What We’re Taking

Last Saturday, we did a test pack of the van. This is the stuff that’s going to live under the bed & in the cabinets. It seems like a lot. A bunch of shoes (running shoes, sandals, boots). There’s backpacking gear and climbing gear. There’s a bunch of tools.

There’s a little bit more stuff that is going to go in the upper cabinets (clothes and some utensils and bowls) but this is it. All of our stuff. 🙂

A New Chapter

Let’s GO!

Today is the start of a new chapter for 3Up Adventures. It is my last day at work and tonight will be our first day with the van as our home and not just an RV.

Last winter, we started trying to figure out ways to move our life closer to the one we wanted to live. Many ideas were tossed around including some realistic and some not so realistic (“Let’s sell the house, buy a snowcat, and live at the cabin!”).

Somewhere along the line, Forrest posed the question of whether we should think about living in a van. In 2010, we traveled around the country in a Jeep Cherokee. It was a great trip—the three of us running around and exploring. In the van, we imagined, the things we didn’t like about the trip—being rushed and not being able to sit up in bed—would be fixed. We found our Sprinter last winter and Forrest has done a whole bunch of work to get it ready for action.

After what feels like forever, we’re finally on the road!



Another Thursday Bliss Carmen poem for you…

by Bliss Carman

Off with the fetters
That chafe and restrain!
Off with the chain!
Here Art and Letters,
Music and wine,
And Myrtle and Wanda,
The winsome witches,
Blithely combine.
Here are true riches,
Here is Golconda,
Here are the Indies,
Here we are free–
Free as the wind is,
Free, as the sea.


What have we
To do with the way
Of the Pharisee?
We go or we stay
At our own sweet will;
We think as we say,
And we say or keep still
At our own sweet will,
At our own sweet will.

Here we are free
To be good or bad,
Sane or mad,
Merry or grim
As the mood may be,–
Free as the whim
Of a spook on a spree,–
Free to be oddities,
Not mere commodities,
Stupid and salable,
Wholly available,
Ranged upon shelves;
Each with his puny form
In the same uniform,
Cramped and disabled;
We are not labelled,
We are ourselves.

Here is the real,
Here the ideal;
Laughable hardship
Met and forgot,
Glory of bardship–
World’s bloom and world’s blot;
The shock and the jostle,
The mock and the push,
But hearts like the throstle
A-joy in the bush;
Wits that would merrily
Laugh away wrong,
Throats that would verily
Melt Hell in Song.

What though the dimes be
Elusive as rhymes be,
And Bessie, with finger
Uplifted, is warning
That breakfast next morning
(A subject she’s scorning)
Is mighty uncertain!

What care we? Linger
A moment to kiss–
No time’s amiss
To a vagabond’s ardor–
Thee finish the larder
And pull down the curtain.

Unless ere the kiss come,
Black Richard or Bliss come,
Or Tom with a flagon,
Or Karl with a jag on–
Then up and after
The joy of the night
With the hounds of laughter
To follow the flight
Of the fox-foot hours
That double and run
Through brakes and bowers
Of folly and fun.

With the comrade heart
For a moment’s play,
And the comrade heart
For a heavier day,
And the comrade heart
Forever and aye.

For the joy of wine
Is not for long;
And the joy of song
Is a dream of shine;
But the comrade heart
Shall outlast art
And a woman’s love
The fame thereof.

But wine for a sign
Of the love we bring!
And song for an oath
That Love is king!
And both, and both
For his worshipping!

Then up and away
Till the break of day,
With a heart that’s merry,
And a Tom-and-Jerry,
And a derry-down-derry–
What’s that you say.
You highly respectable
Buyers and sellers?
We should be decenter?
Not as we please inter
Custom, frugality,
Use and morality
In the delectable
Depths of wine-cellars?

Midnights of revel,
And noondays of song!
Is it so wrong?
Go to the Devil!

I tell you that we,
While you are smirking
And lying and shirking
life’s duty of duties,
Honest sincerity,
We are in verity
Free to rejoice
In blisses and beauties!
Free as the voice
Of the wind as it passes!
Free as the bird
In the weft of the grasses!
Free as the word
Of the sun to the sea–

A Vagabond Song

Tamaraks at the cabin

A Vagabond Song
by Bliss Carman

There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood—
Touch of manner, hint of mood;
And my heart is like a rhyme,
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry
Of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;
We must rise and follow her,
When from every hill of flame
She calls and calls each vagabond by name.