By the time we'd arrived in Walla Walla, we'd racked up about 1700 miles - quite a few more than the mover estimated to Sandpoint, but then, Walla Walla is farther west and south and we did take a few sidetrips. After several days of R & R it's time for the last leg of my journey.
This time I'm heading out on my own with only the dog for company. My original plan was to drive up to Sandpoint the day before the movers arrived so I could pick up the keys to my new place, scope it out in advance so I'd have a better idea of what would go where, then get a motel room for the night. My revised plan was to ditch the motel and just stay at the house since I'd packed enough essentials to survive one night without my things. I borrowed a sleeping bag, mat and camp chair from my friend (all things I couldn't fit in the car with her along) and retraced my route through the Palouse back to Spokane and Coeur d'Alene.
A storm had passed through the area, clearing the air of the smoky pall, and I took the opportunity to shoot a few pictures of those rolling Palouse hills. Farmers from the flat Midwest blanche at the thought of driving combines on these inclines, but the locals think nothing of it. Once again, the pictures don't quite capture how big these hills are - it is pretty impressive country that I enjoy driving through although I have no desire to live here.
Once back in CDA, I head north to Sandpoint, pick up my keys, a few groceries and head out to my new place. It is just as beautiful - no more so than I remembered, which is a relief. Hate to think I'd spent all this money, time and effort to relocate to a place that turned out to be a disappointment. I unload the car and wander the rooms, envisioning how things will be set up, where things will go. I have a hard time settling down, but eventually crack open a bottle of wine, eat my deli salad and bread, and take in the absolute silence. No radio, no TV, no VCR, just the traffic from the road, the train whistle and...is that rustling I hear above my head? If there IS something in the attic I don't want to think about it just now.
So I lay out Jesse's bed next to my sleeping bag, and guess who immediately plops herself in the middle of the sleeping bag? That dog's no fool, but there's no way I'm sharing! She begrudgingly gives in and we both sleep soundly tonight - home at last after a week of travel. I can't help but think the car is a bit relieved to be "home" as well - the tripmeter now reads about 1900 miles since taking off from Wisconsin.
This time I'm heading out on my own with only the dog for company. My original plan was to drive up to Sandpoint the day before the movers arrived so I could pick up the keys to my new place, scope it out in advance so I'd have a better idea of what would go where, then get a motel room for the night. My revised plan was to ditch the motel and just stay at the house since I'd packed enough essentials to survive one night without my things. I borrowed a sleeping bag, mat and camp chair from my friend (all things I couldn't fit in the car with her along) and retraced my route through the Palouse back to Spokane and Coeur d'Alene.
A storm had passed through the area, clearing the air of the smoky pall, and I took the opportunity to shoot a few pictures of those rolling Palouse hills. Farmers from the flat Midwest blanche at the thought of driving combines on these inclines, but the locals think nothing of it. Once again, the pictures don't quite capture how big these hills are - it is pretty impressive country that I enjoy driving through although I have no desire to live here.
Once back in CDA, I head north to Sandpoint, pick up my keys, a few groceries and head out to my new place. It is just as beautiful - no more so than I remembered, which is a relief. Hate to think I'd spent all this money, time and effort to relocate to a place that turned out to be a disappointment. I unload the car and wander the rooms, envisioning how things will be set up, where things will go. I have a hard time settling down, but eventually crack open a bottle of wine, eat my deli salad and bread, and take in the absolute silence. No radio, no TV, no VCR, just the traffic from the road, the train whistle and...is that rustling I hear above my head? If there IS something in the attic I don't want to think about it just now.So I lay out Jesse's bed next to my sleeping bag, and guess who immediately plops herself in the middle of the sleeping bag? That dog's no fool, but there's no way I'm sharing! She begrudgingly gives in and we both sleep soundly tonight - home at last after a week of travel. I can't help but think the car is a bit relieved to be "home" as well - the tripmeter now reads about 1900 miles since taking off from Wisconsin.
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