On the Gulf Coast of Texas, yeehaw!

It wasn’t too long after Phoenix got his cast off that he went officially mobile.  Thankfully, we had planned ahead and got the bus baby-proofed, because once he started army-crawling, nothing was safe!

Here it is, our latest Vlog, on our baby-proofing measures in our Big Blue Bus, with a bit of added (very cute!) footage on Phoenix learning to go mobile!

Louisiana is such a place.

The Mississippi Coast had been beautifully built-up, with stately, sophisticated mansions poised along the coastal road. We crossed into Louisiana at the Pearl River Wildlife Management Area, and, after driving past hand-painted signs advertising swamp tours (guaranteed alligator sightings!) along the bumpy back country road, we emerged onto a series of bridges connecting tufts of land so small and flat and moist that I wasn’t sure they wouldn’t sink if I stepped my two feet out onto them.

Along these bayous, each ramshackle, brightly-colored home sat atop high pillars to elevate it from the flood waters that passed with assured regularity. Instead of address numbers, the homes, too, boasted hand-painted signs of equal brightness with the most creative, funky, and downright crude names. There was a definite holiday feel here and, between the sea views and the home names, our eyes and spirits were thoroughly entertained. 

Louisiana continued to unfold its scenery for our visual pleasure.  Pure-white ibises fishing alongside local fishermen on the side of the road; moss and vines growing on every inch of free space the trees could spare; and throughout, water, water everywhere.

Houses on stilts all along the Gulf of Mexico.

Moss grows on everything in Louisiana.

A swamp walk!

It was clear we were in a unique place, and, US-visa-almost-running-out be damned, we were going to visit!

Our first stop was a plantation tour. We’d been driving along the Mississippi River road, trying fruitlessly to catch glimpses of its milk-chocolate water. This entire stretch of river, from Baton Rouge to New Orleans, had at one time been sugarcane plantations parcelled off into long, narrow strips, each plantation with a small tract of river access for ease of goods transport. It was incongruous to drive along this seemingly-innocent byway and imagine all the cruelty that had taken place here. We felt it was necessary to learn more – to viscerally grasp it, if but for a moment – so we forked out the $50 to visit one of the many plantation tours available.

We chose the Laura Plantation because our guide book said it was the only tour that didn’t skimp on details of the slave population. We opted for the French-speaking tour for Bruno’s sake (though I was secretly hoping to hear some Creole or Cajun French – it was just a young Parisian, hmpf!).

We were led to the main house, which was surrounded by those quintessentially southern live oak trees (which might be my new favorite tree!), and told that this was one of the few Creole plantations, meaning that its house was smaller, less ostentatious, and much more brightly-colored than the stereotypical plantation home.

Visiting the Laura Plantation near New Orleans.

The main house of the Laura Plantation, with its beautiful live oak trees.

Throughout most of the tour, we learned about the four generations of the proudly Creole Duparc family that lived in this home and ran the plantation in the early 19^th century. Though it was interesting to gain some historical insight into Louisiana life two hundred years ago, I felt that the slaves were only mentioned as incidental parts of the white family’s narrative. Near the end of the tour, we were led to a few remaining slave homes, where we were told about the financial worth of slaves (determined by their age, health, and how much of a “flight risk” they were) as well as what happened post slavery (the slaves often continued working for their previous masters, earning a pittance, which, after paying for room and board, often left them indebted to their employers). While we learned about the personal details of the Duparc family in gossip-like detail, we learned about slaves merely in the abstract. The tour felt like an opportunity lost to make amends.

A view out onto the slave quarters of the Laura Plantation.

Listening to our guide tell us about the Duparc family.

We traveled on toward Lafayette – the heart of Cajun country. My family home is located in the heart of Acadia in Canada, so I was interested in learning more about the branch of Acadians that ended up in Louisiana. In particular, I wanted to hear their music and listen to their French. My research led me to La Poussière, an authentic Cajun dance hall in the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it town of Breaux Bridge. Not only is Breaux an Acadian name I hear all the time in New Brunswick (though with a different spelling), but the Sunday afternoon music was perfect timing for our early-to-bed baby.

Alas, la Poussière was not to be. As a dance hall serving alcohol, they enforce a strict 18+ policy. We were already parked for the night at the municipal park in the nearby town of Parks. It turns out we had arrived on the night of Trunk or Treat, a new spin on Halloween where locals congregate with decorated car trunks and pass out candy to dressed-up children. Phoenix and I wandered around looking at the costumes and decorations as the entire town came together to celebrate. We were chatted up by quite a few locals (having a baby is a great ice-breaker!) and even met the mayor. The best part was to see the black and white population (which I’d put at about a 50/50 split) integrating so jovially. After the history we’d come face-to-face with at the Laura Plantation, that seemed like a miracle.

Trunk or Treat in Parks, Louisiana.

Anyway, while chatting with a few Parks locals, I was told about the nearby Vermilionville Historic Village (Vermilionville was the original name for Lafayette). They, too, offered Cajun music on Sunday afternoons, with a bonus of getting to visit a Cajun historic village. Perfect!

Alas, the Cajun music there was not really to be, either. First of all, it wasn’t Cajun music – it was Zydeco (I actually only learned this after the performance!), and secondly, it was way – way! – too loud for us to enter the dance hall with a baby. Bruno and I took turns peeking our heads in and observing the scene while the other stayed outside with Phoenix. What I saw were some serious cowboys doing some serious dancing! I mean, the whole shebang – cowboy hats, boots, and belts. We could have been in Texas. And there was no shyness to the dancing at all. The floor was packed, men twirling smiling women, and the whole body of dancers spinning counter-clockwise.

Zydeco Sunday afternoon music and dancing!

The crowd is having a mighty good time!

A whole lotta cowboy!

Again, I was impressed with the jovial mix of races. I’d expected only white people – Cajuns, as American Acadians, would logically be white. But, first of all, this was a zydeco band – explained to me as a slower, more bluesy Americana music – and secondly, race and culture in Louisiana is a thoroughly confused, muddled affair.

At the Laura Plantation, we’d learned about the term creole. During the time of the Duparc family, a Louisiana Creole person had to be three things – French-speaking, locally-born, and Catholic. Originally, the term was used casually in Louisiana, but by the time of the Laura Plantation, being creole was a rather bold political statement, an important distinction from the newly-arriving Americans. Créolité wasn’t determined along racial lines, and still isn’t, as it now loosely encompasses the descendents of those early creoles along with the Native Americans, Africans, and Cajuns that got thrown into the cultural mix.

Identifying Cajun-ness is equally muddled. While the term originally identified Acadians living in Louisiana, it’s now a broad cultural term that references both relatives of the Acadians and basically anyone else who wants to use the term.

The cultural melting pot of Louisiana is so melted it’s basically just a big, yummy, pureed soup. Even though I am Aristotelian in my love of categorization, I find that fact mostly beautiful. Except when it came to finding an actual Cajun person who could speak to me some Cajun French. I so badly wanted to hear Cajun French – probably because of my love of Chiac, the Acadian French.

We wandered around the Cajun village, visiting old homes that had been restored and transplanted here, and learning a little bit about the history and lifestyle of the first few generations of Cajuns. Though not nearly as well done, the historic village was reminiscent of Le Village Historique Acadien, and it was interesting to compare the lives of the Acadians and Cajun people. Many elements were similar – both peoples reaped their livelihoods from the earth, were deeply religious, were persecuted by the majority English population, and engaged in hobbies like hand-knitting, dying and sewing clothing. But it seemed to me that the Cajuns had fared better than the Acadians. They seemed less poor, with lives less bleak. Perhaps it was the weather, the wealth of the soil, or the economic opportunities available in Louisiana.

Learning about Cajun life at Vermillionville.

Judging from this house, I think the Cajuns fared better than the Acadians.

Phoenix actually fell asleep during a tourist visit… it’s a miracle!

Steve, the only French-speaker I found.

This photo is mainly to please Bruno’s mom, so she sees that he, too, came to Louisiana. But for reals, look at Phoenix!

But perhaps that is also why their French culture was so diluted. In the entire village, I found only one old gentleman – Steve – who could speak a barely-passing French. I’d expected to struggle to understand the Cajun accent, but I hadn’t expected it to be because he spoke it with such an Anglophone tongue. For better or worse, it seemed the Cajuns had been swept up into the Louisiana world of the Creole.

A few quintessential Louisiana elements were notably missing from our visit. First of all, we didn’t see any alligators, though we did come face-to-face with plenty of giant mosquitoes. Secondly, we didn’t taste any Cajun food (anyone who has seen Phoenix eat understands why we don’t feel like venturing to a restaurant at the moment!).

The only alligator we came across in Louisiana!

Would YOU go to a restaurant with this guy?!?

More importantly, we didn’t visit New Orleans. (WHAT?!?) We were actually camped only about 40km from the French Quarter, and I’d been contemplating a visit. Truth be told, I was conflicted. RVs aren’t conducive to city visits, and I wasn’t sure how we would do justice to New Orleans on a day trip with a baby. (I’ve been known to turn down short trips to epic places – like Amsterdam – before in favor of doing it right at a later time).

In the end, my health decided things for me. I developed such a nasty flu that I was bedridden for two full days. I hadn’t been sick in over a year, so I took it as a sign – New Orleans wanted me to do it right.

So, mark my words, friends: I will be back to Louisiana one day. Maybe with a few girlfriends, or on a romantic adults’ only trip with Bruno. It will involve much late-night dancing in New Orleans, an alligator-filled swamp tour, and as much sampling of Cajun/Creole food (what’s the difference, anyway?) as a vegan can taste. Louisiana has been so confounding and confusing that my curiosity is officially peeked. Oh, Louisiana!

See, I’d done a bit of calendar calculating. I knew that, instead of finishing up with the Blue Ridge Parkway at Smoky Mountain National Park by the end of September, now we wouldn’t arrive until mid-October. That – according to my research – put us in the Smokies at peak leaf-changing season.

If there was a silver lining to Phoenix’ leg break, that was it. At least that was how I tried to console myself after the accident. I imagined all the breathtaking panoramas and all the stunning shots Bruno would capture that I, of course, would showcase boastfully on this blog.

Things didn’t turn out that way. The fall colors weren’t there yet. We were too early.

At the end of the Blue Ridge Parkway, with a lovely view behind, but no fall colors!

Our final campground on the BRP, surrounded by barely-changing leaves.

Baby’s first taste of fall.

A hike on the BRP.

It had been an unseasonably warm summer and fall in the region. Though there were many dead leaves scattered on the ground, and a few yellowing here and there, it was obviously that, even though mid-October is generally peak fall colors time in the Smokies, this year we were a week or two too early.

Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem for us. We generally have a pretty flexible schedule. But, with our US visa almost up, Mexico still oh-so-far away, and transit travel less than pleasant with a baby, we didn’t have the luxury of hanging around the Smokies any longer. Not to mention, I was able to snag a reservation for the last spot in the campground, available for a total of three nights. By Friday, the weekenders would be in and we were booted out.

Still, we were in Smoky Mountain National Park – the most visited park in the United States! It was exciting to be there and I, for one, wanted to make the most of it. I suggested we drive up to the highest point in the park, where a viewing tower offered those breathtaking views – minus the fall colors – I’d been hoping for. The road up to that point changed elevation so drastically that it was the ecological equivalent of taking a drive from Georgia to Canada – super cool! We could hike a little section of the Appalachian Trail (which we hadn’t seen since Virginia) and take in one last mountain view as a perfect ending to our three months in the Appalachians.

Smokemont Campground in the Smokies – I managed to snag three nights!

Hanging out Smokemont.

Alas, things were not meant to be. The weather turned rainy and foggy mere minutes into our drive up and we could hardly see oncoming traffic, let alone panoramic views.

Ever the optimists, we kept driving up. We parked in the slightly sloped lot at Clingman’s Dome and decided to have lunch while waiting for the fog to [hopefully] clear. We’d been there almost an hour, finishing our indoor picnic when, suddenly, I could see the trees moving past. Our bus was moving!!! Quickly, Bruno jumped into the driver’s seat and I shielded Phoenix, who was in his booster seat on the ground finishing his meal. Bruno managed to stop the bus, but not before it scraped past two parked cars.

The whole incident happened very quickly. No one was in the other cars, and none of us was hurt. It’s actually amazing because things in our bus weren’t secure – drawers weren’t locked, plates were on the counter – heck, I had even left the oil and vinegar bottles on the counter! Not a single item hit Phoenix, and he, frankly, thought our little ride was loads of fun!

We spent the next few hours dealing with insurance, park rangers, police reports, and apologies to the owners of the other vehicles. Needless to say that after all that, none of us wanted to hike up to the observation tower for a view. The weather hadn’t cleared up, anyway.

The first car we hit.

The second car we hit.

Our damage.

A bit more of our damage.

The rain continued the following day. We spent most of it inside the bus at the campground. We did manage a little stroll in the late afternoon – but no bears, no views, no leaves. The Smokies were a total bust. My blog post could not be.

A little stroll during the brief reprieve from the rain.

We caught sight of some elk early on in the Smokies, but this was as close as we got to any wildlife during our stay.

It was when we emerged from the Smoky Mountains and got a phone signal that we learned about Hurricane Michael tearing through the United States. Apart from the fact that this hurricane was devastating for so many people and communities, it actually directly affected us. After the Smokies, we’d planned to hightail it to the Florida Panhandle and spend a few weeks exploring its state parks (which offer some of the most beautiful beaches in the country – not to mention, ahem, laundry facilities!).

Since we know that the media often exaggerates news, we wondered if, perhaps, the devastation wasn’t quite as serious as it was being portrayed. Perhaps our plans wouldn’t have to change, we thought. One phone call to a single ranger at a single state park along the Panhandle confirmed that it was just as bad as on the news.

And just like that, our plans had to change. We are very lucky to have a home-on-wheels and the ability to pick it up and move it to a new, safer place when disasters like these destroy the livelihoods of so many. Driving across Alabama may not have been on my bucket list, but at least we could drive our home away from the devastation.

And, anyway, Alabama proved to be surprising. We rolled up to the Magnolia Branch Wildlife Refuge expecting to spend a transit night there before continuing toward Mississippi and onward. When we reached our campsite, though, I turned to Bruno and said, “I feel like we’re in Africa.” He looked at me, puzzled. “It doesn’t really look like Africa here,” he replied. And it didn’t. We were surrounded by some kind of pine tree, and there definitely weren’t elephants or giraffes wandering around.

Our campground in Alabama.

Lunch with a view. Way to go, Alabama!

It took me awhile to figure out why I was reminded of Africa, but I did. It was the way this campground made me feel. Because here we were, parked right – I mean right – at the edge of a little lake, on a gigantic rough patch of grass. There was hardly anyone around, tons of space, restroom facilities slightly run down. It was just the kind of campground we loved – just like the ones we often found in Africa.

It had been so long since we’d found ourselves in the type of campground. Even the ones in the national and state parks are too busy, too well-organized, too full of retirees (no offense) for our taste. Here, in Alabama, I felt like we’d slipped into a beloved well-worn pair of shoes. That had gone missing. That I’d forgotten about. And that I’d suddenly found again.

Taking a dip in the water in front of our campsite.

Mama and Papa chillin’, Africa-style.

Oh yeah, it felt that good.

Who knew, Alabama?

In all things travel – as in parenthood, I’m finding out – we have to expect the unexpected. Oftentimes, our expectations lead to disappointment; our plans have to change; and the pleasant surprises are found in the least-likely places.

OK, and now, without further ado, check out our bus renovations!

CLICK HERE FOR VLOG!!!

Check out our latest Vlog to see what happened to Phoenix and how we are all faring.

Poor little Phoenix broke his Phoe-mur (I mean, femur!)

Never in my wildest dreams would I have expected to pass an entire season in the Appalachian Mountains, yet here we are. The leaves do not lie. We’ve spent our summer in the Appalachians. And it was just as transformative as these leaves.

The decision to spend our summer in the Appalachians was purely practical. We were in Atlantic Canada with the goal of heading toward Mexico for the winter. The Appalachians were just sort of on the way. We could have followed the coast, but the equation of summer heat and humidity with a baby in a non-air-conditioned bus didn’t ad up.

I’d love to say the mountains were beckoning us (I could even break out in song – “the hills are alive with the sound of music”), but it wouldn’t be true. The Appalachians were simply the best option when you’ve spent a winter in Canada (who does that?) and need to head south in the heat of the summer.

As such, we had very few expectations of our summer in the mountains. We hoped to hike a bit, enjoy some nature, and stay cool. Most importantly, we wanted to get adjusted to life in our bus with a baby – no small feat.

As I shared on the blog, I was pretty anxious about moving into the bus with Phoenix. As expected, those early weeks were challenging, trying to fit life with a baby into a tiny space while dealing with the summer heat and humidity of the Northeastern US. In those moments, the Appalachians took on the lure of the promised land, and as we inched our way closer and closer (which seemed to take forever!), I could only pray they would provide us the salvation I so desperately needed.

Shenandoah National Park delivered that salvation. As we wound our way up the narrow sea of mountains, the temperature dropped to more comfortable digits. Despite being under a canopy of dense forest, we found a campsite at Big Meadows that gave our solar panels access to sunlight. There was a laundromat in the campground (yippee!) and a [meager] cell service on the edge of the cliff at the other end of the campground. We had everything we needed to set up camp.

Big Meadows Campground at Shenandoah NP.

So we set up camp we did. For a month. (I talk about this in my Vlog on Shenandoah). The only times we moved the bus were the couple of times we went to the nearest town to do groceries (each time I stuffed our bus silly with melons and squashes and potatoes to tie us over once the more perishable produce was gone) and a forced campground change fifteen days in.

It wasn’t that Shenandoah National Park was particularly amazing. Yes, the wildlife was abundant, and we thoroughly enjoyed having black bears and deer in the campground. Yes, it was great to be in nature, with fresh air, starry evenings, and the sounds of crickets rather than traffic. And yes, it was awesome to hike small sections of the epic Appalachian Trail, crossing smelly but inspiring thru-hikers (I even lent one of them my hair dryer one evening and got to hear real-life stories from the trail!)

Bears in the campground!

And these deer were our friends for, like, two whole weeks!

Getting up close with the wildlife.

Don’t worry, we kept Phoenix far away from these little babies!

The trail marking for the infamous Appalachian Trail.

But it was no Grand Canyon. Shenandoah was created with the intention of offering a national park to easterners as outstanding as all those out west. The creators purchased a narrow tract of land from mountain families (who had logged and farmed here for generations), let the land return to its wild state, and built a scenic road – called Skyline Drive – down the center of the park.

To this day, Skyline Drive is the beating heart of the park. But in our opinion, the views it offered were just average.  It’s always nice looking out from atop a mountain, but at Shenandoah, there is often a lot of haze (the park being so close to all those big coastal cities), and the view is mostly of towns and farmland rather than wilderness.

A pretty typical view from a Skyline Drive overlook.

The visibility is often poor, and the views are mostly over towns and farmland.

Also, the weather – though mercifully cooler – was still not ideal. The region had experienced its rainiest summer in years, and there were times where we were stuck in the bus all day. The rain would often come down sideways, meaning that even the space under the awning was off-limits. And between the storms, the no-see-ems were so bad they were drawing blood from my baby boy! While we were definitely grateful to have upgraded from Totoyaya (how would we have entertained Phoenix in that?), after the 6^th day of non-stop rain (and the 3^rd day of using ice to keep our perishables cold because we had no juice in the solar batteries to power our fridge anymore!), I began to wonder if Shenandoah had offered us salvation at all.

Grateful we had Big Blue instead of Totoyaya in this rain!

On a positive note, Bruno used all the rain to rig a device that refilled our water tank without having to move the bus! :)

So why did we stay an entire month, you may ask. At the time, we thought it was an issue of timing – we needed a place to park ourselves for awhile and get settled into our new home, and Shenandoah appeared at the right time. With foresight, though, I now realize it was more than that. As our Shenandoah days rolled into weeks, I felt my stress begin to ease up as we settled into our space and routine. Hiking helped. Animal-watching helped. And having the space to do nothing that only nature provides helped a lot.

And so, standing still, surrounded by nature, I was finally able to relax into motherhood. It had taken over five months.

Hiking. Sort of.

Wildlife. Sort of. :)

Relaxing into motherhood.

I think Bruno could have continued doing a whole lot of nothing for many more weeks, but eventually, my nomadic side kicked in. We’d hiked all the nearby trails, visited the Visitor’s Center exhibits, and driven up and down Skyline Drive more than once. I needed a change of neighborhoods. Plus, our list of baby-related bus tweaks was piling up. It was time to get to a city.

Bruno and I pulled out a map one evening. We can reach Asheville via the Interstate, I said, or we can take the scenic mountain view. In our pre-baby lives, this would have been a no-brainer, but now I wasn’t sure what Bruno would want to do. I wasn’t even quite sure what I wanted – to get to our destination quickly or make a trip out of the journey?

When Bruno replied that we should take the scenic route, bien sûr, I felt relief. I guess it’s what I’d wanted, too. Perhaps having a baby hadn’t changed our travel style as much as I’d been feeling since we’d hit the road?

Still, I expected our road trip down the Blue Ridge Parkway to take only a few days. I knew little about this byway apart from its name, and the minimal research I’d been able to do had come up with very few camping options.

Welcome to the Blue Ridge Parkway, one of America’s most scenic byways!

You can imagine my surprise when I realized that the Blue Ridge Parkway was a national park, too, and one that offered more infrastructure, cultural interest, and beautiful views than Shenandoah! What was meant to be a quick transit turned into a 3-week slow-travel adventure! (Bruno was grateful we had Phoenix in tow or I’d have made him stop at every overlook and every cultural or historical waypoint along the byway!)

The Blue Ridge Parkway was conceived as a scenic byway that would link Shenandoah NP to Great Smoky Mountains NP (the other National Park that was conceived for easterners to enjoy nature). While Shenandoah is one of the least-visited National Parks, the Blue Ridge Parkway is one of the most visited. But with almost 500 miles of byway, we didn’t feel the crowds (I’m told that most visit in the fall for the colorful foliage) and we had campgrounds almost entirely to ourselves

The campgrounds. Basic, yes, but I loved them. There are several of them, interspersed at perfect driving distances along the parkway. I didn’t have to think about researching our next stop or reserving something ahead – we’d just show up at the end of our day’s drive, pick an available spot, and park ourselves there as long as we wanted! We were even given travel pamphlets at the beginning of our road trip that told us what mile marker we’d find each campground and at what elevation it sat – perfect for us, since we were still trying to remain on higher grounds for little Phoenix.

Breakfast at one of the BRP’s campgrounds.

Cultural interest all along the parkway.

Each campground offered something of interest for us, whether it be a hiking trail, a waterfall, a historic mountain cabin or a lake. We stayed at five campgrounds, and I made sure to do one special thing at each of them. My favorite of all was probably the first – Peaks of Otter Campground. I hiked to the top of Sharp Top Mountain all by myself one afternoon. A solo outing, in itself, was an amazing rush, but combine that with the endorphins of an intense hike and the best views I’d seen yet that and it’s little wonder that it was my favorite mini Parkway adventure (sorry Bruno and Phoenix!).

An intense but rewarding hike up to Sharp Top Mountain.

Feeling SO good after this solo hike!

The historic Mabry Mill along the BRP.

Even better than that hike, though, was the Parkway’s cultural link to the region. I’d been missing that in Shenandoah National Park. On the Blue Ridge Parkway, there were cabins describing the ways mountain people used to live, a folk art center, a historic mill, and a music center. We were lucky to arrive at Mabry Mill on a Sunday, the day that local musicians get together for an afternoon jam session, complete with flat foot dancing (which is like tap dancing with clogs). The sun was shining, the quaint, wholesome ambience was perfect, and Phoenix was in a great mood to experience his first ever concert. I brought him right up close to the action, and he was absolutely mesmerized, especially by the dancers! It was a special moment for me as a new mom.

Mountain music and flat foot dancing – you can’t get any more Appalachian than that!

The very talented mountain musicians at Mabry Mill.

Phoenix was absolutely mesmerized by the whole thing, especially the dancers!

We got right up close, and it was so cool!

I hadn’t known how important music is to the people here. We learned about the history of mountain music (which is the original American music and influenced bluegrass, country, blues, and rock ‘n roll!) and saw another afternoon concert at the Blue Ridge Music Center. But it wasn’t until the following day at our campground, when locals camping near us invited us to their impromptu jam session, that I truly saw how music is in the bones of the Appalachian people.

Mountain music at the Blue Ridhe Music Center.

An impromptu mountain music jam session at our campground!

That’s what I loved best about the Blue Ridge Parkway – I got to learn about the Appalachian people. Yes, I was traveling with a baby and so didn’t spend as much time delving into their culture as I might have a year ago, but even scraping the surface felt like a miracle to me after spending the previous seven months in full-time motherhood.

Just as our two-night stay at the Mohonk Mountain House with my Aunt Louise back in June taught me that I can have a relaxing and fun holiday with a baby (surprise!), our summer in the Appalachians taught me a few important lessons about my new life as a mom. Shenandoah National Park gave me the space and time to unwind and settle into life in the bus with a baby, showing me that, as long as we take the time to move slowly through the world, bus life with a baby can work. And driving down the Blue Ridge Parkway showed me that I can still be a tourist – traveling, discovering, learning, and having adventures – with baby in tow, and that each little moment of discovery will be all the more precious because of that baby!

The mountains we’ve called home this summer are changing before our very eyes. As we experience a new side to these mountains, I’m noticing a new side to myself – one that feels rested, hopeful, and confident that life on the road with a baby can work. I’d come to these green mountains hoping for hikes, nature, and cool weather, and in the end received so much more. Maybe the Appalachians had been beckoning me after all.

Here it is!

If you are liking these vlogs, I recommend subscribing to my YouTube channel so that you get immediate notifications when a new video goes live.

And those of you who are fans of my written stories, please know that I will continue posting the occasional blog post… I’ve got one in the works now, in fact, and it should be up relatively soon.

Until then!

That can’t be the Mohonk Mountain House, I thought. What I’d pictured, in the weeks leading up to our two-night stay here, was a small, very quaint lodge with a traditional, almost colonial feel. This place looked more like it had come straight out of a Tim Burton movie.

“They say that Stephen King used this hotel as his inspiration for The Shining,” my Aunt Louise announced as she met me at the main entrance of the hotel. At least my Tim Burton vibe wasn’t that far off, I thought. Still, it didn’t explain why everything – even the entrance of the hotel – was odd. I’d learn the reason for that later.

The Mohonk Mountain House.

The hallways of the Mohonk Mountain House.

Months earlier, when Bruno and I had conceived the plan of traveling from Atlantic Canada down the east coast of the United States, we’d gotten in touch with Louise, who has lived so long in NYC she’s practically native. We’d visited her there in 2016, but this time – with a bus and a baby – we suggested meeting up with her somewhere outside of the US’ largest metropolis.

She suggested the Mohonk Mountain House, a historic hotel about 90 minutes north of the city, at the foothills of New York State’s Catskill Mountains. She’d always wanted to go, and here was her excuse.

As we were led through the endless carpeted halls (me replaying Jack Nicholson scenes in my mind) to our two-bedroom suite, we learned the reason this hotel has earned its fame these past 149 years. From the balcony of our room we looked out upon a turquoise private lake tucked like a secret between densely forested hills.

The view of the private lake from our balcony.

The hidden lake and boat dock we could view from our balcony. Our room was on the left edge of this shot (in the green section).

Louise and Phoenix, posing on our balcony.

If I’d been nervous about bringing our not-quite five month old baby boy, Phoenix, on this mini holiday, I was now, instead, determined. Determined to make the most of this amazing place, to have an unforgettable reunion with my aunt, and to drag Phoenix around as much as needed in order to accomplish this.

We immediately set out. From the balcony we could see a little boat dock and a few wooden huts along the water’s edge, so we headed in that direction. After admiring – and perplexing yet again over – the architecture of the hotel from this vantage point, we discovered a little hiking path that followed the circumference of the lake. I suppose it was accidental, then, that Phoenix did his first ever hike. With 85 miles of maintained trails on the property and adjacent preserve, it sure wouldn’t be his last.

Louise and I, with Phoenix asleep for his first ever hike.

Enjoying the hikes and observation huts at the Mohonk Mountain House!

At the end of the hike we passed the lodge’s little private beach where a sweet-looking young lifeguard was on duty. Earlier that day, Louise had been disappointed to learn that the babysitter she’d scheduled for our two evenings had come down with a cold. Louise had tried unsuccessfully to find a last-minute replacement, and so we were facing the choice of which of the three of us would watch Phoenix while the other two had dinner in the dining room. I didn’t like the sound of that, so I went straight up to the lifeguard and asked if she knew any babysitters available. She was, she told us, if that was alright with us. YES, I said immediately. Yes, yes it was. (Don’t worry, parents, she had her first-aid and EMT training!). And that was how Phoenix got his first babysitter.

It was surprisingly easy leaving Phoenix for the first time, and even more surprising how quickly I reverted back to my pre-parent days, sipping wine and talking about adult things and eating at my first restaurant in five months. Sure, I thought about him, hoped he was still asleep (as I’d left him), and even missed him a bit, but I think I needed that evening away more than I’d realized. (It probably helped that my first time “away” we were technically in the same building and only a 5 minute walk from our room).

The dinner itself, however, was disappointing. I’d been ogling over the menus on the hotel’s website, but, because of renovations, dinner was buffet-style stations. That meant waiting in lineups for each food item we wanted and having semi-cooked, lukewarm food that we mostly ended up eating alone at the table because the others were still waiting in line for theirs. At least the sunset was something to write home about.

Getting dressed up and heading to dinner. This is not our room, but one of the many lounges scattered throughout this gigantic maze of a hotel.

The dining room, with a view over the Catskill Mountains.

That evening’s glorious sunset.

I knew Louise was not impressed, either. The next morning, after our breakfast (which was, by the way, Phoenix’ first restaurant – see photo!), Bruno and I went for a little stroll on another trail between the lodge and the lake. We stumbled upon an outdoor picnic-style restaurant, called the Granary, that served BBQ food at red-checkered picnic tables overlooking the lake. I spoke with one of the employees and learned that, yes, we could eat our meals there, and also that that evening, their three-course fine dining restaurant was open for limited reservations.

Phoenix’ first restaurant…

… and the boy steals my spoon! :)

Our morning stroll along the lake, visiting some of the observation huts.

Strike a pose, Bruno! (And check out the odd architecture behind!)

I immediately went to the front desk, on a mission to remedy our dining situation. Unfortunately, they could only seat us at 8:45pm. I begged and pleaded, returned later that day, and left our phone number in case anything changed, but it didn’t looking good.

In the meantime, we decided to go on the history walk offered that morning. Both Louise and I were curious to know more about the Mohonk Mountain House. With Phoenix asleep in the sling on my chest, we learned about how the Smiley family had stumbled upon this property, purchased it for $28,000 and turned it into a hotel to pay off the bank loan; how they instilled their Quaker influence into the ethos of the hotel (even today, you have to go searching for a drink as their bars are not in evidence); how the building was designed by several architects, and built, piece-meal over the years (that explained more than just the uneven floors!); and how the hotel’s reception area was originally in New Paltz, a couple hours’ carriage ride away (that was why the main entrance of the hotel didn’t feel main-entrancy!).

With Phoenix now awake and in his stroller, we ate burgers and brats, watermelon and beans, salads and macaroni at a picnic table overlooking the lake. The forecast hadn’t been looking good for our stay – and the season thus far had been incredibly rainy – so we marvelled at how lucky we were to be sitting outside on a sunny day picnicking with such a view!

Lunch with a view.

Dessert was pretty delicious, if I do say so myself!

While Louise went off to digest her meal, Bruno and I took Phoenix to the hotel’s beautiful indoor swimming pool. Phoenix absolutely loves swimming (luckily, during our travels, we have found several lakes and pools in which to swim) so we had a great time bobbing with him in the water.

Phoenix is excited to swim!

Not a bad-looking swimming pool, eh?

Then, we all decided to go on our biggest and best hike yet – up to the Skytop Tower. We’d spotted this structure at the top of the hill overlooking the lake, and had learned during our history tour that that was where the Smileys first spotted the little inn below and immediately fallen in love with the property. I put Phoenix in the baby carrier on my chest (he was due for another nap) and we make the steep climb up. Along the way, we stopped at several of the 150 observation huts and were rewarded with progressively more stunning views. At the top, we completely understood why the Smileys had to have this piece of land – the view of the hidden lake, green hills, and Catskill Mountains was as beautiful as a mountain getaway could be. Eagles glided overhead, we spotted a deer grazing on our way down, and all of us felt very happy to be sharing this time together.

On our way to Skytop Tower!

The view from above!!!

We spotted a deer!

It was during our happy-hour drink that our third strike of luck struck (the first two being the babysitter and the weather). We received a phone call that we could dine in the fine dining restaurant that evening at 7pm! We went back to the room, dressed ourselves up, put Phoenix to bed for the night, welcomed the babysitter back, and enjoyed a lovely, relaxing, luxurious three-course meal.

We got lucky, and got a spot at the fine dining restaurant.  Phew!

Elegant and tasteful. Just what we were hoping for!

The next morning – our last – as we enjoyed a final view, stroll, and meal together, I was filled with such gratitude to Louise. Not only had she invited us to experience the wonders of the Mohonk Mountain House with her, but she had given us an even greater gift – a taste of our old life, mixed in with the joy of our new life. For it was during this mini-holiday that we dared – for the first time – leave Phoenix with a babysitter, take him to restaurants, and do activities like hikes and history walks with him in tow. I’d spent five months living in a self-imposed cave with my baby boy, enjoying him, of course, but also grieving the loss of my old life.

Louise helped me see that, even with a baby, a stress-free, memorable holiday can be had.

Thank you so much, Louise, for the wonderful time, and the wonderful life lesson!

Thank you SO much, Louise!

You’re the best!

A final view of Mohonk Mountain House, an absolutely memorable place!

These words, spoken by my mother, have remained with me ever since she uttered them a few years ago on the beach. We were having a heart-to-heart about the idea of me having children with Bruno and raising them in a nomadic lifestyle on the road.

My mom is a reasonable woman, not given to fantasies or idealism. She also happens to be a fantastic mother. If she was giving me the green light on a Baby Nomad, then that was good enough for me.

Fast forward to June 10^th, 2018. It’s the moment of truth. Said baby has arrived, and, at 4.5 months old, he is about to move into Big Blue, our home-on-wheels, and hit the road. I am incredibly anxious about the whole thing. Perhaps partially because he has stopped sleeping at night and I’m beyond exhausted; partially because it’s been a hectic few weeks of getting the bus ready to go. But also because the idea of moving into a 100 square foot space without the conveniences that most of us take for granted is terrifying.

What was I thinking, choosing bus life with a baby?!?

Here we go!

Our family of three goes nomad. OMG, are we crazy?!?!?

It’s now been a little over a month since our family of three moved into our Big Blue Bus, and things have finally quieted down enough for me to write about the experience of transitioning to life on the road with a baby.

I’ve never had a baby before so I have no comparison, but Phoenix has struck me, from the get-go, as a very curious baby. During his first several weeks of life he was more mesmerized by his surroundings than faces, which I’d read is the typical newborn preoccupation. This has translated into him being fascinated by all the places we park our vehicle. Every time we arrive somewhere new, I can tell he is checking out his new surroundings. He absolutely knows we are somewhere new, and he loves it. In fact, one of the ways we have managed to extend his tummy time is by having him face a window, with its ever-changing scenes. He is as taken by a parking lot as by a forest. I guess Phoenix is a natural-born tourist!

Phoenix has never enjoyed tummy time quite so much!

A quick tummy time while mama refuels on a travel day.

(We have used the same window technique for getting Phoenix to accept his car seat – leaving the blinds open so he can stare out the window while we drive. It means that he is often too interested in the scenery to sleep, but at least he isn’t screaming bloody murder!)

Phoenix also seems to enjoy being outdoors. This bodes well for life on the road, as we spend the majority of time in national and state parks, and most of our waking hours outside the confines of our tiny living space. He doesn’t seem nearly as bothered by heat, humidity, or insects as either of his parents, so enthralled is he by his toys and environment.

Enjoying breakfast outdoors.

See? I told you Phoenix likes the outdoors!

Just hangin’ around.

Of all my concerns before moving into the bus, the one I lost the most sleep over was how Phoenix would sleep on the bus. He’s never been the best sleeper, and in our early efforts to get him to sleep, we habituated him to a completely dark, quiet room (apart from white noise playing in the background). Neither of those features would be possible in the bus – especially the quiet bit. I mean, it’s not like we have a second floor bedroom. Or even a bedroom door.

I’m happy to report that Phoenix is sleeping fine. We installed a curtain between the bedroom and living room, and also discovered that we could open the bathroom door and create a further division between bedroom and living space. We are still using white noise, and we don’t have music and dance parties in the front part of the vehicle, but we have been able to go on with an only-slightly-muted version of our regular life when Phoenix is asleep.

The times his sleep is disturbed is by the heat. Summer has arrived with force here on the east coast of the United States, and it’s been tough. Living in a vehicle means we are more exposed to the elements than in a house – we don’t have central air, our insulation is mediocre, and most of our giant black windows don’t open. Bruno does his best to keep key parts of the home in the shade and to maximize air circulation, but there’s only so much you can do, especially on shopping, laundry, and travel days.

Keeping the home cool so Phoenix can sleep has become an obsession for both Bruno and I, so much so that we bought a home air-conditioning unit and have been staying at campgrounds with electricity for a couple weeks (so much for boondocking and small budgets!). It also means that we don’t take long grocery shopping trips or scenic detours on travel days. Our goal is to arrive to a source of electricity and shade as quickly as possible. Needless to say, we are looking forward to finally arriving at the higher altitudes of the Appalachian Mountains so that daytime heat is less of an issue.

Yes, we bought this massive AC. And yes, now we hang out at campgrounds with electricity. FOR NOW.

The flip side of the heat problem is the nighttime cool. Just as our bus heats up more quickly than a house, it cools down more quickly as well. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve put Phoenix to bed practically naked in the evening only to feel his freezing little hands in the middle of the night. Thankfully he still wakes up around midnight for a nursing session so I take advantage of that to dress him in pyjamas and a sleep sack. When do babies reach an age where they can cover themselves in a blanket when they’re cold, anyway?

It has definitely taken me longer to adapt to life on the road than Phoenix. Truthfully, it took about a month to get into the flow of things and not feel merely in survival mode. Part of that was that, for the first couple of weeks, we were actually in transit on our way to meet my aunt in New York State (more on that in a post soon!) so we were driving a couple hundred kilometers almost every day (which might not sound like much, but with a baby I assure you it is); another part was us trying [and failing] to flee the heat; and then, of course, there was the massive stress of pre-departure that has taken awhile to come down from.

But also, living and traveling the world in a vehicle is a lot more work than it might seem. There’s the planning of the route and the research on where to stay, a fun but incredibly time-consuming constant task. There’s the refilling and emptying of water tanks, which isn’t a given unless you’re staying at campgrounds. And there’s the process of setting oneself up at each new site, which involves first analyzing a space for sun/shade and flatness, then the unpacking and setting up of table, chairs, clothes line and electrical lines, and then climate control of the bus. This process is akin to packing and unpacking a suitcase and arriving at a new hotel every few days.

It only looks like this after a couple hours of organizing and living in a new space.

Before that, it looks like this!

And this.

When Bruno and I lived in Totoyaya together, we got really good at doing this packing/unpacking dance. Each person knew what their tasks were, and we could be organized in a new space in fifteen minutes. The bus is a newish space for us, and we’ve never had to get ourselves organized while also accounting for Phoenix’ needs upon arrival, which generally involve being fed and changed, put down for a nap, bathed or just generally paid attention to! It has definitely taken us awhile to find our new flow. Truthfully, travel days are still stressful and exhausting, which is why we plan to travel a lot more slowly than we used to now that we have little Phoenix on board!

It’s not just travel days that have been challenging for me – just living in such a small space with a baby has been an adjustment. Anyone who’s ever RVed before knows that things just take longer. You’re perpetually putting things away and taking other things out of hidden storage compartments. The coffee maker doesn’t have a permanent place on the counter; to get dressed you have to dig underneath a tightly-packed box of clothing; and finding that god-forsaken can of coconut milk means emptying the storage compartment under the dining room seat.

Now that we have a baby, his tasks take longer too. We don’t have the space for a permanent diaper station; his stroller, bathtub, and toys aren’t readily available when not in use; and his clothes are tightly-packed away in a drawer, too! It took us awhile to organize the most essential things in the most convenient places and to streamline things like diaper changes. Truth be told, we are still refining our baby-organization (good blog post topic?), but I have mostly gotten used to mommying in a bus. Apart from having to find a laundromat every four days for our cloth diapers, that is.

The early days of figuring out where to change his diaper while simultaneously throwing together a meal.

A quick sponge bath while mama cooks dinner. (Don’t worry, Bruno is close by in case Phoenix decides to roll!)

Too many diapers and onesies to dry, not enough clotheslines!

In the past couple of weeks, we’ve started to slow down, travel less and spend more time in each place. I’ve been able to get a little routine going (another blog post idea?), and having a routine has reminded me of one of the many reasons I wanted a Baby Nomad in the first place – our routine is automatically transformed each time we change locations so that, just as I’m getting bored of showing Phoenix the same set of trees, they’re gone!

What this means – apart from fighting off boredom in Mama – is that Phoenix is gaining a plethora of new experiences without us even really trying! In the last week alone, he has swum in a lake and two different pools; swung on swings in three different playgrounds; gone on a hike; tried a hammock; gotten caught in a rain storm; and gone on stroller walks in two state parks! All that without us even leaving the campground!

The idea of having a Baby Nomad was, in a way, cemented on a beach in New Brunswick a few years ago. So far, my mom has been right. Phoenix has adapted to his new space and seems to have the making of a proper little world traveler. More importantly, he is happy.

Folks, baby is officially on board!

One happy camper! Baby is officially on board!