Lisa Hamm-Greenawalt started the Messy Suitcase Travel Blog in 2018, when she and her husband Bob, who retired early, began traveling as a lifestyle. We spent a couple of months crisscrossing Europe before heading south to explore Mexico, broken up by occasional forays back into the United States, and enhanced by many road trips across the USA. At this point, we have easily logged 10,000+ miles!
Although the pandemic forced us to temporarily relocate to Pennsylvania in March 2018, we have lots of old blogs to share, and keep generating new ones about our new life here! We also lots of videos on YouTube to help you escape the confines of your home and travel vicariously!
Please visit the Messy Suitcase Travel Blog at www.messysuitcase.com, and follow us on social media!
I love praying in the cathedral of nature. It’s the main reason I moved with my family to Colorado.
What experience can possibly compare with the bliss of cross country skiing in fresh snow on an isolated trail in Alderfer/Three Sisters? Or running on a sparkling summer afternoon on a cliffside trail through Corwina Park, picking my way around rocks and roots? Or riding my road bike at top speed down Lookout Mountain Road, the wind whistling past as the ground blurs beneath my feet?
Sheer glory. Ecstasy. Often I forget how little space there can be between bliss and disaster.
But the recent experience of a friend’s boyfriend has abruptly reminded me how narrow is that gap. He was having a wondrous mountain biking adventure in Lyons a month ago, riding on his favorite trail. Michael lost track of time and suddenly noticed the shadows getting longer on the trail. In his hurry to get to his car before darkness fell, he hit a rock a little too fast and cartwheeled over his handlebars. His helmet didn’t do any good when his neck – and head – were pushed forward too far upon landing and his spinal cord was severed. For hours, Michael lay on the trail, unable to move, his bike on top of him, struggling to breathe.
And the only reason Michael is alive today is because he had told Beth where he was riding and when to expect him back. When he was late and failed to answer her attempts to reach him by cell, she called Search and Rescue.
He is grateful to be alive — but Michael is paralyzed now, and his life is changed forever. He’ll never ride on that trail again, experience that thrill of the wind whistling past his ears. He will never even walk on a trail again, or on a sidewalk, or even in his living room.
I realize this blog is sort of a downer, but take one message away from it — when you set out onto the road or a trial, tell someone where you are going and when you will be back.
And be grateful! With every ride now, I think of Michael. When my lungs feel they’re going to burst as I labor up a hill, I think of Michael’s struggle just to breathe every day, and of those who can’t do what I can do – and I ride for them. Now every ride is a prayer, and I’m grateful for the ability to pedal my legs up and down, to breathe in big breaths, to experience pain and joy in the outdoors.
And I can tell you this: I always tell my husband where I am going and when I’m going to be back.
My Uncle John Troisi is coming to Evergreen next week on a picture-taking mission. He has traveled all over the USA over the past three or four decades to take photographs, which he turns into breathtaking slideshows set to music. He is a prominent local photographer in the Susquehanna Valley (PA) whose work has been displayed in art galleries in his hometown of Williamsport.
Uncle John has chosen the Colorado foothills because he loves the western United States – plus two of his nieces and their families live here in Evergreen, presenting the opportunity to combine “business” with a mini-family reunion. Uncle John’s idea of a vacation is to wake up at 4 or 5 am so he can be on-site and ready to capture the sunrise, shoot for hours, then do it again for the sunset. My cousin Cindy and I are hoping to catch a little time with him in the middle of the days, if we can tear him away from his camera. (It would be nice if he would shoot us, but people are not his specialty. Perhaps he’ll make an exception this time!)
But we also want to give Uncle John the best advice we can on where he can capture the most unique, spectacular pictures in his short time here. Evergreen Lake House, Red Rocks Park and Mt. Evans are obvious candidates, but this whole mountain area is so spectacular – where are the hidden gems? Where should Uncle John go to get the most unique and memorable shots? He is willing to travel a couple hours – and then wait more hours for the right light.
Please pass your suggestion on! And feel free to share some of your own photographs.
The Best Way to Battle Childhood Obesity: Get Your Kid Moving!
I heard a debate on CPR today about whether or not government money should be spent battling our country’s epidemic of obesity. As you doubtless know, the incidence of obesity is growing at an alarming rate — more than 15% of American adults are obese, and in nine states, over 30% of adults are obese.
But it’s our children who are most at risk. Childhood obesity has more than tripled in the past 30 years, according to the Centers for Disease Control — aided by video games, computers and other sedentary pursuits, and supersize portions.
So how do we fight it?
While experts no doubt are pondering solutions, sometimes I see the answer right in front of my eyes. Today I watched about a hundred kids aged 8-13 participate in Evergreen Park & Recreation District’s (EPRD) Kids Triathlon. First they swam, then they rode, then they ran, before crossing the finish line and receiving a certificate.
Some of the younger, inexperienced swimmers needed pool buoys to keep them afloat for 25 yards across Buchanan Rec Center Pool. Some had their moms run along side them as they left the pool and ran to their bikes. Some girls rode onto the trail wearing helmets shaped like pink bears with little ears. One little boy was wearing an oversized “US Pro Cycling Challenge” jersey with matching riding gloves. Some were gasping and clutching their sides in pain as they limped across the finish line. Others charged onto the race course like Olympians, determined not to let anyone pass them.
But every child in this noncompetitive race had friends and family on the sidelines encouraging them. One mom waved a poster that said “Go, Alex!” Little girls waved pom poms and cheered for big brothers. Moms and grandmothers clicked photos and videos. The volunteer who managed the finish line called out to struggling youngsters, “That’s it! You got it! You’re almost there! You can do it!”
And you know what? I didn’t see a single case of childhood obesity today. Instead I saw healthy, active, happy kids, encouraged in their fitness pursuits by parents and friends in a friendly, noncompetitive atmosphere, on a beautiful summer day.
Battling childhood obesity? Perhaps it takes a village. And the Youth & Sports Expo on Buchanan Fields that followed the Kids Tri demonstrated that Evergreen is just the right kind of village to win this fight. It offers so many opportunities for children to stay active and healthy — from EPRD’s facilities, sports programs and teams; to Stingers soccer; to Nick’s Pro Fitness’s Tae Kwon Do classes; to Kinetic Dance; to the Tennis Bubble; to the trails on which we hike, bike and walk; and so much more.
On one of those late winter days when the air was unseasonably warm but the ground was still covered with snow, Lexie and I decided to take a walk in the Lair. Lair o’ the Bear, my favorite name for a park. We parked by the road at the western end and strolled down to the trailhead. Lexie was wearing shorts, a light jacket and snow boots. It was one of those Colorado types of days.
The Swimming Hole
Suddenly Lexie stopped and gasped.
“Mom!” she exclaimed excitedly. “This is the swimming hole!”
Lexie, 11, and her sister Kyra, 14, had gone to a Bear Creek swimming hole several times last summer with a friend and her mother, who had never been able to describe exactly how to find it.
But sure enough, and the very edge of the park, Bear Creek widened and had a slightly deeper, calm pool. It was flanked by large boulders for sitting on, trees for lolling beneath, and the water was still halfway covered with snow and ice. That didn’t deter a bunch of kids who had discarded their shoes and were splashing around in it while their parents watched, amused. On the third week of March! It was about 65 degrees, but that creek had to be closer to 40 degrees.
Dunafon Castle
“You want to go in?” I asked Lexie. Fortunately, she declined, and we walked on down the trail, alongside cliffs, through deeper woods where the trail was snow-covered and slippery, and suddenly we came upon a wrought-iron fence along the left side of the trail. There was a gate that prevented us from crossing a stone bridge to the left, and across the creek was a small, exquisite stone castle, Dunafon Castle. You might have seen the crest on a flag while driving down Route 74 north of the Lair o’ the Bear entrance.
We stood at the padlocked gate and took in the castle, with its gazebo, sweeping grounds, and fountains, and shared dreams about fantastical other lives, other places, about magic and princesses and unicorns. A workman came around the bend with a couple of huge dogs to abruptly end our trip of fantasy, and we giggled as the canines frolicked with each other enthusiastically.
The whole walk was only about a mile and a half by the time we got back to the car. But it took us back several centuries, off on flights of fancy, and even back to last summer!
Yesterday I got an urgent text message in my cellphone through Reverse 911 that 100 homes were being evacuated near Pleasant Park Road in Conifer because of a wildfire.
View of the plume from a Kittredge hilltop
A fire? In CONIFER?? This is the sort of story I’m supposed to watch on 9News, riveted by the orange flames licking the edges of some distant canyon, not a few miles down Rte. 73 near the homes of a number of my friends. My husband and I ran outside and watched, openmouthed, as a giant plume of smoke billowed across the sparkling blue sky.
A few minutes later I discovered there was a second fire along Grapevine Road in Idledale, perhaps two miles away as the crow flies from our Kittredge house. I had driven right past that spot just two days earlier. Suddenly I felt incredibly vulnerable.
Natural Disasters
Everywhere that I have ever lived, there has been some sort of natural disaster to be wary of. Back east, where I lived two blocks from the Long Island Sound, we worried about floods, windstorms, and the torrential downpours that edged hurricanes. When I lived in Puerto Rico, a block from the ocean, we were also afraid of hurricanes, and a volcano erupted on the island of Montserrat. My husband lived in Tornado Alley for a while. I have felt the earth shake under my feet during an earthquake.
When we moved to Colorado, we thought we had found a home that didn’t seem to be a victim of Mother Nature’s irrational outbursts. No tornadoes, no earthquakes, certainly no hurricanes. But how wrong we were. Mother Nature is so erratic here – flooding us one season, parching us the next. (And of course, last year we did have a deviant earthquake.) We are at the mercy of the rain, the snow, the mercury – seesawing between abundance and famine. Those 330 days of sunshine a year that attracted us are also a curse!
As the fire rages in Conifer, a number of my friends have fled their homes, and many others live in the fire’s path. Friends and family from back east, who have seen our fire on the national news, call and email asking if we are OK.
A Fire Plan
Our family spent dinnertime tonight creating a fire plan. We prioritized what needed to be done if the Reverse 911 call came in about a fire in OUR neighborhood. Get US out safely, of course. Also the cats, important papers, hard drives, Grandpa’s violin, Great-Grandfather’s Revolutionary war epaulets, family photos, what else?
Our lovely cedar-and-stone house sits at the edge of 40 acres of beautiful ponderosa pines. There’s some comfort in the fire hydrant that sits at the edge of the front yard, but less comfort in the pine boughs you can reach from the back deck. Forget about “defensible space” — we chose this house because of the woods. We love the smell of the pine in the air, especially on windy days. But today, as I look at those pine trees, I see a threat.
So I’ll call my insurance company tomorrow, make sure I’m covered in case of fire, post the Family Fire Plan on the bulletin board — and pray I never need to use it. And then I’ll go help make sandwiches to help feed the firefighters in Conifer, and pray they get those flames stamped out soon.
I moved my family — husband B and daughters K and L — to Evergreen three years ago from the New York City suburb of Mamaroneck, in Westchester County. It was the dawn of the recession, and my husband had lost his job as CIO of a Manhattan Internet startup. We decided to use the job loss as an opportunity to relocate our family to a place that might work better for our daughters, who both have sensory issues. Perhaps living in a fast-moving, competitive cosmopolitan area wasn’t the best environment for them. Perhaps a few ponderosa pines and snow-covered mountains would calm their souls.
For B and me, avid outdoors people chronically frustrated by the necessity of riding our road bikes 10-15 miles through congestion and traffic lights just to find some semblance of an open road, the prospect of quiet mountain roads was enticing. So when I landed a job with a Denver nonprofit, we packed up our boxes, put the house on the market, said goodbye to our wonderful neighbors, and took a leap of faith.
So here we are, in Evergreen! I must confess that I still sorely, painfully miss New York City, and I think I always will. But Colorado has welcomed us with open arms in ways we didn’t even imagine.
Life is different. Is it better? Yes and no. In this blog, I will share the experiences and adventures of wrenching your entire being from the familiar, of plopping yourself down someplace new and trying to navigate a new course. Everybody should do it at least once in their lives, just to discover they can, indeed, land on their feet!
