April Fools’ Day

By James M. Jackson

Early morning March 31, 2025, I crawled into bed at home after a forty-eight-hour return trip from Leh, India, which is in the Indian Himalayan mountains region of Ladakh and ten and a half hours ahead of my home’s Central Daylight Time Zone (CDT). My flights were from Leh to Delhi to Dubai to Chicago to Madison. I caught some sleep on the Delhi to Dubai four-hour flight. I grabbed a few hours more on the fifteen-hour Dubai to Chicago leg, and that’s where I set my clock and tried to convince my body everything was now happening in CDT.

The Chicago to Madison flight was delayed an hour and a half because the crew was arriving on a plane from Raleigh-Durham, and that flight was diverted south to avoid massive thunderstorms curving from Michigan down to below St. Louis. I fought to stay awake on that flight so when I got home, I could sleep instead of being invigorated by a “nap.”

That worked. After I emptied my suitcase and took a shower, my Oura watch says I was asleep one minute after I climbed into bed. I arose at 8:00 am to keep adjusting to the CDT and after breakfast looked at my to-do list, which I had not done while on vacation.

That’s when I discovered that my first Tuesday of the month blog for Writers Who Kill was due to go live at midnight the next day, and I hadn’t paid attention to that and written this blog before I left for India. Normally, I would write about my trip and illustrate it with several of my photos—but I purposefully did not take a computer with me so I would be mindful of the special place I was visiting and not spend lots of time going through my thousands of images to find the best ones.

What to write then? Well, it is April Fools’ Day, so I thought I would share an April Fools’ joke created by George Plimpton, a wonderful sports writer who is best known for his realistic accounts of competing against professional athletes of various sports.

For the April 1, 1985 edition of Sports Illustrated, he wrote a story “The Curious Case of Sidd Finch.”[i] Sidd was a reclusive 28-year-old Harvard dropout, trained by Buddhist monks. He was fluent in Sanskrit, played the French horn, and impressively could hurl a baseball at 168 miles per hour. (To understand how ludicrous this is, Aroldis Chapman threw the fastest recorded pitch on September 24, 2010, a blazing 105.8 mph.)

Back to the story, in which Plimpton reported the Mets had given Sidd a secret tryout. The Mets went along with the prank and allowed players and coaches to be photographed with a middle school art teacher who posed as Sidd.

The subhead of the piece should have given the joke away with its absurdity and initial letters spelling out April Fools’ Day (He’s a pitcher, part yogi and part recluse. Impressively liberated from our opulent life-style, Sidd’s deciding about yoga.)

How could anyone fall for that? Well, the article purportedly led other teams to contact the Mets to learn more about this mysterious new phenom.

What’s your favorite April Fools’ Joke?

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[i] Sidd Finch: A pitcher, part yogi and part recluse. - Sports Illustrated https://www.si.com/mlb/2014/10/15/curious-case-sidd-finch 

James M. Jackson authors the Seamus McCree series. Full of mystery and suspense, these thrillers explore financial crimes, family relationships, and what happens when they mix. To learn more information about Jim and his books, check out his website, https://jamesmjackson.com. You can sign up for his newsletter (and get to read a free Seamus McCree short story).

Travel with Benefits

by Paula Gail Benson

[Note: many thanks to K.M. Rockwood’s suggestion for the title!]  

From: https://clipartix.com/travel-clipart-image-21712/

I’ve often heard that the most important thing a writer can do is finish the draft. Whether it’s a novel or short story, it can only be improved and perfected if you have a whole product on the table. Besides, by pressing forward, even if you’re not certain where you’re going, you sometimes encounter the unexpected.

Recently, I’ve been trying to observe this recommendation. I took a few days off to focus on a brief vacation and writing. During the day, I would write by hand, starting at the beginning of the story and advancing steadily. If I reached a point where I didn’t know the specifics of the action or a character’s response, I just noted what I thought happened and kept going.

So far, it’s been working well. (BTW, during breaks, I enjoyed time with friends and exploring new restaurants and locations—also very enjoyable! It’s important to encourage progress with rewards!)

I’ve always discovered ideas during travel. There is something about the mind being free to speculate while the body moves toward a destination that somehow leads to inspiration. In 2013, I wrote a post for Writers Who Kill about How Travel Benefits Writing. In that message, I mentioned how Robert Louis Stevenson was able to finish Treasure Island after traveling with his wife and stepson to Switzerland. I also listed three things travel makes you do: (1) face your fears by determining to go somewhere and actually starting on the journey; (2) leave your comfort zone and set off with the minimal required items packed; and (3) move. To humbly quote myself: “Motion provides its own momentum.”

Because I’ve kept my pen writing the next scene in my story, I’ve found unexpected developments. I’ve become very cognizant of pacing and the need to vary the types of action taking place. My characters have revealed themselves as they faced the next hurdle. I’ve been able to forget that the prose isn’t perfect. I know I’ll fix it in the editing process.

I’ve kept track of my story’s word count because the anthology to which I’ll submit has a limitation. Even so, expansions and contractions are what comes with revision. For now, I’m letting the story grow on its own, without restrictions or worries about holes.

Now that I’ve returned from the trip, I’ve continued the practice. When I take a break from the handwritten work, I type up the previous portions. That reminds me about details and gives me a chance to do some beginning editing, but I don’t dwell on major fixes. I don’t want anything to stop the momentum.

This past week, I sought some feedback on the rough product from a writing group. I did this with trepidation, hoping it would not stall my progress or inhibit my beliefs about the story. While I was surprised about some of the comments I received, I did not let them divert me from the forward propulsion. Onward! The end is in sight! I’m still moving ahead.

What’s your process? Does travel provide inspiration? What keeps you going until you reach the end?

A Trip With Unfortunate Incidents by Nancy L. Eady

Today is Memorial Day, and my family and I are headed back from a weekend at the beach.  Growing up, Mark worked for his family’s moving company; 80% of their income came in the summer when the military bases in Montgomery moved people so it wasn’t until the 90’s that he had his first Memorial Day off.  Since then, we try to go somewhere every Memorial Day weekend.  This weekend we are at Gulf Shores, one of our favorite beaches.  It has been a pleasant trip, but one trip we took to Gulf Shores was not.  

You won't want to believe me, but I solemnly swear this story is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.  

One Fourth of July weekend, Mark and I arranged for my mom to come with the two of us and Kayla in our camper, and to meet one of my sisters, her husband, and her daughter at an RV resort in Gulf Shores.  They had a camper too.  

The Fourth of July was on Monday.  My sister’s crew was supposed to leave the Friday before from North Alabama and arrive that day.  We left Saturday since the beach is much closer to us than it is to them.  Saturday morning, Mark and I, Kayla, and my mom were safely tucked into our motor home and headed south towards the beach in heavy, but tolerable, traffic when we got a text from my sister about 10 a.m. Instead of being at Gulf Shores, they were about 30 minutes from the beach and their truck had died.  They had called a wrecker and were waiting for it.

The next text came about 15 minutes later.  The wrecker had arrived; its operator had gotten the truck to start by hitting the alternator with a hammer, but he was following them into town to the nearest (open) mechanic’s shop to be sure they got there safely.  10 minutes later, we heard that the first place they were towed to did not have a mechanic on duty, so they were headed to a different place.  About 10 minutes after that, the tow truck following them was hit by someone who was DUI and with drug paraphernalia in her vehicle.  Once that was sorted out with the police, my sister’s family and the tow truck continued their trek over to an auto parts store which we will call, for convenience sake and purely incidentally resembling the name of an existing chain, O’Raley’s Auto Parts Store.  O’Raley’s had mechanics on duty, but they weren’t highly motivated to work on the truck – until it died again in front of the bays they use to fix vehicles, at which point O’Raley’s helped.  Which was great, except that O’Raley’s didn’t have the exact alternator they needed in stock, which meant that the O’Raley’s people tried three parts stores before they found the correct alternator.

About 1:00 that afternoon, when we were 45 minutes from the beach, we got a text from my sister that the truck was fixed and they were headed on to the campground.  At which point we all heaved a huge sigh of relief and relaxed.  Until 10 minutes later.

Kayla shouted, “Stop!  Stop!  Stop!”  She had been watching our rear view camera.  The front end of the Hyundai Veloster that we towed behind us had detached itself from the rest of the vehicle.  Fortunately, the break happened on a local road while traffic was going slow, so the towing safeguards held stuff together enough that no-one around us got hurt and we reached the side of the road.

While the police were working on the required incident report for us, a couple of cars in the left hand lane collided into each other.  We think maybe they were watching us instead of each other.  The policeman stuck working on the Saturday before the Fourth of July was much busier than he might have been otherwise.

After about 45 minutes, the policeman was done with us, the tow truck driver called by AAA had arrived and taken the Veloster off with him, and we resumed our drive. 

Now short one car, we decided to rent one for the weekend.  However, it was 2:00 p.m. on the Saturday before the Fourth of July in small town Alabama, and no one was open except for one Avis Rent-A-Car place in Daphne, 30 minutes away from us in normal traffic – and the beach traffic on this weekend was anything but!  Plus, they closed at three.  My brother-in-law grabbed Mark when we got into the campground, and the two dashed off in his truck to get the car, arriving at the Avis place at 3:00 exactly, where the kind young man at the counter took pity on them and helped.

Meanwhile, back at the campground, Mom, Kayla, my sister, and her daughter went to the pool.  I stayed behind at the camper to regain some semblance of equanimity and decided to put the chicken for supper that night out to thaw.  Deciding it would thaw more quickly outdoors, I carried it outside to put on the picnic table.  I started to go back inside the air conditioned camper -  and discovered I had locked myself out.  I sat outside at the picnic table for a while but July in Alabama is not the time to stay outdoors with no water, so I went to the pool, where my sister took pity on me and brought me back to her trailer while we waited for Mark and my brother-in-law to return.

Once they got back with the car and the camper was unlocked, everyone took a deep breath and started to finally relax. We enjoyed dinner together, and even went to bed a little early.   It had been a stressful day, but we were finally there, set up and able to rest.  Until 2:30 a.m. that morning.

The electricity in our camper was kaput.  Normally, this is not a big deal – a breaker just trips somewhere and needs to be reset.  Not this weekend, though.  Whatever was wrong with our electrical system was systemic and not going to be fixed by something as easy as a flipped circuit breaker.  By 3:30 a.m., Kayla and Mom had woken up too.  We conceded defeat and headed home the next day.  

So no matter what obstacles we encounter camping on regular holiday weekends, we always have something to compare it with and know nothing is as bad as it could be.  And that disastrous trip has been the fodder for many a family story and laughter for years afterwards. 

What trips have you taken that did not go according to plan?  Have you had a good Memorial Day weekend? 

Home Sweet Home by Annette Dashofy

Like most of us, I holed up all of 2020 and most of 2021. This year was the year everything was going to get back to normal. Don’t laugh. We all thought it would or at least hoped it would. 

Fully vaxxed, the mystery writing community gathered in Bethesda in April for Malice Domestic. There were smiles and hugs galore. 

And then a bunch of attendees came home with Covid. I was relieved that I was not among them. 

A few weeks later, my Pennwriters family gathered in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, for our annual conference. There were still smiles and hugs, but we were all a little (a lot) more cautious. Again, there were cases of Covid that showed up the following week. 

There have been other conferences and conventions across the country this summer. I’ve given quite a few talks and been on some panels closer to home. And then two weekends ago, I did something I haven’t done since late 2019. 

I boarded a plane. 

Sleuthfest in southern Florida was fun with more smiles and hugs. 

Florida!

I shared a room with fellow Writers Who Kill blogger, Martha Reed. 

Martha and Annette 
AKA Thelma and Louise

We joined several of our crime writer pals and had dinner with Jeffery Deaver. (Yes, THE Jeffery Deaver! Why did I not get a picture???) There were panels and workshops and book signings for two solid days. 

Hanging out with Micki Browning

And Bruce Coffin

It was a blast. Except for the air travel. 

Seriously, though, I can’t complain (much). My flights from Pittsburgh to Fort Lauderdale were smooth sailing. On time. No problems making connections. 

They did not lose my luggage. 

I breathed a sigh of relief. 

My trip home on Sunday fell on my birthday. The TSA woman who checked me in wished me a happy one. The first leg from Fort Lauderdale to Philadelphia went smoothly. But then, a less than one-hour flight from home, the snags hit. My flight to Pittsburgh was delayed. No biggie. I found my gate and a nearby eatery, bought a pizza, and sat down to browse Facebook while enjoying my dinner. 

Facebook had frozen my account. On my birthday. Because someone had pretended to be me a month ago. They offered hoops I could jump through to reclaim my account. I was sitting in an airport, using their wifi. No way was I going to reset passwords on an insecure network, even though I was using my VPN. 

So I waited for two hours, feeling grumpy and not very celebratory, for my flight home. 

In hindsight, it wasn’t awful. Only two hours. It was the final leg of my trip home, so it wasn’t like I was going to miss a connection. And in the worst-case scenario, I could’ve rented a car in the morning and driven home. (On the PA Turnpike? No, thank you. I’d rather fly.)

 But I made it home that evening. They didn’t lose my luggage. I reclaimed my Facebook profile the next morning. 

And I didn’t catch Covid. 

Home Sweet Home. 

Happy to be home with Kensi Kitty

Have you ventured onto a plane since the shutdown? How did it go? Or are you still staying home and waiting it out?

Travel Wisdom from the Camino de Santiago

By Shari Randall

The Camino de Santiago (the Road of St. James) is a pilgrimage that leads across Europe to the green hills of northwest Spain and Santiago de Compostela, home of a spectacular cathedral that the faithful believe houses the bones of the apostle James. The pilgrimage was popular in the Middle Ages and then slowly declined. In the seventies, the work of a Spanish professor renewed interest in the Camino, and in 2010 the movie, The Way, brought the route even more attention.

My husband and I saw The Way and were fascinated by the Camino’s combination of outdoor beauty, culture, spirituality, and physical challenge. This summer we decided to join the over 200,00 people who walk “The Way,” every year — all seekers, each seeking something different, in the steps of those long ago pilgrims.

The traditional pilgrim travels with everything on his back, a sturdy walking stick in hand, staying the night at bare bones dormitory-style hostels called refugios. But companies have sprung up to serve the needs of modern pilgrims and will shuttle suitcases from one hotel or albergue to the next while the pilgrim carries only the day’s needs in a pack. Full disclosure: we used one such company. I confess: we did the one week “slacker” Camino — or as my husband put it, the “executive” Camino.

The Camino isn’t just one trail. There are many routes to Santiago. We took the one called the Primitivo, the oldest route, and as you’ve guessed from the name, one of the most primitive, the least traveled, with the fewest services along the road. We carried packs with our daily needs: water, a little food, tissues, foot remedies, sunscreen, guidebook, and raingear, just in case.

Having to carry everything shifts your mindset. It’s surprising what you need, what you don’t need, and how what you think you need turns out to be the last thing you need.

Let me explain.

Along with the traditional symbol of the pilgrim, or peregrino, the scallop shell, many on the trail use walking sticks. Very pilgrim-ish. I’d struggled on many steep uphill sections of trail and I thought having a stick would help. However, we were on the primitive path – no stores, heck, we walked for miles seeing no buildings. As we walked, I auditioned a couple of fallen tree limbs, but nothing was strong enough – other pilgrims had had the same idea and had snatched up any sturdy branches.

As we walked into the village of Villamor, we stopped at fountain outside a church. Well, my husband stopped, I collapsed – this was Day Two and we’d walked 26 km on Day One. To my right against the stone wall were three walking sticks, an abandoned package of sponge cake, and a bottle of water. 

I looked around. No other pilgrims were in sight. The church building was closed. The cake didn’t appeal to me. But one of the sticks, a branch bleached white by the sun…

I picked it up. Smooth, the perfect size for my hand. I took a few steps, swinging it. It felt good. It matched my jacket. “Perfect,” I said. “The Camino provides.” We’d heard that along the way. Here was an example!

My husband shook his head as he munched the cake.

New energy surged through me. Now I felt like a real peregrina. As we continued our trek, I focused to coordinate the stick and my stride. Swing stick, plant stick, step, swing stick…

A few kilometers later we climbed the road toward Arzua, a small city. The stick helped, but…I had to think about coordinating the stick and my steps — a lot.

In Arzua, walking past a mix of centuries old churches, cafes, bars, motorcycle shops (two!), my energy shifted to trying not to hit anyone with my stick. Finally, we arrived at our hotel.

I leaned my stick against the brick wall by the front door and stepped back. 

“It might not be here later,” my husband said.

“That’s okay.”

Later, as I washed away the dust of the road, I considered. It would have been great to write about how the Camino provided just what I needed, when I needed it. Instead the Camino provided what I thought I needed and taught me that I didn’t need it after all. 

Probably a better lesson.

Readers, do you have any travel wisdom to share?

Bookstores Worth the Trip – First in a Series

by Shari Randall

When friends visit my corner of Connecticut, I take them to see my favorite sights – the lighthouses, historic buildings, and unique shops and restaurants that make this a fun place to live. We’re also lucky in this small corner of the world to have some great independent bookstores.

One of my favorites is, well, a bit quirky.

The Book Barn in Niantic, CT has been delighting booklovers since April 1988, with a hiatus in 1990 when a fire nearly destroyed the building. The store recovered and has been going strong, so strong it has outgrown its original home and now has two outposts, Downtown (Audio to UFOs, Manga, Parenting, Children’s, Comics) and Store Four (Everything from Astronomy to Writing, with Mystery, Thriller, and True Crime), and over 500,000 books.

And yes, "Store Four" wasn't a typo. The store grew to four separate buildings, but my favorite outpost, a small third storefront that was devoted to mostly mysteries, was folded into Store Four, so mystery lovers should head there first. I never left that collection without a find – a paperback The Elusive Mrs.Pollifax and the short story collection The Cat Who Had Fourteen Tales by Lillian Jackson Braun. Each only $1!

Along with knowledgeable booksellers, several bookstore cats, and free coffee, the main Book Barn also has goats you can pet and feed. I kid you not! Sorry! There’s something about the sense of humor at the Book Barn that is infectious. The signage alone is worth the trip.

The main barn is so busy it even has a parking lot attendant to direct traffic. When you leave your car, you pass a table where staffers will evaluate and perhaps buy your books. “Ellis Island” is the first stop where stalls of shelves hold new arrivals. Everywhere are fun touches – a Hobbit door, a playground, benches, an oversized chess set.

You can visit The Underworld, aka Hades, (see photo above), pass through two graveyards full of Halloween decorations to a building called The Haunted for mystery and horror books, through to The Annex for poetry and essays, to the last outbuilding, the Last Page, for nonfiction.

Then the Main building awaits – three levels of well-organized book nirvana.

Kids’ books? Yes.

Teen books? Yes

Military history? Art? Arthurian Legends? Psychology? Women’s Studies? Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. And more!

Is the Book Barn worth the trip? You bet.

The Book Barn, 41 West Main Street, Niantic, CT 06357

Downtown, 269 Main Street, Niantic, CT 06357

Store Four, 55 West Main Street, Niantic, CT 06357

What’s your favorite bookstore?

Six-Toed Cats, A Studio and a $20,000 Swimming Pool by Nancy Eady

This summer, my family and I got a chance to revisit Key West, where one of our favorite places is the Hemingway house. Ernest Hemingway lived there with his wife Pauline for about 9 years in the 1930’s. (All of the facts listed in here came from the tour guide. I hope I am remembering them correctly.)  This is the approach to the house from the side.

Side Wall of the Hemingway House Grounds

The first time Mark and I saw the Hemingway House, we parked about four blocks away and walked, but this time, with Kayla, we took the Key West Trolley which stops only a block away. 

Cat in the Ticket Booth

This friendly feline was helping to greet visitors in the ticket booth. Ernest Hemingway liked cats and was particularly fond of those cats with a mutation that gives them six toes. The more scientific name is a “polydactyl” cat. He had somewhere between 40 and 60 living on the grounds of the house while he was there, and the people who take care of the house now keep the population also around 40 to 50 cats. Interestingly, each cat’s birth is recorded, so each of the cats currently residing at the house has its own genealogical record. The cats are everywhere on the grounds and the house and the staff works hard to keep them happy so the cats will stay there. (This was the one spot in Key West where we didn’t see any roosters; the roosters in Key West are ubiquitous, but not stupid!)

The European Chandelier

This chandelier came from Europe and includes Venetian glass. Pauline shipped it from Europe to use as a centerpiece of the house, and apparently it was the talk of the town once it was installed. The house was originally built by a doctor, who paid to have the limestone coral base rock excavated to provide the only full basement in the city of Key West. It sits on a full acre of land, which also makes it one of, if not the, largest homesteads in Key West.

A Cat Asleep in the Master Bedroom

In the master bedroom, it is not unusual to find a cat comfortably curled up on the pillows at the top of the bed.

Second Floor Bookshelves

The upstairs hallway, although a little narrow, is lined with bookshelves on one side. These books are not necessarily the ones that were in the house when Ernest Hemingway lived there, but they are books he owned and used or had given to him as gifts. He had an estate in Cuba after he left Key West around 1939, and he kept most of his books there. Unfortunately, the estate was confiscated by Castro after the Bay of Pigs invasion. 

View from the Upper Veranda

There is a huge veranda that wraps around the outside of the house on the second floor. Mark took this picture for me. On the front side of the veranda, you get a wonderful view of the Key West lighthouse through the branches of the African Tulip Tree on the house grounds. The African Tulip Tree, as you might tell from the name, is not native to the Keys, and in the city of Key West they are rare. The flowers on it are striking.

The Writing Studio

Behind the house is what used to be a coach house and barn. When the Hemingways moved into the house, they converted the top floor into a writer’s studio, the first one Ernest Hemingway had. He was a very disciplined writer and would go out there every morning to write.

One of Hemingway's Typewriters

I just had to take a close-up picture of the typewriter in the studio that he used to write on. From a writing standpoint, I felt that I was standing on hallowed ground and I admit I was hoping that somehow wafts of inspiration and writing talent would descend upon me while I was standing there.  The most important thing I learned from the tour was to write every day. Period. Of course, it helps to have something to say, too!

Cat in the Writing Studio

 One of the cats had found its way into the writer’s studio (human visitors can only view the studio through a piece of clear plastic, but the estate owners left an opening large enough in the bottom of the barrier for the cats to get in.)  He or she looked quite comfortable.

Cat Feeding Area

The estate has several areas where food is put out for the cats, and this was one of them. It is between the house, and the writer’s studio and pool. None of the cats were around it at the time we were there, but I am sure it is a frequent haunt of theirs!

Since I was there as a tourist, and not as a blogger, I forgot to take a picture of the pool, but it is a beautiful salt water pool put on the grounds by Pauline. It cost $20,000 to build in the 1930’s. The dollar equivalent today I cannot even begin to calculate. The reason it was so expensive is the hard coral bedrock of the island. It took an extraordinary amount of manpower to excavate the bedrock out in order to put the pool in. According to the tour guide, Pauline put the pool in while Ernest Hemingway was off on a trip somewhere. When he came back, he tossed a penny in the pool, telling her that she might as well have his last cent, too. The same penny now is covered by plexiglass on the pool deck.

The Hemingway House is not the only famous residence in Key West, but it is a unique memorial to a giant of American literature.  If you get the chance, be sure to stop by!

On the Road to the Four Corners

By Annette Dashofy

When I was a kid, travel was a rare luxury. Farmers can’t just check their horses and chickens into a kennel. Finding people to cow sit is a challenge. Plus, my mom took care of her mother and then her father over many years. Getting away wasn’t really an option. As an adult, I still had horses and cats. Then it was my turn to take care of my parents. I could count on one hand the number of honest-to-goodness vacation trips I took prior to 2013.

That’s when Hubby and I went on what I expected to be a once-in-a-lifetime dream trip to the Wild West.

(Here I am on horseback in the Garden of the Gods during my first trip out west in 2013) 

Not long afterward, I signed my first book contract and suddenly I had a really good excuse to attend conferences. I’ve been to Raleigh, Bethesda, New Orleans, Nashville, Green Bay, and Long Beach as well as five more “once-in-a-lifetime” trips out West.

I’ve discovered I love to travel! Yes, the airlines often leave much to be desired, but I’ll tolerate the discomfort and hassles in order to go someplace fun.

Earlier this month, I made my now-annual pilgrimage to New Mexico. It’s become my second home. My best friend lives in Aztec and provides me with my own bedroom, bathroom, and office in which to write. If you’ve read No Way Home, you now understand why I chose that setting. Research! AKA Tax Write-Off.

This trip was a nice mix of vacation and work. I’m an early riser anyway, and combined with the time difference, I woke up well before my hostess and quietly slipped into “my office” to pound out pages on the next book. In the afternoons, while sitting in the air-conditioned comfort of her living room, my friend (and co-conspirator…I mean co-writer) and I outlined a new short story set out there.

That’s not to say we were all work and no play. We took a little road trip to the Four Corners Monument.

(My best friend Leta Burns at the 4 Corners Monument)

Prior to this trip, I’d only set foot in Arizona to change planes in Phoenix. And I’d never been in Utah. I’m not sure walking around the monument truly counts, but I’m going with it. Four states in one little stroll.

We also stopped at a number of pawn shops and trading posts along the way. It truly is a different world out there on the Navajo Rez.

Another stop we make every year is the town of Durango, Colorado where we have lunch at the Diamond Belle in the haunted Strater Hotel. 

I’ve not seen any ghosts but the atmosphere—and the food—is amazing.

You may have heard of Durango. It’s been in the news lately due to the wildfire north of the town. I’ve been out there during fire season numerous times, but this was the first time we witnessed the smoke on this level. My heart goes out to the people and business affected by the “416” (and other) wildfires.

(That's smoke, not clouds, in the distance)

Getting back to the food. Green chiles are my favorite. I have yet to find a good chile relleno here in the east. REAL ones are made with green chiles (not poblanos), a pepper grown mostly in Hatch, New Mexico. My first stop after getting off the plane is Rubia’s for rellenos. 

It’s also one of my last stops before heading home.

I’m back home on the farm in Pennsylvania now and am already dreaming of my next trip. Alas, I’m homebound for the next few months. It’s not the chickens, horses, and cows keeping me tied down anymore. Now, it’s my next book deadline.

So, are you an eager traveler or a homebody?  

Ravens and Roadrunners

The view from atop Capulin Volcano

by Julie Tollefson

I had a really great idea for this post earlier this week. I’m sure it was going to be something insightful and inspiring or maybe heartfelt and honest. But I was traveling with nine teenagers at the time, with no way to take notes, and now all I remember is the title: Ravens and Roadrunners.

Red-winged blackbird at Cheyenne Bottoms

You see, my husband sponsors the Science Club at his high school. Throughout the school year, club members work hard—recycling, highway cleanup, concessions—and their reward is a summer trip to explore different aspects of science and science careers. For this year’s trip, my husband drove a van full of kids, and I drove our truck packed with camping gear. We followed, roughly, a bit of the Santa Fe Trail through Kansas, Oklahoma, and New Mexico.

Over five days, we stopped at Cheyenne Bottoms, a crucial wetlands for migratory birds on the Central Flyway; camped at Cimarron National Grassland, a vast swath of yucca, sage brush, and rocky cliffs; saw dinosaur tracks at Clayton Lake State Park in New Mexico; toured Los Alamos National Lab’s linear particle accelerator; viewed the night sky south of Santa Fe with Astronomy Adventures; and took in panoramic views at Capulin Volcano. We even turned a near-disaster (a severe thunderstorm rolled through our campground and swamped our gear) into a delight, a slow cruise down a dark road in the rain to catch toads (at least three different species) and one tiger salamander.

Tiger salamander

In short, the trip had a little bit of science for every taste—high-powered physics, geology, biology, astronomy—with a bit of history and foodie adventure thrown in for good measure.

Even for me, a non-scientist who is not in any way interested in how many millions of neutrinos or whatever bombard the human body on any given day, our travels proved wonderfully refreshing. For about an hour while the kids hiked canyon trails near the Los Alamos Nature Center, I sat on a rock and sketched a rough outline for a new short story. The plot and characters presented themselves so clearly and forcefully I had no choice but to drop everything and write.

If only I could say the same for my elusive Ravens and Roadrunners topic.

Travel Lessons - Korean Style

by Shari Randall

Travel is a great teacher.

When you travel to a new place, it’s impossible not to pack a few expectations along with your passport.

Rome? One expects traffic, the Coliseum, and model-handsome men on Vespas.

Hawaii? Beaches. Pineapples. Volcanoes.

South Korea? The DMZ. The Korean War. Kias. 

Gangnam Style.

But when I visited my daughter and son-in-law last month in South Korea I learned a lot I didn’t expect. Here are a few of those lessons:

The most humbling lesson? I learned what it is like to be illiterate. Korea uses a complex character based alphabet called hangul. In general, South Korea does a great job of bilingual Korean/English signage in tourist spots, better than China or Japan according to my globe-trotting daughter. The airport and train stations were particularly English-friendly. But once outside these areas, I found myself groping for clues. Did that symbol mean coffee? Was it okay to enter this door? After awhile I just relaxed and relinquished control, relying on my child to guide me. Also, many Koreans, especially young people, speak English and were friendly and eager to help.

Pokemon Go? Try Tourist Go. You, as a Westerner, will be the star of many vacation photos. Those aforementioned helpful young people will want to take a selfie with you. I wondered if this was a homework assignment – ask an English speaker for a photo. My blue eyed, blond daughter took these requests in stride. I still laugh that somehow I landed in Cindy from China’s Instagram feed.

South Korea is more technologically advanced than we are. Modern Korean apartment doors open with keypads that not only spin a cool safe-cracker wheel but also play a little musical ditty I think of as “Don’t Worry! Be Happy! Your Door Is Locked.” Trains and buses are sleek and run on time. When the train approaches the station a “Rocky” fanfare plays. However, traditional courtesies remain: Conductors bow upon entering and leaving the train car.

Enjoying the Hello Kitty Cafe

As you might have guessed from the playful musical embellishments, South Korea has an inner child unafraid of self-expression. Young women who could grace the cover of any sophisticated fashion magazine sport sparkly pink headbands and Minnie Mouse bows.  Guys wear t-shirts with cartoon characters you’d see in American kindergartens. Speaking of cartoon characters, every town has a cartoon “ambassador” to brand their city. I think this is a reaction to being not many years distant from a devastating war and living so close to a country run by a madman. As my professors would say, “Discuss.”

Even so, my daughter reminds me that most Koreans are more concerned about finding a parking space in Seoul than they are about North Korea.

There are not only Hello Kitty cafes in Korea, but also sheep cafes, cat cafes, and raccoon cafes where you can enjoy your coffee while you visit with the animals.

The food was great. I ate a lot of things I couldn’t identify, but it was all good.

Except for lotus. Lotus tastes like wood.

There is one trashcan in all of gigantic Seoul train station and no paper towels anywhere. South Korea’s 50 million people share a mountainous country approximately the size of Indiana graced with ancient palaces, temples and natural beauty. Conservation and recycling are a way of life.

Chilburan in Gyeongju National Park

Because of those spectacular mountains, Koreans like to hike. Grandmas in house slippers zoomed by me on the trail up Namsan Mountain in Gyeongju National Park. In addition to the beautiful scenery there, one hikes past ancient Buddhist statues and a temple where you can stay and take part in the life of the nuns and monks. At a rest stop on the trail by a centuries old statue of the Buddha, a nun-in-training greeted us with hard candies and tea. Not only did she speak English, she was from the town where I live!

The most important thing I learned? The world is small.

What have you learned on your travels?