the pride for heavens sake, in delivering and maintaining a quality product? Somehow capitalism has taken a seriously wrong turn. Growth is good, yes, but not at the expense of quality. In recent years a company’s success has been defined by sales volume, period. It is exactly the same issue in finance, insurance, construction and manufacturing.
I saw the writing on the wall when the mortgage company I worked for over 10 years, started demanding high volume sales and promoting risky products to bolster that number. We loan officers were never compensated based on the quality of the loans we closed, only the dollar volume. When the competition started offering the “pick a payment”, all of the other banks jumped on the band wagon. These loans were the source of 2008′s “Toxic Assets” that brought the financial markets to their knees. While the manufacturers, banks and insurance giants were bailed out and supported, the personal costs to most Americans has been huge. I was told by a savvy real estate investor, that the foreclosure crisis that resulted from these bad lending policies, has caused the largest destruction of wealth of the middle class ever to have occurred, far worse in sheer numbers than the great depression. Even now, when it appears that the worst of the recession has past, nothing has changed at all in the way the large companies do business. The only difference is that now there are a lot fewer people employed in any field except the sales and service fields. The unemployment statistics are grossly misleading. There are hundreds of thousands that are no longer receiving any unemployment compensation and are still out of work. The only reason the number of new unemployed goes down, is because most of the cuts are over with.
Certainly it is extreme to say that capitalism is a bad system or that it has failed. What has failed is the current interpretation of capitalism to mean that anything goes as long as the bottom line is increased. When this becomes the standard, the CEO’s are the new Mafia dons, minus the threat of prison.

As I travel and relearn how to live, I experience small events every day that reflect the pain our country has been through and still enduring. I certainly do not have the answers, all I can do is learn to cope with today’s realities. In our case, that meant stopping at an auto parts place and buying a wire to fix our problem. Ralph crawled into the hood to determine where and how to lead the wire. He discovered a neatly bundled red wire directly beneath the fuse box. The other end of the wire was neatly bundled just above where the plug connected the trailer battery to the truck. The correct wiring had been there all along, the dealer had simply failed to follow instructions in the set up of our truck. Within a half hour, Ralph had made the connection, and it worked. How could something this simple be allowed to cause such delay, aggravation and bad will for a customer? I guess the TN dealership would have shown a little more profit for the day by gouging us for the repair, but GM cost themselves a whole lot more that day.

I have loved the Western North Carolina mountains since I was a small child. I was always sure the biblical reference to “the mountains from whence cometh my strength” referred to the hills that rose grandly over the pasture at the farm where I rode horses. Those dark and ancient mountains always comforted me and provided a spiritual haven. As we drove out of North Carolina that day I was not too distracted by our mechanical problems to feel a deep sadness at leaving my childhood home. If I ever return for good to the east, it will surely be somewhere here.

After making our repairs, it was too late in the day to make it on to Memphis where we had planned to stop. After hours of nothing on I-40 west of Nashville, we found a KOA and pulled in for the night. On one side of us was parked a huge luxury RV, generator’s humming and television antennas extended. On the other side was a dusty, dented mini van with a folding chair sitting behind. I met the gentleman from the RV while walking Indy, (black labs are great for meeting folks). He was a retired executive from a large corporation. Clearly a dog lover, he spent 10 minutes telling me about the labs in his life. His dog had died unexpectedly just as he and his wife were to begin their retirement dream, a trip across the country to California. I hope he gets another dog soon; I saw his eyes light up while petting Indy. When we returned from our walk, the other neighbor was “at home”. A petite gray haired woman sat in the folding chair eating a sandwich. “What a pretty dog!”, she commented. Once again Indy opened a door for me. After asking me about our travel plans, she shared a part of her own story. She was traveling from Oregon where she had lost her job as a school teacher after many years. Feeling that anywhere had to offer a better chance of employment, she was returning to her native state of South Carolina. A chill went through my bones at the irony. We were two souls heading in opposite directions for the same reasons, she returning home and me looking for a new one. She shared some wonderful information with us for avoiding the interstate system. Pulling out well used maps, she outlined some scenic back roads that we must not miss on our way west. I can not wait until we have the Mississippi behind us and we can start exploring those routes. Meanwhile, her descriptions of the wild flowers, rivers and animals she had seen on her travels, made me feel that somewhere, students were missing a brilliant teacher.

Early the next morning, we pulled out from between the huge RV and the homely little mini van. Both occupants waved good bye and watched us out of the driveway.

We crossed the big muddy at about 10:00 that morning. Leaving the traffic and congestion of Memphis behind us, we continued,for now, on the big slab that is I-40 accompanied by roaring semis, family wagons and sleek luxury cars, all heading west. We feel like we are part of a huge migration. I hope all travel with optimism, generosity, and a will to make personal decisions that have positive effects for all. That is the only way it can work.

Somehow completing the purchase of our new home created an almost manic urgency to get out of the old one. Suddenly we had a sense of purpose that had been missing for the past bleak year. To be sure, the loss of a house you have designed, built and brought to life yourself is devastating. We were utterly humbled and demoralized that our vision could have failed so miserably. It was small comfort to know millions across the country had suffered the same defeat. Fortunately for us we had our relationship and 30 years of unconventional living to know that we could move on. You can die crying or you can die trying, in the end you will arrive at the same place!

There was a small campground just about 2 miles from the house. We brought our trailer there and parked it in the storage yard while we delivered our furniture and belongings to various relatives. In 3 or 4 trips to Charlotte we found homes for: 52″ Plasma TV, 1000# Gun Safe, large capacity washer and dryer, king size bedroom suit, queen size suit, antique iron bed, a bunch of lamps, a beautiful set of white wicker porch furniture and a small but decent art collection. The relatives made out pretty good! We managed to sell a kayak, lawn mower, set of motorcycle racing leathers, a jet ski and an easy up awning. What did not sell went on our old landscaping trailer to be stored on another relative’s farm. In addition we packed at least 50 boxes of china, books, nick nacks and assorted flotsam and jetsam from our lives. These boxes we stored in my mother’s attic. She thought it was a pretty good deal, she got the big TV.

Finally we closed and locked the door on the huge empty house. It was not as sad as I had feared because it had ceased to be a home as soon as we started looking forward. After all the moving and traveling, it was relaxing to take our time settling into the trailer at the campground for a couple of weeks.

Our plan was to run one more field trial with Indy before setting off across the country. I continued training daily with my friends and at least once a week Indy and I drove 2 hours up to Bowman, SC to train with Bach Doar. Bachman Doar is a retired professional retriever trainer and a member of the Retriever Hall of Fame. These days he no longer takes in dogs to train and campaign, but instead teaches the humans to train their own dogs for hunt tests and competition. Indy and I had worked with Bach off and on for almost 2 years, and lately had been making very steady progress. In our first field trial attempt, we made it to the 3rd (out of 4) series. That was plenty good enough to keep us both working and hoping. The next trial I had entered was the Atlanta Trial, to be held Friday, April 30. We planned to take the trailer and camp at the trial grounds. After completion of the trial we were going to park at Bach’s place for a few days then head west.

On Wednesday, April 28, Indy and I went up to Bach’s as usual for our training day. In the very first set up, Indy did one of his wild crash and rolls retrieving the first bird thrown. At first he seemed fine and went on to pick up the remaining 2 birds and run a blind. Just as we were approaching the line to run our water set up I turned Indy sharply to the right. He let out a screech and snatched his right hind foot up off of the ground. Bach examined him right then in the field and felt that the dog had either broken or dislocated a toe and sent us off to the nearest vet for X Rays. After viewing the films, that vet sent us on to an orthopedic surgeon. In the end poor Indy had a badly dislocated outside toe. Imagine taking your little finger and pulling it out to the side and straight back to the wrist, ouch! After discussion and input from the specialist, I decided against surgery. There were too many risks for such a complex and “fiddly” operation. Instead the vet put the foot into a fiberglass “clam shell” type of cast and wrapped it from toes to hock, with strict instructions for 100% crate rest for 8 weeks.

In addition to my concerns for Indy’s pain and injury, we also had to scratch from the trial and figure out how we were going to keep the original Wild Child under such confinement for so long. His pain was gone as soon as the foot was reset and the cast put on. His normal energy and high spirits were immediately back in full force. The vet scheduled a 2 week visit to re wrap the bandage. Since I really wanted to see the same vet, at least the first time, we decided to stay at Bach’s place for the duration. Finally, I am living in a dog training mecca with no dog to train.

What created a huge dissappointment for Indy and I, came as a godsend to Ralph and Scout. Scout is our 2 year old Chesapeake Bay Retriever who has missed a lot of time training due to hip problems. Rest, careful work, and good treatment have brought Scout back to where he can resume work. As wild and crazy as Indy is, this dog is just as thoughtful and cooperative. Scout has plenty of desire and ability, he just chooses to be a team player. Ralph and Scout took my place in the training group and in two weeks have made astonishing progress. As Indy languishes in his crate, Scout is learning to run triples, cheating singles and cold blinds. (Hmmmm, sounds kind of kinky to the non retriever training person!) As this blog is not about dog training, I am not going to explain all that, but if you have specific questions, just post a comment or send an email. At any rate, our time here has been invaluable. So Indy’s misstep was not the burr under our saddle we thought it might be.

Now the time has come to move on in earnest. We will say good bye to all of our SC friends and NC family on Wednesday. I am sure the leave-taking will be tearful but due to this incredible world of instant connection, we will all stay in touch. Each stop will offer new scenery and new friends. We are setting sail one more time, only this time we have Indy and Scout with us to share the excitement of entering new harbors.

Begins with a single step. So says the proverb. Ours began with an internet search for a suitable travel trailer. You would think that in an economy like this one, people would be giving up their toys in droves and that it would be a buyers market. Thanks to the information super highway, there are no good classified ads in the local papers anymore. Instead you google up RV sites that list dealers from coast to coast. It was absolutely overwhelming trying to find something used, local and in good shape. We looked at ads for trailers from the tiny 14 footers, (called Burritos!) to the gargantuan 5th wheel rigs equipped with ballrooms. When we visited a couple of dealers we were taken aback by the poor quality most of these things are built with. Instead of good solid frames, intelligent electrical and plumbing designs, you got 4 flat screen tv’s and a fake gas fireplace!! I think our cruising days tend to make us look at these things with an eye for the worst possible conditions we expect to encounter. The average RV buyer is looking for a “toy” to play with on the weekends or even a week’s vacation. Ample storage and cooking arrangements are overlooked for more room for gizmos and bar stools.

The retired professional retriever trainer that we go to, has spent many years traveling back and forth from South Carolina to Canada with the seasons. Most of these trips were made in his own travel trailers. I do not know why I didn’t think to ask him first, as his advice on all things dog related has been excellent. He gave me the name of the dealership and the salesman he had worked with for the past 30 years. As soon as we walked into the place, we felt much more comfortable. There were no flashing video screens, helium balloons, potted plants and grills set up complete with plastic steaks sizzling away. Instead, this man listened to our plan to live and travel and seemed to understand the priorities. He let us poke around in a few of the used units with no pressure or fuss. My eye was caught by a newer trailer, bigger than we had talked about, but solid looking with good ground clearance. Once inside the decision was made immediately. This one has a 3 burner stove with oven and microwave. The refrigerator/freezer runs off of 110, 12 volt and gas. All of the TV cabinets were empty and provided quite a bit of storage. The toilet and shower are small but efficient. Thank God, no jacuzzi tub! This trailer also had a whole lot more windows than any of the others. So many of them really brought on claustrophobia but here with the slide out and rear bay window the sunshine really filled the room. Of course this one was almost double what we thought we would spend, but it was at least 4 times more suitable to our needs. The deal was done with a handshake and a $1,000 earnest money check. When we went to pick it up one week later every single system, nut and bolt had been checked, cleaned, serviced or whatever was needed. Our 2006 29′ Sunset Creek trailer looked just like brand new. We handed over our personal check for the balance and were satisfied with what we had done. And to think, I’ve had more questions asked over a $10 check at the grocery store!

Maybe someday I will finish my story of our life together with dogs. But while I procrastinate life keeps happening. So let me sum it up with the 4 phases of my life with Ralph to date.

Phase I: Newly weds and horses
When Ralph and I met I was teaching and training full time. He actually learned to ride from me and enjoyed the fox hunting, trail riding, cross country courses, but not so much the show ring! Ralph has always been an outdoor adventure kind of soul, so we got more interested in camping, boating and sailing. Owning horses does not allow much time for other interests, so we gradually sold our horses, donated a couple to Sweet Briar College and went looking for….

Phase II: Sail Boats and Beer
After learning the “ropes” (pun intended) on a little tub of a 23′ sloop we moved up to a 30′ Pearson and began club racing up on Lake Norman, just north of Charlotte, NC. We were a part of a rowdy group of friends who frequented a legendary place called “F Dock” at Outrigger Harbor. Races were mere excuses for lots of parties up at a picnic shelter referred to as “The Moron Tabernacle”. (Sorry to the easily offended, but maybe you better just stop here, this is no blog for the meek and mild). We made our living in these days in real estate. I was in sales and Ralph worked for his family’s homebuilding company. In April, 1989 a tragedy occurred that rocked our world as well as that of all our friends. We were serving on the committee boat of the annual Michelob Cup Regatta, the primary race of our season. A sudden and unpredicted storm struck in the form of a Microburst. This is the same phenomena that has crashed many an airliner. The racing fleet was devastated. 36′ sailboats were tossed up onto shore like match sticks. When it was over, two men had died. This watershed event was followed in September of the same year by hurricane Hugo. Charlotte, 250 miles inland, took a huge bashing by the storm. The aftermath was a time of reflection for us on the value of living life in the here and now. You might not get a rerun. We took this new attitude to the limit and left behind our house and businesses to take off on….

Phase III: The Cruising Years
After selling our house, cars, current boat, etc. we owed no one and had just enough to buy our voyager, a 1961 S&S design 41′ aluminum sloop, Sundance. We spent the first 6 months in Hilton Head, SC getting to know the boat and working enough in the area to put aside a small expense kitty. Ralph ran 3 hour charters on our boat, and ran some of the fishing boats for other owners in the fleet there at the marina. I worked in the charter office taking money from and giving directions to tourists One year after Hugo, in September, 1990, we began our voyage with a trip up the intracoastal to Annapolis, MD as a sort of “shakedown” cruise. We experienced 1 hurricane, 1 snow storm, 2 or 3 groundings, and a tremendous amount of good fun, good people and good practice on this sheltered trip. By November we were provisioned and prepared (we hoped) to leave for the Caribbean Islands. We departed from Wrightsville Beach, NC on a quiet afternoon. Again I defer the details of this phase for a place of its own at a later date. But let me tell you the next 3 years were unforgettable in every way, from fear to fantasy, from ugly to spectacular and made us much stronger as a couple and proud of our self sufficiency. One day we decided that the “Real World” was passing us by, and we sailed back to the US for….

Phase IV: The Lowcountry Life and the Quest for Filthy Lucre
Our fear of missing the technology revolution brought us back to a huge culture shock. We had to learn all over again that one should wear shoes when opening a checking account, that it was not ok to open a cold one and take a swig in the store and that you were really expected to show up somewhere on time. It did not take me long to get a job with a local bank as a mortgage processor because of my real estate background. Ralph went from running his own charter fishing boat to partnering with a friend as a siding/boxing contractor on new custom homes. We clawed and scrabbled with the best of them up the ladder of money and possessions. We did this amidst the subtle and haunting beauty of the Lowcountry marshes and rivers. This was an ironic twist to our goals. We behaved as big city hustlers in old and graceful Beaufort, SC. Beaufort is home to gullah families and northern retirees. It is home to poor rural blacks and spoiled southern aristocracy. Houses are concrete shacks alongside dusty trails and they are stucco mansions behind large security gates. In the high rolling days of the late 1990′s and early to mid 2000′s, we rode the wave. We bought and sold two properties, making nice profits on each. In 2005 we began what was to be our retirement project, a 2800 square foot waterfront property on the intercoastal waterway. Our plan was to build the house, live in it for a couple of years and then sell it so that we could again resume traveling and working at a more leisurely pace. Meanwhile, our careers were going strong and we kept our debt low compared to the value of the property. Then came 2007. The tailspin of the economy sucked us down into its maw. First our industries dried up. There were no sales of new homes, no new mortgages requested, the existing banks were offering and selling dangerous mortgage products that I would not participate in. After a years worth of unemployment and the collapse of the real estate market here, we were no longer able to keep up. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that this house could and would lose over 50% of its value and still not sell. But that was the case, and here we are today, beginning…..

Phase V: Gypsies, Tramps and (I hope not) Thieves