In the course of my 2,007 mile journey, I must have answered this question 2,007 times. So with a big smile, I glanced down at my feet, tapped the toes of my purple hiking shoes like a drum roll, and replied, “This is pair number four. Thank you AHNU Shoes!” Then in my best Price Is Right voiceover I said, “Rockridge II by AHNU Shoes, 2011 sponsor of Walking Home.”

I can never resist being a ham, but in all seriousness the only piece of equipment more important than my shoes, was my camelback. My personal comfort was centered on water intake and foot support. If you have ever walked 25 miles on a 100 degree day, you will understand why.

In the middle of this trip, I walked 15-25 miles a day in over 100 degree heat for five weeks straight, from Springer, New Mexico to Weston, Missouri. By the end of each day, I managed to sweat through both pairs of socks (I wore cheap nylon liners under cotton running socks), and completely soak the leather collar that lined the inside of my boots. One avid hiker I met early in the trip said, “You need to keep your feet dry. If you socks get wet, you’re going to get blisters, and if you get blister you have to stop and let them heal before walking again.”

This is fine advice for someone walking in normal temperatures on a trail in the woods. I was walking by myself along State highways with traffic whizzing by at 60 miles per hour, not one tree or rock or house or living being on the horizon, in 100 degree temperatures, wearing 40 lbs. of gear hooked to complicated electronics that took 15 minutes to remove or suit up. Needless to say, I didn’t stop every hour and change my socks. In fact, I only stopped once a day to eat, rest and dry out my socks and shoes. If I was lucky, I’d find something to sit on other than dust, shriveled cacti and brown clumps of dead grass. For the first two and a half months I walked with blisters upon blisters, wrapped in bandaids and moleskin. It wasn’t fun, but It didn’t kill me. In fact, most days my pain receptors settled into a dull ache by mile five.

I’m not trying to gain macho points, but just want to illustrate how important it is to wear the right pair of shoes. I started with a pair of Brooks tennis shoes, donated to me by Hirsh’s Shoes in Tucson. If you live in Tucson, please buy your next pair of shoes from Hirsh’s. They have been in business since 1954 and Mr. Hirsh is a charming and sprightly eighty year old.  He ran his last marathon at age seventy in Tanzania!!

While I tried on shoes and explained my project, he smiled and nodded with approval, and quickly agreed to sponsor me. He recommended running shoes for pure comfort. They were comfortable… but I had a sock problem. My wonderful, high-tech wool hiking socks gave me a painful, lumpy rash from my toes to the tops of my thighs. Nothing new there, allergies grow like weeds in my family. Unfortunately, it took me 2 weeks to figure out that the socks were the source of irritation.

Also, I didn’t anticipate walking along I-40 from Gallup to Albuquerque. It turns out that Route-66 weaves in and out of I-40. So I often ended up walking the interstate, along the fence line, skirting brambles and cacti while watching for snakes. By the end of the day, my shoes were filled with red dust that filtered through the mesh of my tennis shoes and my nerves were frayed from constant snake patrol. I needed boots.

When I reached Albuquerque, I stopped at Dillard’s and tried on every boot in stock. I fell in deep like with a pair of Montara hiking boots by AHNU. They were lightweight with flexible ankle support and fit my feet perfectly. The Dillard’s sales rep said they were a new company and might be interested in sponsoring me. There was the normal round of calls and phone tag, so in the meantime, I bought a pair of Solomon hiking boots from Sangre de Cristo Mountain Works in Santa Fe. They were a comfortable fit, but felt hot and heavy, and not in a good way.

When my Montara boots arrived in Great Bend, I wanted to kiss them, but opted for a nice snuggle since people were watching online. From that point on, I pretty much stopped getting blisters. There was one toe that didn’t like being on an angle for 2,000 miles (the shoulder on highways is distinctly angled for drainage) and slowly formed a monster callus, but my feet seemed to have found a happy home. Whenever I find a shoe company that makes shoes that match the shape of my foot, they have a customer for life. That is why I still wear Reeboks years after they lost their cool factor.

Now that my project is over, I’m still wearing my last pair of Walking Home shoes, AHNU’s Rockridge II, partly because I don’t feel like shoe shopping, but mostly because I love them and although they have 520 miles on them, they are still one of the most comfortable pair of shoes I’ve ever owned.

Thank you AHNU!

Love,
-Laura

But this beauty that is our country is only half the story.

Walking Home is about how connecting with community, online and in person, can create safety. How a lone woman can cross the country but never truly be alone.

I carefully planned this trip so that it was impossible to do on my own. I didn’t bring a tent and I only had a $2 per day budget. There is no practical way to walk across the country by yourself on $2 a day without a tent…  I had to ask for help.

And it worked. For 156 days I asked for kindness and received it abundantly. From my friends and family, the road crew guys who offered me water, the people who stopped along the highway to make sure I was alright, the community organizations who made phone calls to their members to find me a night’s lodging, my online followers who watched over me daily, my fellow walkers who joined me for a stretch of road, my wonderful hosts who shared their homes and stories with me… never have I experienced anything more beautiful than surviving and thriving completely by the grace of the kindness of others.

In 156 days, I slept in 122 different beds on this journey, 96 were in homes and 26 in non-homes. The other 26 beds were in hotels, motels, resorts, unrented apartments, churches, the humane society, the maritime museum, an RV park, and a spiritual retreat.  In 156 days, I paid for only 8 night’s lodging… the rest was free of charge.

I lost track of how many times people bought me dinner or handed me money. They would hear what I was doing and want to help me on my way. One guy gave me all the money in his wallet, six dollars, apologized and then came back with a bag full of snacks and handed me a $100 bill. This was not the first or last time someone gave me $100. Another time, a woman gave me $5 and said, “I’m so sorry I don’t have more money with me. Good luck! I’ll be praying for you.”  Just about everyday, someone prayed with or for me.

I want to thank each and every person who prayed for me, watched over me, or helped me on my way.  Whether you read this or not, my sincerest thanks. I quite literally couldn’t have done it without you. The beauty and kindness I found on this journey has blown away any lingering doubts I had about the breadth and depth of the human heart. Thank you all.

Love,
-Laura

And then there is the beauty and freedom of the open road: cows grazing under a story book canopy of ponderosa pines in Northern Arizona, chunks of ancient volcanic rock flowing over and around red baked New Mexico dirt, a perfect circle of green corn in a sea of brown dustbowl wheat fields in Oklahoma, the vast blue sky of Kansas with one solitary windmill creaking and sighing in the easterly wind, trees submerged up to their ankles in the flooded banks of the Missouri, a patchwork quilt of lemon yellow corn, white farm houses and forest green soybeans in Grant Wood’s Iowa, and white and black spotted cows emerging cautiously from red barns in Wisconsin to gaze at the strange cyborg creature passing by so leisurely.

1824 miles, every step of it beautiful.  Just a trip across the lake and a few more miles, and I’ll be home.

Home is so layered and complex. My home in Tucson. My mom’s home. My dad’s home. My home town. My family’s home towns. The little home I carry on my back each day. All the home’s I’ve been invited into on this trip. I have not felt homeless one day of this trip. I feel homefull.

Thanks for watching over me.

Love,
-Laura

“Oh, I love hugs,” he smiled broadly.  We hugged awkwardly because of my big backpack and the computer strapped to my front.  Any chance I get, I stock up on hugs.  It’s a long and lonely walk sometimes.  I love the solitude and beauty of the open road, but really appreciate all the love, generosity and simple human contact my hosts give me after walking for seven or nine hours, and the fortitude this provides for each day’s walk.

Last week, my phone rang and the name Odelia, Springer NM showed up. I answered it and said, “Hi Odelia!”

“Hi Laura. Oh I’m so glad I caught up with you. I just wanted to see where you are and how you’re doing.”  I could hear the smile in her voice.  We chatted for fifteen minutes or so and I updated her on my trip.  She ended with, “Well, I’m so glad to get ahold of you. I just wanted to make sure your doing well. I think about you often. Goodbye. I love you and God bless.”

I have heard, “I love you” countless times on this trip and am surprised at how much love and friendship I feel from people who were strangers the day before.  One night in their home, one meal at their table and they tell me that they love me and will worry about me and watch over me virtually as I complete my trip.

In “real life” this kind of quick connection would probably feel odd or phony. But on this trip, I feel like I am collecting extra dads, sisters, brothers, cousins and moms.  So my journey is not lonely. I have never felt homesick. Instead of feeling homeless as I wander across the country by myself, I feel homeful.  In a nut shell, my project is working perfectly… actually even better than expected.

My work is about intimacy and trust, and how community, online and in person, can create safety. I am loved and watched over by so many people. I feel safe.  Not just now on the open road, but this feeling fills up my heart and I suspect will fill all my days.  I want the rest of my “real life” to look like this trip.

May love fill all your days as well,
-Laura

Not because my feet hurt, although they do. Not because I needed a little break from socializing, which I did. Not because this is day 113 of this project. Not because twelve things went wrong in the last few weeks, or because I have an insurmountably long to-do-list, or because there is a gallery opening for Walking Home in 3 weeks and I need to make sure the technology works, or because I’m behind on my mortgage and have only just found a replacement renter, or because I’ve been worrying about a sick family member, or because I walked for 5 weeks in over 100 degree heat, or because, because, because…

I am not sick. I am not tired. I’ve been eating just fine. Everyone has been so kind to me. The weather has improved vastly, a perfect 80 degrees with a light wind.  My hosts last week, Sharon & Dick and Jeanann & Bill, went out of their way to make comfortable and eased my journey by letting me stay extra days and leave my heavy stuff at their houses while I walked.  And I love this project. I love it. I love being outdoors everyday and meeting nice people and eating great food with them and sharing recipes and petting their dog and meeting their friends and touring their town…

I simply feel blah…

That’s all. Just a slump. A blah for no specific reason or, perhaps, for an accumulation of a lot of reasons.

So last night when I told my mom that I felt off and wasn’t up for dealing with the 101 things I should be working on, she said, “Take another day off.”

Moms are sooo smart. Thanks mom. Love you. And thank you Frito Lay!

Love,
-Laura

“I read about you in the newspaper.”

“Hey, you’re a local celebrity.”

“Can I have your autograph for my granddaughters?”

After 5 interviews in a row, some front page coverage and a TV news spotlight, I had become a local phenomena, a celebrity.  Suddenly, people knew who I am and what I’m doing.  In the past, I have been a public spectacle a number of times and occasionally a local celebrity, but I have never been asked for my autograph or treated with such regard.

I’m not sure what to think of this.

On the one hand, I want people to know about Walking Home and join in the fun. On the other hand, I don’t want publicity to radically change the project.  I am worried that a lot of publicity or big national press could take away some of the sweetness I’ve experienced so far. I am afraid that people might help me because they saw me on TV and think I’m famous.

One of the most impressive and wonderful things about this project is all the random kindness from strangers.  People help me because I am a stranger in their town, because a friend called them and asked if they could host me, or because I am a lone woman out on a hot day.  People help me because they are kind and like to help people.

I suppose this won’t change just because of a little publicity.  I suppose I shouldn’t worry over something that hasn’t even happened yet.

But worry I do. This was  a week of worries.  Having a bigger audience has made me self-conscious. Up to now, I’ve felt like I was flying under the radar, floating along, only worrying about where to sleep each night.

Suddenly a lot more people were watching. As my hosts opened up and told me about their lives, passions, and beliefs, I realized that we weren’t in private, that I’d invited an audience into their living room. Their neighbors might be watching and could find something they said to be objectionable.  In the morning, I’d be moving on to the next town, but my hosts wouldn’t.  I’m glad that people feel comfortable telling me about their political beliefs and personal lives.  Now and then, I remind them that we are on camera.  I hope that my being there doesn’t create problems for them, or, at least, that it opens more doors than it shuts.

After all, this project is about hearing people’s stories, about seeing what america is like in the 21st century.  So far, I’m impressed. There is more diversity of ideas, beliefs and peoples than I expected to find in the middle of the country.  Instead of worrying about other people’s prejudices, it seems like it is my own I need to worry about…

Love,
Laura

“You need a ride?” said the man. His pre-teen daughter in the passenger seat looked a little wary, kind of like, ‘where’s she going to fit?’  Of course, I’m not opposed to riding in the back of a pickup truck next to tools and the other detritus that trucks collect, but I don’t take rides except from my hosts.

“Sorry, no thanks. I’m walking to Michigan,” Now the girl looked incredulous. The dad just nodded and said, “Michigan? That’s a long way… OK, you be careful out there.” And they drove off down the road and did another U-turn before passing by again with a wave.

Some days, I get offered rides as much as 15 times a day.  Most of these offers come from men in trucks, ranging from the mega-decked-out shiny 18 wheeler to the standard white road crew truck with double back tires to the little rattle trap, mud-coated pickup carrying hay to the antenna-loaded local sheriff’s truck.  There is a type of old world gallantry to these offers that surprises me. When I started this project, I assumed that no one offered rides to strangers anymore.

But it’s not just an offer of a ride, they also offer water, gatorade, advice, warnings and concern.  They want to make sure I’m OK.  Such concern for my well-being is touching.

A guy back in Garfield, several towns ago, pulled off the road entirely and we chatted for quite a while, about the state of the world, the seriousness of the drought, and small town life.  He still calls to check in with me and even asked his daughter to stop by and say hello one day. He’s not the only one who has kept up with me. It’s as if I have a lot of extra dads and uncles out there on the road.

Women also offer me rides and beverages. They say, “You know I don’t usually stop for strangers, but it’s so hot out here… I saw a lone woman walking down the road and just couldn’t pass you by without asking if you needed a ride.”  It’s been over 100 degrees for about 4 weeks.  Being from Tucson, I’m used to the heat, but walking 15-20 miles in the glaring heat takes it’s toll. I am sunburned, gritty, sweaty and hot by the end of each day. And although I never accept any rides, I appreciate the offers.

Even before stepping into a big fat heat wave, people have stopped to check in on me. I have been offered rides since day one. When I started this project, I knew I’d be staying in people’s homes and asking people to share stories and a little slice of their life, but I never expected so much random kindness just walking down the road.  If you ever need to feel loved and cared for, just walk down a country highway in a heat wave.

Love,
-Laura

Boise City, OK made the New York Times in May because they hadn’t had any rain in 222 days.  http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/04/us/04dust.html?_r=1&hp To date, they have had 1.18 inches of rain this year…  I’ve been walking through the “Dust Bowl” (grasslands of New Mexico, Oklahoma panhandle and southwestern Kansas) during the worst drought in 100 years.  It’s worse than during those Dirty 30′s, when all the top soil dried up and blew away in huge clouds of dust hundreds of feet tall that swallowed up houses, caused fatal dust pneumonia, sent most people packing and drove many mad.

There is a book by Timothy Egan called, “The Worst Hard Time” about the people who stayed through the Dirty 30s, about why they came and how and why they stayed.  I have been privileged to get to know some of their descendants, many of whom farm the same land with a quiet stoicism and acceptance of this year’s hard time.

It is simple, with no rain, there are no crops except those that are heavily irrigated from local wells.  There is no grass this year in New Mexico’s Kiowa National Grasslands.  No grass. Not a blade of green in the hundred miles of high desert I slowly walked through, just bare earth with brown tired grass leftover from last year.  Every rancher has to buy hay… but there is no hay except for irrigated plots.  I asked my host in Abbott, NM (population 2) where they got the huge new truckload of hay that her son had just arrived with, and she said, “It’s last years hay from someone’s barn.”  When I asked her how they are getting by, she replied simply, “I have the best neighbors.”

After spending the night in the Baptist church, I was in a tiny cafe/diner in Keyes, OK.  There were a few ranchers having their breakfast before starting the day.  We talked about them selling off most of their herds because of the drought. They also said there’d been 4 fires the night before from lightening strikes, one of which had burned down a few buildings of a local rancher.  This is a common story along my route, fire, fire, fire, dry heat and wind.

I can believe that this wind could drive someone crazy, back in the thirties or now.  Day after day, for months, with very few breaks, I’ve walked with the wind whistling in my ears.  Sometimes the wind has been strong enough to blow me off the road, and walking into a headwind makes 15 miles feel like 30.  I end the day with wobbly legs, red pinched skin and sand everywhere…  I remember seeing a 1928 silent film called “The Wind”( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1BVjGloLEB4&feature=related ), set in west Texas, about a woman who goes mad from the constant wind.  I now relate this on a personal level.

The wind is like a soap-opera character in the story of my journey, sometimes a good friend gently pushing me forward and cooling my heated skin.  Then plotting against me the very next day, foiling my progress and howling in my ears for hours.  Or abandoning me entirely to the hot midday sun on a 105 degree day.  It is practice in patience and perseverance to know the wind so intimately.  This is something the farmers and ranchers learn when they take their first steps in this landscape.

Love,
-Laura

From Sant Fe to Springer:

Pecos. I strolled into town midday, planning to stop by the catholic church and see if they could help me scrounge up a last minute place to stay.  Moments before a dust devil had blown off my hat (webcam and all) and coated my lips with grit.  I was just patting my hat in place when a motorcycle rolled up and the man said, “OK, I’ve been by twice. What are you doing?”  It turns out he’s a volunteer fireman and his wife is a performance artist… a rare breed anywhere but very unexpected in a town of under 1500 people.  He offered to fix a rod that came undone on my gear.  So, I stopped by their house and not only did he fix my bag but they let me stay the night.  His wife candidly told me that she started to cry when she saw my card.  Home is something very meaningful to her right now.  She and her husband have moved “back home” after many years, but now her mother is selling the family home…  We talked about home and heart and healing, and about letting things go.  Home seems to be a thread that runs through all our lives.

Ilfeld. My new friends from Pecos called a family friend that lives in the next town and set me up with my next night’s stay.  She is an amazing woman who has travelled all over the world, photographing pop culture icons, as well as sherpas in the Himalayas.  She met me in a tough looking jeep and we road out a bumpy road into a canyon and took a dip in great swimming hole.  I slept that night under a full moon in a hammock swung beneath two pine trees.

Ribera. I stopped by Alto’s, a little bar outside of Ilfeld, because several people had mentioned that they might be able to help me find a place to stay.  As I walked in, a man sitting at the bar said, “You’re the girl walking to Michigan.”  My eyebrows shot up in surprise and I said, “How’d you know?” He replied with a big grin, “Word gets around fast here.”  It turns out he is the owner of Alto’s and a great community guy, chipping in whenever someone needs help.  He was trying to help me figure out where to stay when I reached Bernal, when in walked Bea.  He introduced us and told Bea what I was doing, and she instantly said, “You can stay out at the ranch. I’m there all by myself, well, except for all the dogs.”  The only problem was that it wasn’t on my route.  She looked disappointed, and Alex said, “Can people pick you up and take you to their place?”  I nodded and he continued, “Bea can you pick her up and then drop her off the next day?”  She said, “Sure, of course.”  So I stayed at the beautiful ranch/organic farm where Bea works and cooked a big dinner for her and her friend Louisa, a local activist. Bea was kindness itself, and told me how she came back to this area to take care of her dying mother.  Likewise, Louisa had returned to the area to live in a tiny community nearby where 8 generations of her family have lived.  She has become an activist for preserving their way of life.  For very different reasons, both had come home to be near family.

Las Vegas. The other Las Vegas. My mom called ahead and got me a discount at the El Camino Motel.  It is a sweet hotel that harkens back to the old Route 66 days with a big sign out front painted in New Mexico colors, turquoise and russet.  The Indian family that runs it was wonderfully hospitable.  We talked about pilgrimages in India, and they made me Indian tea for breakfast each morning accompanied by little homemade snacks.  They have only lived in the US for a year and their children are finishing high school in Las Vegas.  I can only imagine the culture shock.  They were so nice to me that my friends Tom and Julie decided to stay there when they arrived a few days later. So all told, I stay there 4 nights!

Watrous. While touring around Las Vegas on my “day off”, I stopped by the natural food store called Semilla’s to see what kind of snacks they had, but instead of snacks, I walked out with a place to stay and a walking partner for the next day.  My walking partner decided last minute to walk 20 miles with me, 20 MILES!!  It was Father’s Day and his gift to me was to share this walk with me. He was the husband of the woman who’d connected me with their friends in Watrous.  Not many people are in shape to walk 20 miles with me, but he’d done the Appalachian Trail the year before so he knew what he was getting into. It was a beautiful day and a glorious walk… plus sore feet. More later about the couple who hosted me. I plan to write a BLOG post called, “Rich People Are Crazy” about our jaunt out to a ranch owned by a rich TX family.  Don’t worry, as far as I could tell, my hosts weren’t rich or crazy.

Wagon Mound and Springer. Tom and Julie came up from Tucson to join me and we stayed in the El Camino Hotel in Las Vegas, ate fine cuisine at Plaza Hotel and El Fidel Hotel, Tom took a zillion photos and videos and I tried not to kill them with too much walking.  Julie made friends with a woman and her granddaughter in Springer on the day the Tom and I walked 16 miles.  The next day while Julie and I walked 12 more miles, she invited us to stay with her when we reached in Springer. So sweet. The next day I got to see the one room school house she attended as a child, she walked a mile with me and even pointed out the girls outhouse!  Also, it was nice to spend some time with Tucson pals… probably the last I’ll see until I return to Arizona in the winter.  It’s getting to be a really long drive.

I’ve found community every step along the way. Even in places I didn’t expect, like bars, grocery stores and restaurants, but this makes sense.  People always love to gather round food and drink.  With the backdrop of drought, fire and economic despair, I hear stories of charity, homecoming, and deep connections to place.  I guess they are all micro communities and I’m sure it is a self selecting group. After all, my project is called “Walking Home”. No wonder I keep meeting people who never left or have found their way back home.

Love,
Laura

I hear “that’s brave” or “don’t you have a relief vehicle?” or “what’s your cause” or “are you carrying a gun?” all the time and think, ‘When did walking, during daylight hours, in the United States of America become an act of bravery?’  I appreciate the concern and goodwill, and feel the kindness that flows beneath these concerns, but am a little baffled by the idea that what I am doing is “brave”.

When I was seven or eight, I would run out the door saying, “Bye mom! See you for dinner.” And then criss-cross through backyards with my fishing pole or pedal off on my bike to find adventures in the woods or down by the beach.  I’d walk for hours in the sand dunes, by myself or with friends. Back then, no one called this “brave”.  It was a fairly normal thing for a kid to do.  I doubt any child is allowed this freedom anymore. What happened?  When did being outside by yourself, even for an adult, become so scary?

Of course nature can be a bit scary a times. A friend wrote me to say, “Every time I’ve gone Out West I’ve experienced Natural Drama, and have thought of the pioneers forging paths westward. Wondered about women who walked alongside their covered wagons, with all their worldly belongings (maybe carried a baby/toddler across the Great Plains), knowing they would never see their parents/families again.”

This captures my thoughts exactly… as I follow the Santa Fe Trail in eastern New Mexico, I keep thinking of these pioneer women and men who didn’t know what waited on the other side of the mountains, who couldn’t check their GPS, snack on trail mix, drink from their camelback or buy (or borrow) a new pair of high-tech boots.  I think of forced pilgrimages, like Trail of Tears… a journey with bare feet, starvation and survival through a force of bitter will.

It was a different time I suppose.  Having done a third of my journey, I marvel at their stamina and true bravery.

Nor is what I’m doing unique.  Almost every day, I hear about someone embarking on a similar trip, some more extreme, like tag team running across the country or biking the perimeter of the continent.  I love to hear these stories and feel a kinship with the experience of crossing the continent and seeing the country in a slow, self-powered manner.  I like the idea of so many people choosing to put their life on hold so they can have an adventure.  I suspect that the economy has spurred some of this what-the-heck, what-do-I-have-to-lose attitude, but still, we are a privileged group.

So, in my estimation, what I am doing is not “brave” or “unique” (well… the webcam is a fun addition).  All along the way, I have said that this is not an epic, solo journey created to test my strength and endurance, although I have found myself exhausted a few times.  For me, this is a shared experience, both in reality and online.  It is an act of humility and faith, in myself and others.  I designed this project so I couldn’t do it on my own, so that I had to ask for help.

And that is the hard part for me, perhaps the bravery resides in those daily moments when I say, “Please help me.” More often than not, people offer more than I need before I have a chance ask. So, the asking has gotten easier and my faith in basic human kindness has grown stronger.

By asking people to invite me into their daily lives and homes, I have discovered rich networks of family, friendship, and faith that weave together a strong sense of place.  This is what I call community.

“Brave”… no.  Most of the time, I feel like I am walking through the backyard of America and waving at the neighbors along the way, as I set out for my daily adventure.

Love,
-Laura