The inner ramblings from a somewhat fiery, awnry girl musician/writer/wanderluster...Out on the road seeking out the places in between and the blue and the green.
I am a single handed land-yacht sailor. I am embarking on the biggest solo sail of my life: a full Colorado winter in a 1956 Kenskill Trailer that I have yet to name or even spend a night in. On board will be Gibson and Jesse Lunde, my 14 and 12 year old dogs (forever friends) and me. They don't do much in terms of helping, which keeps in line with the strict rules of single handing. While I am not a stranger to shorter jaunts in my current trailer, a 1959 Pink Kenskill that I call The Birdhouse, to this new-to-me 1956 trailer that I plan on moving into soon has not yet been tested to be livable...
The 1956 Kenskill
1959 Kenskill 'The Birdhouse' that I am currently living in
1966 Airstream Overlander I lived in from 2010-2012
Before/during the scraping
After two years of living part to full time in the Birdhouse ,and two years prior to that living in a 1966 Airstream Overlander, plans to do the biggest repairs to the '59 will begin in October, just a few weeks away. The repairs include fixing and sealing the roof seams. I spent my first summer of owning her doing the prep work for this job. It was the hottest summer ever here in Lyons,Colorado, and I'd be out there in 109 degree heat, scraping off the 55 years of past random sealants with a heat gun and putty knife.
Hot tin roof 1959 Kenskill after all sealants had been removed.
Since then, she has traveled short distances but has been covered with various layers of roof tarps to keep the rain out. My other plans also include sandblasting and painting her outter skin. I haven't decided an exact color or stripe pattern, but, one thing is for sure, there will be some pink. All these repairs need to be done indoors, so the time has finally come when I have such a place to do these much needed things. My trailer partner, JMac, who owns 35 acres about 30 minutes north of here, finally got his airplane hanger size garage put up (only two years behind schedule.) So now we can do what we've been talking about for the last couple years: restoring trailers! My 1959 Kenskill is first on the agenda!
JMac putting the rain gutters back on.
I have been a bit nervous about moving into this '56 trailer while my '59 is being worked on. We don't know each other very well yet. On one of the first days I spent cleaning her, she wasn't fully leveled and a big rain storm came and the rain poured in through every window. To see even one drop of water come in a trailer is devastating, let alone, a pouring stream from every possible place! Yikes! After looking things over,when the rain stopped, my trailer partner discovered that the previous owners had probably taken all the windows out prior to selling her in hopes of painting her, and when they sold her, not having painted her yet, they didn't seal the windows back up, or put the rain gutters back up over the windows, so naturally when it rained she didn't stand a chance. That was the first order of business with the '56: putting the rain gutters back up over each window and then taking each window out and adding a new layer of Butyl tape sealant to the window frame and then putting them back in.
1956 Kenskill as yet unnamed.
I have spent the last two years perfecting the livability of the Birdhouse. Everything has it's place and it's purpose. In just 119 square feet, there's not an inch of extra room for unnecessary things. I love it. I love everything about the Birdhouse. From her giant bay front window and jalousie windows, to her pink Princess stove, pink sink and pink shower, to her light birch walls and rounded cabinets. I love the way that the three of us fit in here and know our places. Jesse mostly hangs out under the bed with my guitar cases. Gibson, is either on the bed, when I want him out from under my feet or laying in the 3x3 square feet of space in front of the sink, in front of the Dometic 3 way fridge. As I sit here on my booth seat, we are all in our places. I have just heated up three pots of water in my electric water pot and I washed the few dishes I had from the day in my little wash basin I place in the sink. I don't let the water go into the grey water tank. I just dump the soapy water out side and use the rinse water to water my plants and little container gardens outside.
I am lucky that I have an electricity source close by and an outdoor water spicket that I can take my gallon jugs to and fill up every other day depending on my needs. Most days I use less that 3 gallons of water a day, and that includes the dogs' water bowls. I wash my hair once a week, and take sponge baths every day or so. During the spring, summer and fall, I have a 10x10 out door living area with a table I made from old pallets, a couple chairs, a long front porch and an old secretary's desk that I found in an alley and painted to keep my cleaning products and laundry soap in. An old non working Pink Hadco fridge sits out there and houses my gardening tools. I keep a few metal painted trash cans around for bird seed and dog food, and a pretty 1940s metal trash can keeps my dirty cleaning rags that need to be laundered. I have strung big clear Christmas lights all around the trailer's windows and the canopy of the 10x10 pop up shelter that makes up my outdoor living room. I have a large piece of that green fake grass carpet, to help keep the dirt out of the trailer...Like I said, I love it and everything has it's place.
Outdoor living area of 1959 Birdhouse. Table I made from pallets.
Winter is coming. That is a fact. And I have spent not only the last two but really the last 4 years living,like I said, part time in trailers. My first for-go was in a 1966 Airstream Overlander. It also didn't have the water hooked up. I had electricity and kept it heated with an little electric heater when I'd be there. There were nights I slept in her when it was 7 below outside and maybe 40 inside. It would take a long time to heat up. After living for 7 years in an old log cabin high in the mountains of Colorado,also with no running water, just a wood stove for heat and only 15 amps of electricity, I know what it was like to be cold. It would be 40 below outside and frosty blankets inside. Brrrrr. Looking back, I guess, I am an unconventional liver person.
Elk Creek Ranch cabin I lived in for 7 years. Snowy bunnies!
I just tried a four stint living with my boyfriend (part time when I wasn't in the trailers) in his high mountain town town home. We lived in the basement and had roommates upstairs. We shared the kitchen and common areas. I swear this nearly killed me. It was strikes all around. While I love him, I couldn't handle the stress of the living situation. So this brings me to this current situation of living full time year round in a vintage trailer. I really have no place else to go but no place I'd rather go anyway.
I sit here tonight, in my pink trailer, front door proped open, listening to what could be a sleep noise mix tape: bubbling brook, mixed in with chirping crickets, low bass-y frogs and an oscillating fan. It is another full moon? Good Lord, it sure looks like it through the trees. The Harvest Moon. I am barefoot and enjoying the last of these summerish nights. Soon enough, I will replace the fans with heaters, flip flops with snow boots, and hoodies with down parkas. I will close the door and nestle in for the winter.
This whole last year has already felt like a long winter emotionally. From the Lyons' flood a year ago, to the dissolving of my relationship; emotionally it's been incredibly dark. So now for it really to be getting dark again, I'm just a little apprehensive about it.
Gibson Lunde
This afternoon, during a particularly windy storm, I decided to do something I haven't done in months: watch a movie on Netflix. Instead of watching it with my guy, snuggled up in our memory foam bed, at his town home we lived in together, under down comforters and dogs all around, I watched it on my iPhone, on top of my feather bed with Gibson,my 14 year old black lab at my feet. I watched this documentary that my friend Craig (a real sailor who sailed from America to Tahiti!) suggested because he knew I'd love it, Maidentrip, the story of Laura Dekker, the youngest girl to sail single handed around the world. These stories have always inspired me. From the first time I saw the movie The Dove, about Robin Lee Graham,another young single handed sailor, to reading all kinds of books on sailing and sailors ( Maiden Voyage is another favorite). I especially like the single handers for some reason. I like the idea of just being out there alone...and liking being out there alone, and then not liking being out there alone, and then not wanting to come back from being out there alone. Learning to like your own company the best. To rely on yourself entirely. To find your true happiness, to finding your true self and finding you never want to leave who you found.
While in my relationship with my guy over the last four years, when I'd feel overwhelmed by our living situation, I kept another trailer up at his place, where I could go to escape if I needed. Yes, all these trailers get confusing for everyone to keep straight. So all total, my trailer partner and I have 4 trailers between us: the two Kenskills, the Airstream and this little one called the Cardinal that is a 1962.
1962 Cardinal outside of the town home, Frisco Colorado.
I am now in a place in my life I've never been and I like it. I am totally alone. I can do whatever I want. I have my own little cleaning and organizing business called 'Girl Friday' and I live with in my means. I also wear many different hats that include: songwriter,musician, writer, chef, crafter, sewer, upholsterer, gardener, horse whisperer, star gazer, mountain climber, river rafter, and photographer to high light a few things that I can be found doing. Instead of worrying about the Doldrums that are sure to come mid-winter, I am going to use this time as a land locked solo sailing journey around the world of me. Who is this 42 year old that I've become? What else is she capable of? There's no running away. There's no jumping overboard, there's only sailing on towards the horizon to what is right in front of me. In my mind, as the wind blows and the snow comes, I will think of my trailer with sails on top, heading towards the sun.
Seven years ago,when I was 35, I did something, which now, seems not very original, I left my husband of 15 years. It's a big complex story with lots of reasons, but one of the bigest reasons was that I had dreams that I wanted to live, dreams that he didn't want to live with me.
Sure, for a long time we were living our dreams. We had lived on 360 acres in an old log cabin with out running water, minimal electricity and just a wood stove for heat for 7 years. It was a big old horse ranch that over looked the Continental Divide. That was a big dream for sure when we were first together. We learned to live a simple way. Every day was chop wood and haul water.
We built greenhouses from lodge pole pine logs and salvaged windows and raised bed gardens from scrap wood we found. We had an out door shower that used hauled and heated up water from the Elk Creek irrigation ditch that ran throughout the property. We caretook the horses and chickens, the dogs and cats, feed the hummingbirds in the summer, cut 15 cords of wood when the snow had melted and we could get the early 80s F150 back on the ranch's logging roads and v then plowed the snow in the winter.
I grew dozen of kinds of heirloom tomatoes on that ranch at 9,200' in the raised beds of 100% 2 + yr old composted horse manure (from the horses we care took, who ate the hay we grew, cut, raked, put up in the barn and hauled out on sleds in knee deep snow in the winter) and never had a bad insect... In the raised beds, in perfect patchwork squares, I grew every weird kind of lettuce, spinach, kale, chard, and mustard green I could fit. Spring peas would grow intertwined on old scalloped edged wire fences along the irrigation ditch and tubers and root vegetables grew in sandy deep dark soil. It has been over 7 years now since I've had a garden of my own, it used to be such a big part of my life... It's going to take some time to get my soil just right... I am hoping to head up to the ranch tomorrow and get a few buckets of Annie's muck pile to add to my new garden's soil... Sort of like a yeast starter for bread that you never let die. I drew out my garden plan on squared grid paper last night with my seed packets all around me... This will be so small in comparison to the scale of what I used to do, but it's a beginning. I am reminded of that Christine Kane song 'She Don't Like Roses' that says : she wants a garden| a little bit of land to put her hands in.
And then the next dream was to own our own house.. So .we bought an old 1875 farmhouse about 30 minutes out of town. When we moved from the ranch, we took down the biggest of our greenhouses and moved it to back of our new-to-us farmhouse. We even hauled all the soil in our gardens from the ranch because to us, not only was it expensive to replace, but it was like gold. I went completely nuts planning the gardens every winter. Seed catalogs were prized possessions. I spent more money than I should have ordering heirloom seeds, starter plants and organic seed starting mix. Coming from 9,200' at the ranch to about 7,800 at our new place, it meant a longer growing season. Our new green house was bigger. We made it for starting seeds and then as a hot house for growing tomatoes, peppers and things that thrived in the heat. But I wasn't just a thirty something backyard gardener, I was also a singer songwriter with one album under my belt and dreams of playing music and seeing the world. After two years of making the farmhouse picture perfect, ready for the magzine shoot (incase they ever came knocking- they never did), I realized that I still had many more dreams to live. Dreams of my own that my husband didn't share. It didn't help that I had been sleeping on the couch for years, either. So in the last seven years, since I left our marriage and our beautiful farmhouse, I have made many of my dreams come true. I lived in Venice, California, bought a surf board and tried to learn to surf. I traveled alone for 2 months with a mountain dulcimer all over Thailand and Indonesia. I landed in the artistic community of Lyons,CO. I've played some big and some small stages, made my second album that I am very proud of. Started a community music night at a local venue that helped to fundraise thousands of dollars for things like the Japanese Earthquake/ Tsunami. The Haiti Hurricane, Hurricane Sandy, Colorado Wild Fires and more. I was even presented an e-chievement award from the radio show e Town for my community service. I've also since fallen in love with another mountain man in another mountain town. We have summitted 14,000' mountains, ice climbed frozen water falls, back packed, hiked, backcountry skied deep powder, and white water rafted raging rivers. Still with all that adventure, something's been missing : My love of a simpler life, watching things grow from seed and being quiet.
I couldn't even focus on the photos on the giant board yesterday at the memorial. Someone handed me the program/service paper, I don't even know what it's called...pamphlet, brochure, program? Those words just aren't the words that come any where near the definition of Todd...yet, here we all were re defining and defining the way Todd, who passed away May 20, 2014, made our lives, our trips around the sun, feel like we were living our own Kerouac-lives, hoboing trains across the West, even if we were just walking down the street, sitting out on his deck in the sun with a 12 pack, or swirling on a bar stool waiting for him to glance our way.
Everybody will help you Discover what you set out to find But if I can save you any time Come on, give it to me I’ll keep it with mine
Listening to this song now, I can hear Todd saying, 'Susanna Hoffs? Total babe.' As he rolled a quarter across his knuckles. Did I make up in my mind that he tried out for clown college? You'd see him riding down the dirt streets of Fraser, Colorado on his uni-cycle, spinning an Ultimate Frisbee on one finger, bare footed and bare chested smiling at everyone he passed
Leave your stepping stones behind, something calls for you
Forget the dead you’ve left, they will not follow you The vagabond who’s rapping at your door Is standing in the clothes that you once wore Strike another match, go start anew And it’s all over now, Baby Blue
Our bond was over music, Bob Dylan and The Grateful Dead mostly, the old black and white episodes of the Andy Griffith Show and the fact that we had the same sarcastic sense of humor,the ability to talk about anything at all or sit in comfortable silence.
Years ago, when I still lived in Grand County, I used to do a lot of canning...pickles, preserves, salsas...and My friends would receive jars for gifts. I know I gave Todd some of my bread and butter pickels one time and he always made sure to tell me how much he loved them.
Last summer, after we knew he was sick, he sent me a text, and asked me if I had any more of those Bread and Butter Pickles left. I said, Todd, that was 15 years ago...I haven't canned pickles in a long time...He said, just wondering, Don't want to be any trouble. I got on my sea foam green cruiser bike and rode down to the farmer's market and ordered up a bushel of pickling cucumbers... I was down to double digits in my bank account but I spent the last of my money on Ball jars and those cucumbers...I made up a batch of those pickles because Todd said, 'I'm hungry and had a hankering for those pickles.' I sent him two large jars as soon as they were ready... Funny, as it turns out, Frances Bavier (Aunt Bea) and I have the same birthday...I pickled my cucumbers in vinegar, not kerosene, but the sentiment was the same... As long as my family loves what I do, that's all the blue ribbon I need.
Todd and I spent a lot of time going to concerts and festivals. He was always fun to have around. When I got married, he was my bartender...there was no other choice. My wedding reception was full of wedding crashers and pukers. We did it up right back then. The next day, my mother in law, said in a thick Wisconsin accent, 'Oh, gee, your bartender sure did get drunk last night.' I said, 'Well, I hope so, he is one of our best friends.'
Sept 19, 1999 Woodspur Lodge, Winter Park, CO
Sure enough, look at the cup in his hands...There was a lot of Wild Turkey going around that night. This is at my wedding in 1999. I am not one to judge, I was at the Creek before my wedding having a shot of Turkey myself. This was the only time Todd had short hair. Apparently, he cut it in some sort of 2 am dare...I'll leave it at that but that story is pure Todd...but it's not my story to tell, so you'll have to ask him about it if you ever run into him again.
Around the end of February, I got news from Sudi, one of my oldest girl friends who was also Todd's best friend, that he was in the hospital and it wasn't looking good. I canceled a few shows I had scheduled and made the trip back up to Grand County to see Todd in the hospital. To let him know I was coming, I sent him this photo of us at my wedding telling him I loved him. When I arrived, Todd had decided that he wanted what remained of his long hair to be cut off like this. Julie did a great job doing the cutting while Jeanette, Sue and I sat there, telling him how handsome he looked. It was surreal. His phone was blowing up with messages and calls as his friends got wind of his where abouts and condition. I held his hand as he wiped away tears. He said he was ready to go. Even though he said that, and it looked like that would be the best decision, it still seemed like he would kick this, bounce out of it... Be back out in the summer sun, spinning his Grateful Disc...
I asked him how old he was, as he always kept that vague. He told me his real age, which made him older than I thought, but it seemed right as I always knew he lied about his age. I kissed him forehead and asked him if I could take a photo...he said, sure... This was one of the last smiles I got. I know he loved me. You can still see it in his eyes.
March 8 2014 Granby Medical
A few days after this was taken, he was released from the hospital. They had gotten him to the point where he could leave. So I was coming back to Grand County to play a show, and I sent him a message, asking if he was up for some company, he called me and asked if I could come and pick him up and take him to the Library... which I did. I helped him out of his house, through his snowy, unshoveled driveway, walking with a cane, into my car...the same one, we drove everywhere in together...I tried to keep it but upbeat...'Look at you,' I said, 'Land of the living!' 'Barely...' he chimed back. Gone was the laugh that would have follwed that comment.Just a wincing of pain. I could tell he had gotten accustomed to the IV pain management in the hostpital and being out wasn't necessarily a good thing. After his library visit, and I dropped him back off at home, just a few blocks away, I wouldn't let it sink in, that I was probably saying good bye for the last time...It couldn't be the last time.
We sat there in my car for a few minutes, looking at all the other places he had lived in the 20+ years I had known him, all of them with in sight of my windshield, and laughed a bit. I confessd to him of the time many, many years ago I came knocking on his door at 2 am but he was alseep... Startled, he said 'you did?' Yeah, it was probably a good thing you didn't wake up, I said...
We could see his old second level deck that we'd sit out on and drink beers in the sun and we shared a few laughs and then I helped him back inside his house. I told him I loved him and he said, I love you, too... 'See you next time' I said and shut my eyes, not wanting to see the last moments. 'See you next time, Jami.' He said in his still deep voice.
And that was it.
In the weeks after that day, I had gotten news that he had requested no more visitors...that he just wanted his quiet time.
On the afternoon of May 20, I was on another call when Sudi's name flashed across my phone and I took the call...
Hi... I said... Hi... she said back...I knew before I even clicked over.
He had passed away shortly before she called.
It doesn't feel like he is gone.
I feel him with me while I am listening to these songs, in the voice of Andy Griffith, in the words of Bob Dylan and in the waves of Jerry Garcia's guitar.
I know this wasn't our first go around and I know it won't be our last. That's the thing about the souls you are surrounded by in your life...we seek each other out...we need each other to help us make it through. We are each other's guides.
Todd, Sudi, Stefan and me, Oct 2007
Oddly enough, yesterday, at his memorial/life celebration, there was a rack of all of his shirts. He said he had wanted his friends to have his clothes. I couldn't even walk up to them or walk past the photos. But as I was leaving, I glanced up and there was one shirt left hanging there...it was this one he was wearing above in the photo taken at my going away party in 2007. I didn't know it then, but I guess it was hanging there for me. I left it for someone who might actually wear it. Like with autographs, which I never want, I didn't want the shirt as a momento...as I can feel him with me, I didn't need a shirt to remind me of our friendship as he is in my blood and tattooed on my heart.
Sudi had asked me if I would play a song at the memorial, but when I got there, it just didn't feel right. There were so many people to talk to and catch up with and my songs would have gotten lost in the crowd. So I passed on the playing to the others but I said I'd play a song for Todd here at home... I made a little video along to my little iPhone recording of Bob Dylan's 'You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go'...
"Death Is Not The End"
When you're sad and when you're lonely And you haven't got a friend Just remember that death is not the end And all that you held sacred Falls down and dows not bend Just remember that death is not the end.
Not the end, not the end Just remember that death is not the end.
When you're standing on the cross-roads That you cannot comprehend Just remember that death is not the end And all your dreams have vanished And you don't know what's up the bend Just remember that death is not the end.
Not the end, not the end Just remember that death is not the end.
When the storm clouds gather round you And heavy rains descend Just remember that death is not the end And there's nowhere there to comfort you With helping hand to lend Just remember that death is not the end.
Not the end, not the end Just remember that death is not the end.
Oh the tree of life is growing Where the spirit never dies And the bright light of salvation Shines in dark and empty skies When the cities are on fire When the burning flesh of men Just remember that death is not the end And you search in vain to find Just one law abiding citizen Just remember that death is not the end.
Not the end, not the end Just remember that death is not the end.
And lastly, this is the song I want to be played when I pass on to the other side. I can't wait to see him there. He'll be waiting at the gates, rolling a quarter across his knuckles standing in a ray of sunshine saying, 'What took you so long? Let me show you around. You're gonna love this place. Everyone's here...'
When I ask him who...
Oh, they're ALL here he says laughing and forever young.
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