Water Witch

What a difference state lines make. From the lush green crops and grass in North Dakota and Minnesota to the brown, crunchy groundcover in southern Wisconsin.  Over the miles, the “elephant eye” corn shrivelled to knee high yellow stalks.  After experiencing the record rainfall in the west while we were there, we are now witnessing the results of the record drought around the Great Lakes.

Guess I should have come home sooner. The rain that wouldn’t leave us alone along the west coast must have just sucked all the moisture away from the east. Since it followed me all that way, surely it would have followed me home.

The population also changes dramatically over those state lines.  Once we hit Illinois the traffic was heavier, the cities larger, and the people not quite as friendly nor as trusting.  We had bought fresh corn from a roadside stand in Minnesota, on the honour system. Nobody was at the stand, just a box to put the money in and a sign saying how much.  The regional park where we stayed on the St. Croix River was clean and very well tended, and our neighbors in the campground were friendly. Yet despite the Illinois State Park having signs everywhere reminding us that alcohol was prohibited, we picked up at least a full case of beer bottles in the bushes around the trailer.  This particular campground was very noisy, but not because of the drunken campers.  Instead it was the few cicadas in the trees that could put boxes full of crickets to shame. 

 But while the campground wasn’t the best, the hiking trails of the park were superb.  Wide trails meandered in and around canyons that had been eroded from the sandstone hills along the Illinois River.

We walked along the river and looked up at the canyon walls, and then climbed a few hundred stairs to the top of the bluffs, and looked down into them.

We left Illinois early in the day, giving Chicago a wide berth and just scratching the top of Indiana before landing in Michigan. The fields around us were still dry, even though there were lots of small lakes all around, and rain clouds in the sky. This was our last American campground for this trip, and it was lovely, with large, open sites.  Our spot was near a shallow lake that was crowded with waterlilies, herons, and a friendly family of swans.  Oh yeah, and bass boats, too, pushing through the weeds in search of the big one.  Fishing was the one thing hubby didn’t get to do on this foray into the States. But he doesn’t stop talking about how long he has before trout season closes in Ontario.

We hit a new record crossing the border back into Canada.  This time we were only asked two questions, how long did we stay and the value of goods we brought back. A quick “bye”, and we were gone. You just never know what you are going to encounter at the border.  Crossing into the States at North Dakota was the first time customs agents had entered our trailer for a quick look around. It was a small crossing, and not very busy, so we didn’t even have to pull over. Just opened up where we sat so they could go inside. Not that we had much. We had just spent some weeks at our daughter’s place and so our food stash was depleted. Why pick up more when we were heading for farm country? The fresh stuff was ahead of us.

So now we are where we started 9 months ago to the day, at CanAm RV in London. After more than 20,000 kms  it’s time to get things looked at on the trailer, and future plans for it decided. It was “too big” when we started, but now we don’t know where we would put stuff if we went any smaller. So it might just be a matter of fixing and refurbishing what we have.

And making sure it’s waterproof. 

W