Dear, Uncle Nathan,

Several years ago, you casually mentioned that a place exists where free range kids can climb old city rubble to the top of a building, hang off the top of the building on a school bus, slide down an 11-story slide, and its all made from recycled junk. I mean, seriously, that’s too good to be true, but we thought we’d peek in if ever we were in St. Louis.

You have no idea what you got us into.

This might be our new favorite place on earth!

We had breakfast in the cutest little town of St. Clair. Pretty sure they have no idea that its 2019 in this town. And they make a mean breakfast there. You would have liked it.

So, because you didn’t come with us on this trip, and you should have, I will take you on a tour of a place that might just beat Disneyland.

This is what you see at first:

Now, all that junk puled up outside? You would soon realize that there is order in this chaos. There are people climbing around in that stuff waaayyyy up in the air. And then it hits you. This isn’t a museum, or an art piece. It’s not even just another tourist trap. This is the life passion of a person who took notice of the beauty in the crumbles of his city. Then he saved those crumbles and made new beauty with them. This place is all the power of the divine to speak creation,& mirrored in the favored thing, humanity. See, this building was once a shoe factory, and when it shut down, someone saw an opportunity to build something new from what was old.

Like this grand staircase railing. It’s made from the rollers of a conveyor.

And these bits of steel collected from all over the city. What does one do with old rail road spikes and rebar and wrenches and angle iron?

I guess you could throw it all away.

Or you could weld it all together in spirals and curls and bows and unexpected passageways to somewhere. Never nowhere. Every opening a portal into a new world.

Nathan, I can imagine you building this. All those bank vault doors, that wire mesh leftover from the foundations of the city, bread pans from mass baking of bread to feed the city, those stone buttresses…just toss them all high into the air for the brave and adventurous to climb through. I imagine the builder walking down the street after the fair and realizing that this ferris wheel had more than one last ride left in it. He crowned his entire creation with its commonness, hoping it would raise children to the heavens in their joy or allow that one corner of space where tired parents could steal a quiet moment and a kiss. He succeeded.

And why not provide stairs and an elevator for the horribly boring at heart, but for those who have always wanted it, take those cast-off pipes from that water main replacement job and build a spiral slide all the way from floor 11 down to the first floor. Maybe build two such slides. And at the bottom, let the people relax in chairs that spin and wobble and dip around like tops. Why not?

And you climb through everything. There is no place that cannot be climbed or crawled or slithered through.Deep in the heart of this shrine to play and the fearless, we came upon a beat nick bar. We had drinks in a gypsy caravan hidden in a maze of low streamers and heady lights. Disco was playing on the speakers, mingling with circus music. I decided to live in that caravan alone for the rest of my life. Then the kids found us. Ha!

And there was circus music because there was a tiny circus, put on by children, for a packed auditorium.

Then St. George showed up riding a train through the psychedelic universe just outside our caravan window. The gypsy caravan was the bridge.

He was the only one small enough to fit under the train bridge and through the culvert tunnel. The engineer had to lay down while driving to avoid decapitation.

WHERE ARE WE???????? I don’t know, but I love it!

Then into the mouth of the sea monster to the underbelly of this place with the crazy Magpie. In that dark place under the sewers, the answer to the questions, “Is that a tunnel? Can I go into it?” is always yes.

We came across this long man stuck in a tunnel. He said something about eating too many donuts for this kind if thing. I know what he meant, and I had already marked the wisdom in working out and passing up seconds and sweets. I hadn’t been stuck once. Nobody wants to die a tunnel cork or impaled on construction site drills welded into balcony railings at the City Museum. They must send small children through the squeeziest places each night to clear the flesh and bones of those less narrow folks who thought, “I can fit through that hole.” No. Not you can’t. Your attempt to escape the underworld has failed.

Our only hope was to army crawl through an impossibly curved and slippery tunnel sloping upward, or to slither on our backs, our faces scraping the roof of this maybe grave. Then climb the wire cages and step, sure-footed and perfectly balanced, to avoid falling through to…somewhere. And only the fool believes the stairs lead to the easy path. At the top may be a smaller hole to squeeze through, a longer maze to navigate. No, choose the narrow way. It leads to a several-story slide that dangles your body over the expanse of a universe before you shoot out onto smooth concrete. Your clothes begin to rip and tatter.

There is the false relief of coming out into the open, finally upright again, and the slight horror at the realization that you slid out of the roots of that tree on your belly. Mangled and cast-off metals from other demolished buildings grow into the spiraling tree tops you have escaped into. You climb every one if those soaring branches and slide down re-claimed culvert hollows to more welded tree houses. And, Nathan, you will be happy to know that all of the nieces and nephews survived, as did Miss Spare child.

Ah, back to our good friend the forest whale. Didn’t his friend just eat us? He is asking why you sent us here without meeting up at the entrance. You would love it here. Next time, we will drag you along with us.

The symbols we hardly noticed upon entering the building seemed important now. Enter, if you will, the gates of hell, but return to the light of the cross when all hope is gone.

So, Nathan, I don’t believe you meant to mislead. This is the kind of experience for which qualia emersion is both the necessary and sufficient condition for knowledge. You told us it would be fun. It wasn’t fun. It was intricately soul-changing.

Hey, Nate, also, buy me a gypsy caravan in a psychedelic universe.

You will also be happy to know that we topped off the day by visiting good friends and my favorite squishy babies. You know the value of friendship far better than I do, and I was aware of the fact that a Nathan Day cannot be complete without experiencing intense relationship. My beautiful friend glows with the chaos and perfection of motherhood, and she allowed me to drown in her beautiful newborn, and to snuggle with her wiggly toddler, who was just a little nibble shoving handfuls of wood chips and sand into his mouth the last time I saw him. It is good to see folks who are woven into your best memories.

So here’s today’s road trip song for my mom and dad who taught me never to pass up the adventure of a cave or a tree top:

 https://youtu.be/m2uTFF_3MaA

We drove until 2:30am this morning, slept for 4 hours, and were back on the road by 6:30am. It’s amazing how little sleep you need when you are sitting all day.

I love New Mexico. Today we re-visited a memory. When Sunshine was almost 2, we took the tent trailer on a road trip, and as we pulled off the 40 to fill up on gas, the brakes appeared to fail. It was one of those situations where you hope there is an uphill and no traffic at the end of your road. I thought we might die. But there was an uphill, and no traffic, at the end of our offramp, and so we pulled in to this parking lot and did a lot of hugging and deep breathing for a minute.

The parking lot owner was nice enough to allow us to camp here until our van was fixed. It wasn’t as bad as we had thought. It was just a break pump issue, and the breaks really would have worked fine, had I slammed all my weight and then some onto them. I just hadn’t tried hard enough. Ha! We set up the tent trailer, and that night we woke to Sunshine’s screams…outside the tent trailer. I was pretty sure she was being kidnapped. When you have to work as hard as I do to have babies and keep babies alive, you have the superhuman ability to destroy anyone who hurts them, and to make the body disappear. At least I think you do. I almost tore the door off that trailer to get out, and there lay my baby on the ground, screaming her head off. She had somehow worked her way out of the trailer and fell 3 feet from the trailer onto her head. In my mind, she had almost died twice that day. I couldn’t stop holding her. Not one single dull moment in this family. Never. Not even dull sleep.

But we loved this little town, the town of Santa Rosa, New Mexico. Everyone seemed to hear about us, and back then, even as I walked the kids a mile to the community fountain for a swim, people stopped to offer rides, water, movie ticket, free food, blankets, their home…this little town where most people appear to exist at some level of poverty was ready to take us in as their own. Maybe it was the 3 cute babies I was dragging all over town while Brandon worked and the van was worked on. We have since fondly referred to Santa Rosa town as Radiator Springs. You should visit this town.

So today we stopped in Santa Rosa for Breakfast at the Sun and Sand Cafe.

They have a telephone booth out front.

Downtown is basically shuttered and boarded up, with the exception of the government and county buildings. This is the county seat, but that does not seem to help business to boom here.

Then for the crazy cannonball day. But first, I got my windows washed by this hottie. Um, he missed a spot. I didn’t give him a tip.

These cuties are all ready for adventure!

So, hey, kids, no, it’s going to be a day in the car, kid-os. Sit back and enjoy the doldrums of today.

Soooooo much grass, and blue sky. I envy the cows that get to exist here and wallow in this all day.

And Texas. Maybe I’d rather be a cow in Texas. They have far better grass and bluer skies.

Texas also features this luxury RV park and modern playground.

And this place.

People were very friendly in this red-bricked town. They wildly screamed for us to pull over at their ice cream stand. We waved and drove on. They honked and pulled off the road for us. They waved at our amazing red suburban. Oh, wait. Google Maps led us the wrong way down a one-way street. Ohhh, they weren’t honking and waiving for…ohhhhh. Ha. I’m sure they still would have been as welcoming had we been driving the right way. Good thing there are only about 4 people in this town and two cars total. Oh, never mind. Remember, kids, nothing eventful today!

Texas also has this cute little vintage gas station museum.

And then Oklhoma.

Okay, better to be a cow here. There is better grass, as well as plenty of water, and trees for shade.

Oh, oops, except that they BBQ all those cowish critters, and pigs, and chickens, and skunks…okay, maybe not skunks. Maybe skunks. I didn’t ask.

But, seriously, drive-through BBQ? And bean bag toss to entertain the kiddies while you sip your blue lime cherry drink recommended by the small-ish-yet-chatty waiter? And vegetarian options befitting one considering the cow life, such as fried okra, fried pickles, fried alfalfa hay. I’m sure they serve all of the above.

So we are now fighting off heart attack, oh, but that blue drink. Brandon is right. It did taste like an alcoholic otter pop.

So Waze is telling us that we will pull in to St. Louis at 2:09 am, so we have accomplished our task. We are on target to visit the grand sultan of all museums tomorrow: The St. Louis City Museum. Miss L said, “I’m going to go to the bus on top of the building first thing, and hang over the edge, and I won’t even be scared. Well, I’ll be scared. Maybe I’ll go to the bus last.”

The other best conversations today: Mr. Lion, when he spotted a Ford Explorer encased in dried mud: “Oh, Sweet! I want a muddy truck that is that muddy just like that!”

Miss Magpie: “Did that fountain have a ‘No Swimming’ sign when we swam here a long time ago?” Me: “Yes.” Brandon: “Your mom wouldn’t have paid attention to a sign like that.” Miss Magpie: “Good, because it was a fun fountain to play in!” Me: “I try to follow rules sometimes.” Miss Magpie: “No you don’t.”

Miss Magpie: “When people ask me how I got such strong arms, I tell them it’s because I punch my brother a lot, and he likes it.” Me: “Well, you are not wrong.”

And just like that, we are in Missouri!
https://open.spotify.com/track/4Yy5d21CJvXQ8cOuaTiCRD?si=7UXL5PmKTwSTpzqaGbzhtghttps://open.spotify.com/track/4Yy5d21CJvXQ8cOuaTiCRD?si=yJrGwKkWTTaDOqZ5S7Cymw

Let me preface this by saying that road trips feed souls by helping us experience what we should believe and how we should act every single day while not on a road trip. They bring opportunity to practice virtue without stress.

We got a late start. Like an 11-hour late start. Our bright idea was to drive through the night and avoid the desert heat. Motor vehicles don’t like heat. 11 hours late put our departure at 9:00am Sunday morning instead of 100:00pm Saturday.

Let me tell you what we would have missed had we left on time.

We would have missed breakfast with my favorite in-laws at our favorite, ultra-hick, middle-of-nowhere, country cafe at Lake Henshaw.

We would have missed the raw desert…

that changes from verdant green, blooming, nourishing buckwheat…

to dry sand crust with it’s desperate grasses and creosote bushes. Miles of creosote bushes. I remember that this is the land of my baptism, where a tiny creek struggled to survive, and almost gave up its cooling waters to the heat of the sun and sand. I brought my tiny, wild baby and my calm husband to this place so that I could be washed where sheep and rabbits and lizards and snakes come for life-giving water. This is where I came to give up notions of bright evangelicalism that outdid my parents’ rejection of the trappings of tradition. Here I embraced my mortality and was baptized. I think my priest was confused and relieved by this odd process, since it is regular to be baptized in the boxy building of church, I guess, but at least my analysis of the act was over so he could offer me communion. Walls kill my soul. Jesus wasn’t baptized in a church. And my wild baby girl splashed in the water that gave me life.

So many memories in this place.

And chollas. Lots of chollas, thriving in this heat. They like it.

They wait for you. They wanna getcha…and God loves these. It is His joy to cause them to persist. Indeed, He made them for His own joy.

Way back in our foolish youth, back when we thought we were keen for blasting U2’s Joshua Tree while absorbing the streets with no names in Joshua Tree – well, we were keen – Brandon brushed by a cholla, and it chomped through his jeans and into his skin. I had to grab those little monsters and wrestle them from his flesh. Thats when you know you love a person enough to marry him. When you take a cholla for him. We would have missed those chollas and those memories if we had left on time today.

We Would have missed these jolly dunes!

We would have missed waiting for a very long train. The Little Lion yelled out, “That train is carrying gold!” He might be right.

We would have missed remembering that we live in a state with a mountain chain called the Chocolate mountains, and the roller coaster road passing through the chocolate lava heat. And finding a cool rock.

We would have missed the date and alfalfa and vegetable farms, and the broad canals that help feed a nation.

We would have crossed into Arizona and over the great river under the cloud of darkness without stopping to romp and wash the dusty dunes from our bodies.

We would have missed the first glimpse of weird saguaro cactuses with their arms stretched toward the sky. Those things are majestic!

And we would have missed finding a place To eat with vegetation options, and Brandon doing push-ups and squats in the parking lot. And connect four with a ruthless opponent.

We would have missed all of that. We are still driving tonight, and maybe we won’t sleep, because that City Museum in St. Lewis is calling our name. But after all, I don’t think we left 11 hours late. Maybe there is no such thing as being late. I think we left right on time.

Heres a song from our road trip playlist.

Several years ago, Brandon and I had tickets to go see One Republic, I was floored. I’m a concert junkie and have seen so many great groups. One of my earliest concert memories was watching DC Talk at our church high school group back before they were big, and getting lost in the crazy frenzy as only a deeply introverted person can. Maybe it’s my INFJ showing, but there is nothing like the tangible and sensory isolation at a concert. Its a high in itself.

So my husband looked at my pleading face and spent our meager savings to get me One Republic tickets. He had no idea who One Republic was. I really didn’t either, but I did know I craved the concert rush, and One Republic could likely fulfill.

We are parents of 4 kids, so we were a little late. That is likely the reason that we thought the concert was really short and started to leave after the band left the stage. Kind of a let down, the music was a bit angry and obnoxious for my taste, but still enjoyable. Who doesn’t like a bit of rage with their frenzy? At some point on the way back to the car one of us had the bright idea that we should ask why it ended so soon…and, we found out, it was actually the intermission between The Script, the opening act and One Republic, the main event. The concert hadn’t even begun. We couldn’t stop laughing at our ancient selves, and there was so much joy in knowing that the best was yet to come! And One Republic delivered everything I wanted and more. Brandon even became a fan. Miraculous.

Brandon has discovered that his life in marriage to an untamed gypsy is a lot like that concert.

Our counsilor has helped us recognize that I am deeply, psychotically, undistractedly task oriented. He was nicer than that about saying it. Ha! So we’ve had a really crazy week with 3 goals to accomplish.

Goal one: finish getting the rental and property ready as it’s going to be a wedding venue in 2 weeks. Done.

Goal 2: get 5 kids ready for their dance recital picture perfect this morning. Done, thanks to angel MIL who calmly carted them down the mountain today.

Goal 3: start packing for the trip. Because we are leaving tonight. Almost done. Here is what a Phelps car looks like when packed for a 4-week hybrid hotel/camping road trip.

I think this my 21st cross-country road trip. I’m a pro at packing next to nothing. At some point you realize that you could pack literally your bodies and the clothes on them and stop at one of the 5 bazillion Walmarts for anything at all that you need on any given day.

So this past week has been a bit angry and obnoxious, but we know that the best is yet to come. You sit through the ups and downs of opening act so you will enjoy the main act all the more.

And here we are, in my favorite predicament ever – we are almost ready to go, goals 1 and 2 accomplished, our house looks like a tornado has passed through and left cats everywhere, and tonight we get to fly free! This is where my soul belongs for the moment.

And my children have been raised with the wild wandering bug. My calm, well-ordered, civilized husband married this, and he doesn’t appear to regret it…much. Anyway, if he does mind, he has the image of my father at our wedding with a shotgun laid across his lap burned in his mind. Haha! Staying around is preferable.

And my husband still loves me, which is why I worked so hard to plow down all those other hopefuls way back when. I knew then that I’d found one who was looking for a crazy ride through life. He’s part of the main act. So here’s a One Republic song for him because it makes me laugh at how much this is his life with me, gypsy road trips and all. https://youtu.be/qKCGBgOgp08

Today we drove, and drove, and drove.

We drove through wheat fields, over small brooks, watched the Arkansas slowly go from a dry bed of sand to a puddled gulch, to small stream in a gulch, to full-blown river, and enjoyed the space that rolled around us. In this part of the country, the land is populated by buffalo, cattle, deer, and horses, with some people here and there. Going west to east, the land gradually becomes more forested. Sometimes it is noticeably sudden, but then you notice that it is not a forest, but rather a river. When the river turns aside, so do the trees. We are still on back roads, meandering through Kansas. Besides the appearance of more trees, we did have the excitement of coming suddenly upon a derailed train that had apparently been sitting there, waiting for rescue, for several months. We hiked down to one of the engines, and as the kids tried to avoid the temptation to play in a silty mud pit, a truck pulled up, and a Kansas hick got out to talk to us. He got out just to talk. He was not suspicious of us, didn*t want to tell us that we were in danger, didn*t want to scold us for letting our kids play in the mud, he just wanted to hang out because, hey, that is the kind of people who live here! And he told us all about the train derailment.

According to him, a truck driver was hauling a full load of gravel, approached the train tracks, and found the booms down at about the same time he realized his brakes failed. Nice. So instead of stop, he plowed into the engines. Now, one would imagine that the force required to derail a train consisting of 2 engines and many cars would kill the truck driver and injure the train workers. But no. This is Kansas, land of Glenda the good witch, and Dorothy does not die in the tornado, neither does the truck driver die as he is smashed headlong into a train. Everyone walked away with a few scratches and had a beer afterward (one imagines). Miraculous.

Brandon has a hankering for as much Kansas BBQ as his gut can hold, so I have declared Kansas a non-vegan state so he can enjoy his vacation as well. As it got late, Brandon discovered a highly-rated place in Fort Scott called Sugar Foot and Peaches, so we went there for dinner.

Fort Scott is a cute little Kansas town where the houses are kept up and the yards mowed, cobbled streets and soft, slow living.

We found a great little camp ground at a county park with a camp site overlooking the pond. The kids found some friends to play with while we set up camp. Miss Magpie really wants to find a duck or goose to bring home with us. It breaks her heart every single time I tell her no, poor kid!