The Far Green Country

Emerson once said, "Life is a journey, not a destination."

When I was young, I understood that

differently than I do now.

Life has a way of putting bumps in the road

just when you least expect them.

I guess it's through these trials that we grow,

so long as we can push through them.

My name is Kelly.

I'm a wife, a mother, an adventurer,

though life hasn't felt so adventurous these days.

I spend most of my time folding laundry

and scrubbing food off the floor.

The world feels no larger than the four walls around me.

It hasn't always been this way, though.

Before we met each other, my husband

was an extreme whitewater kayaker, and was working

for a ski movie company filming extreme sports.

Meanwhile, I was guiding wilderness trips in Colorado,

doing volunteer work in Africa,

where I summited Mount Kilimanjaro

and did safaris in the Serengeti and in Ngorongoro Crater.

I backpacked through southeast Asia, Australia,

and New Zealand, then studied for my EMT

and started as a NOLS wilderness medicine instructor.

Right after we got married, Eli and I drove

a 15-passenger van 3,000 miles to southern Mexico

to do volunteer work in Oaxaca.

We traveled three times to Uganda

in service of organizations bringing hope,

fresh water, and education to remote villagers.

We did a safari together, visited my ranger friend

in Australia, tromped through Tasmania,

backpacked New Zealand, hiked to Machu Picchu,

and spent many days in America's back country.

Then our world began to crumble.

In a three-month period, we miscarried at 11 weeks,

had an accident that forced us to amputate our puppy's leg,

and then moved across states.

A year later, the joy of giving birth to our first child

was overshadowed by a traumatic 56-hour labor

ending with a fourth-degree episiotomy,

a vacuum extraction, and a torn umbilical cord.

Along with physical wounds, I was left with PTSD

that manifested itself in night terrors

and inescapable, obsessive anxiety

that required EMDR therapy.

Then came 12 months of health issues

with our baby boy that added massive stress.

And on top of all that,

our marriage was seriously struggling.

Life at home was full of loneliness,

isolation, and exhaustion.

I barely recognized myself anymore.

And I did not want to have any more children.

I needed a change, a chance to explore again

and reclaim the joy and hope that my husband and I

had shared in our early days.

I wanted to share it with my son.

So we did it.

We scrounged up all we could

and paid $15,000 for a 1995 Fleetwood Bounder,

our 32-foot Class A motorhome.

We packed up our house, handed the keys over to the renters,

and drove out the driveway, not knowing

if or when we would return.

This story's about us, but it's told from my perspective,

because I was the catalyst for the trip,

in a good way and bad way.

- Right? - Yeah.

- I was the one who... - You can have credit for it.

I needed to escape my reality.

Howard Thurman said, "Don't ask what the world needs.

"Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it,

"because what the world needs

"is people who have come alive."

What can I say?

I come alive on the road, and in beautiful places.

And at this point in my journey,

I needed to come back to life.

Life on the road is not all it's cracked up to be,

and I learned that very quickly,

living in such tight quarters with a two-year-old and a dog.

We have a really small kitchen,

so we kind of bump into each other a little bit, you know?

Our table is right next to our stove and our sink,

and that's the hallway that connects the back to the front,

the bathroom to the front door,

and so it's tight quarters.

Eating healthy is important for us,

and not many gas stations sell organic food.

So we stopped at every Costco we could find along the way,

and tried to buy enough stuff to make it to our next stop.

The challenge was finding a place for it.

How is it?

Good.

Oh my God, is that a tiger in the car area?

I need to hide!

Oh my goodness, that's so scary, a black leopard!

For sleeping, we gave Dakota the back bedroom.

It was a sacrifice for us,

but it did make a great play area for him.

And the bed popped up to create

a little nest for him on the floor.

He sure loved snuggling in at night.

Our sleeping situation, however, was a little less ideal.

Eli and I shared the foldout couch,

which lost its comfort with every passing night

and had to be converted back and forth

between bed and sofa every day.

Our amazing and shedding dog Tassie got the floor

right underneath our couch.

Everyone could hear everything, all the time.

The smoke alarm went off almost every time we cooked,

despite having the windows open.

And we had to pull in a foldout chair

to fit the three of us, which we stashed

behind the driver's seat when we weren't using it.

Living in a small space means keeping it simple.

That means paper plates, and sometimes

washing and reusing paper plates.

Low on storage space, we kept a number of pans

and Tupperware in the oven.

We found it worked better as a cabinet.

At least we had a bathroom,

and that's about all I can say about that.

I'm thankful that Eli took ownership of the systems.

When it comes to technical stuff,

I had rather just not think about it.

Over here I have nothing.

Learning the systems is kind of the big hurdle,

you know, learning how to empty your tanks,

where you can fill them up and dump them,

learning how to keep them clean

so your sensors work so you can have an accurate reading

on how full your gray tank is or your black tank.

I put a high priority

on clean, safe drinking water.

Drinking water out of an old plastic tank,

filling up at random gas stations and roadside spigots,

it was a challenge for me.

An additional challenge we faced

was moving our film and video business

from the studio and equipment trailer into the Bounder.

Eli stashed his gear down below,

in a compartment right next to Dakota's toys,

and then bought a laptop and used the side table

and front seat as his workstation,

converting it back and forth each time we traveled.

Being a video production company,

I can take my work on the road.

It's not easy, let me tell you.

I left the comfort of a beautiful home studio.

I'm basically able to do what I do because I have internet,

but without a hard-line connection to broadband,

sometimes it's terribly frustrating

to try and download a song or even an email.

You transitioned well.

Yeah?

Yeah.

Thanks.

I think it was probably hard for you.

I know, I think I hid most of my transitioning.

Then, while he was working,

Dakota and I would drive the campgrounds on his quad,

explore the trails and creeks,

or sometimes we'd just hang out in the Bounder.

Eli's first job was a 10-day shoot in Colorado,

so over the next couple months,

we journeyed east from Oregon,

through northern Idaho and Montana.

We explored Yellowstone National Park,

then headed south and visited countless friends

and beautiful places in Colorado

before turning back up north again

to Grand Teton National Park and Yellowstone.

How are you doing, Dakota?

Oh, are you using your binoculars?

What do you see?

I see a big head and big eyes.

Cool, I love your binoculars!

We've seen herds of pronghorn

just cruising out across the Wyoming plains.

And we've seen bull moose pretty up close

in the marshes east of the Tetons.

We've seen grizzly bear twice.

The first time we saw the grizzly,

he was eating an elk carcass, literally

pulling chunks of meat off the elk carcass,

defending it against a wolf who was waiting for his turn.

And after the grizzly left, we sat and watched the wolf

chew away at this elk carcass for hours.

And everywhere we went, Dakota, his signature story was,

"A grizzly bear eating an elk carcass and a wolf."

And people would look at him like, "You saw what?"

Dakota's at this age where everything is new,

and he's experiencing things for the first time,

like seeing a grizzly bear in the wild

or seeing a bald eagle or catching a fish.

And to be able to introduce him to wild places

and just watch his eyes get so big.