We left Wyoming like tourists bedazzled and nourished by the splendor of the Louvre or the palaces and castles of the best of human-made structures. Our last three nights of the trip were spent in the van, on the streets of Cody,
between Yellowstone and Teton National
Parks, and on at a secret
spot in eastern Washington.
Our days on the
Grand Tour have come to an end. I will miss the simplicity and the focus. I will embrace the sweet comforts of home. Was it worth it? 11,000 miles of seeing our country and the southeast of Canada? I wouldn't trade it. It was the stitched quilt, the tapestry of one six week adventure in a lifetime, of taking the time to see this land from sea to shining sea and having that mean something. It was also being sixty-something on a tour that I took without concern in my twenties, and this time, so aware of how fortunate, how rare a journey. It was trading that experience for all we could buy or save, against every shred of advice in the game. It was being "Alive in the World" as Jackson Browne said.
Even now, when I close my eyes, I see the North Star and trace the lazy W of Cassiopeia. The red rock of Wyoming and flaming colors of the East still light up my mind. Bore Stone Sanctuary in Maine rests deeply in my soul. The people and landscapes of Ontario, Quebec, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island and Cape Breton and Halifax in Nova Scotia have become three dimensional again.
In the United States, we hear so much more about the countries we are at war with, or disasters. We forget the majesty and miracle of our peaceful neighbor and we take it for granted. And we shouldn't.
America's shared sacred places are her parks. Another realm we should never take for granted. See this important article for more about parks.
http://www.remappingdebate.org/article/national-parks-window-america Yes, that means that sometimes too many of us flock to see them (ala our experience at Mt. Desert National Park). But we have received the benediction of the founders of these parks without ever meeting them for they did it for us, the wandering and seeking pilgrims who came to see the amazing sights. My gratitude for them is boundless. My resolve to continue to protect these public areas for those unknown travelers after me is renewed.
For all those who received us warmly, our friends and family, thank you. What a difference it made for us. I wish I could also thank the countless strangers who gave directions and blessing of their own, who opened our way and gave local advice for the wandering ones with the big fluffy dog.
What I will take away is that sense of sacredness of this land. I do believe all lands hold it but I don't know them all. The most prominent and spectacular have been made into parks or mostly protected someway. But every inch in between has that same magic. The city parks, the unused vacant lots, the tiny streams and winter trees.
We went out to see it.
On a road trip that was meant to seek beauty, we succeeded. I said we were no strangers to beauty, and this photo essay is to document the first two sweet days of being home. The old Celtic priests believed that the soul needs both travel and home to be complete. 
I know that is not true for everyone. But it is true of me. Coming back to our own five acres and the trails 
we built around and through it, with the 
garden still abounding with chard and kale, the colors of our own oak, ash, aspen, alder and maple turning and the rose hips fat and red and the 
madrona berries shining against the green leaves of that special tree completed this trip. Our eyes are still fresh. The work of the world has not yet settled over them . 
Frog hunting in our pond. 
