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Waiting for my RV repair appointment gave me five days to explore southwestern Wisconsin and eastern Minnesota. There is much to see here. In Stillwater, MN, an upscale resort town on the St. Croix River that was once a thriving lumber mill and port town, a fleet of steamboats now offers tourists the opportunity to cruise on the river on a steamboat or a giant cruise ship. I camped just across the St. Croix, in Eastern WI, until sweltering heat that reached 111°on the heat index, a measurement that factors in humidity, sent me back across the river to Minnesota for a night in an air conditioned hotel room on 7/20/19. That night a severe storm rolled in bringing damaging winds, heavy rain, ping pong sized hail and tornadoes north and east of me, with Western WI hard hit.   

In preparation to leave the campground at Willow Creek State Park, I stopped at the RV dump site to take care of “business” and found myself 3^rdin line at the dump, and all of us women. It was somehow liberating to see other woman emptying holding tanks. Naturally, I wanted to know more about these RV dump divas, so I hoped out of the van to greet them. I learned that they are mother and daughter, and that they take summer trips in their own RV’s because their dogs don’t get along. When I shared that in my 10 months of traveling, I have only seen men doing this dirty chore, the feisty mom quipped, “Oh, I can handle emptying the tank, it is a lot less trouble than putting up with a man”. 

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It was my good fortune to work in a visit to Minneapolis and join a practice of Barbara MacAfee’s Morningstar Singers. This choir is not associated with Threshold Choir, but, like TC, they offer the service of bedside singing at no charge. Barbara started Morningstar in 2007, after she found it profoundly impactful to sing for dying friends and family members, which is also what inspired Kate Munger to start the Threshold Choir in 2000. I was stunned at the similarities to TC practices; the repertoire, the practice of blending voices with no one voice standing out, and the reverent silence maintained before moving on to the next song, all the same. Instead of using written music, Morningstar Singers learn songs orally, and they add their own harmonies as they hear them, which I found very freeing. At this rehearsal, anyone in the circle could lead a song, and the group sat in a comfortable silence until someone started the next song. Members shared recent bedside singing experiences, and the discussion of a memory care patient’s response to familiar songs resembled discussions I was hearing at many of the choirs I have visited. After the practice, I talked a bit with Bruce O’Brian, who is also a member the Children’s Music Network, where he sings with Kate Munger and Beth Bierko, of the Lower Hudson Valley TC. His sweet song, Owl Moon, is a new favorite. It is heartening to know that there are others out there providing this beautiful service.

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I had not found a place to stay in Minneapolis. When I made the request to visit a Morningstar Singers practice, feeling like an outsider, I was not comfortable asking if I could stay in a choir member’s driveway. I’m getting a bit more relaxed about finding an overnight place, or maybe it is just that I’m getting lazy, but I was delighted when an overnight offer came from a kind member of the choir, Kristin Johnstad. Staying with Kristen, Ella, her college student daughter home for the summer, and her “Handsome Prince” husband, Jim, gave me an insider’s view of the “Cities” (the name locals use for the twin cities of St Paul and Minneapolis).  Kristen’s life work has been building community, and her neighborhood is an excellent example of what community can be. My timing coincided with a pizza party with about 30 of her neighbors gathered at the brick oven they had built together in a vacant lot, that also served as a community garden. There were 7 college students in the mix, all home for summer break. Close to downtown, this neighborhood, like all of Minneapolis, is rich with diversity that includes a large Native American population, and immigrants from Latin American, Somali and Laos. I was able to visit the moving  “Hearts of Our People: Native Women Artists” exhibit at the Minneapolis Institute of Art. 

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Did you know that the Mississippi River starts in Minnesota, and that ice fishing on the upper Mississippi is a popular activity in the winter? I didn’t. It was a thrill to reach the storied “Ole Man River” in Minneapolis, a waterway I have always associated with the south. I visited Minnehaha Falls, Hiawatha Ave, and Mississippi Lock #1, where private and commercial boats can bypass a waterfall near downtown to travel north or south on the river. I happened to be there when 2 small boats traveled through the locks under the watchful eye of Fred, the Defense Department employee who has been the gatekeeper there for 40 years. When I asked how boats schedule a lift in the water elevator lock, he told me that they just show up and he does the rest. He said that if they aren’t back by 8:00 PM, when he leaves for the day, they will be stuck on the other side for the night. 

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Traveling in Southern Wisconsin, I made a 2 night camping stop at Mill Bluff State Park, part of Wisconsins Ice Age Scientific Reserve. The park sits in the footprint of 12,000 year old Glacial Lake Wisconsin, where sandstone bluffs, pinnacles and sea stacks rise 200 feet from the flats. Each weather whittled tower is unique, telling its own story of time and the elements of change. 

The Threshold Singers of Chippewa Valley in Eau Claire, WI, meet in a Quaker meeting room, like so many of the choirs I have visited. This dedicated choir sings at 90-100 bedsides at different facilities each month. They have written grants to obtain community funding to purchase Kindles for each choir member and are now in the process of loading them with Threshold Choir repertoire. 

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Denise Madland, the director of the choir invited me to stay in the driveway of her home in the countryside, a few miles from town. Besides being born in the same year, Denise and I share a love of kayaking and canoeing. She told me about the epic summer canoe trips she has been taking in the Boundary Waters of northeastern Minnesota for more than 40 years that include portaging canoes up and down mountains. In the winter, this remarkable woman clears trails in the woods on her property for skiing and chops wood for her woodstove. She did confide that she recently purchased a gas operated log splitter to make wood chopping easier. 

Just 30 minutes from Eau Claire, my next choir stop was in Menomonie, WI, where I stayed with the choir director, Nita, and her husband, Tim. Everything about this choir feels relaxed and easy, but maybe it is Nita and the other singers who make it feel that way. The town is small and charming. Downtown Menomonie sits on a lovely lake, and the library, where Tim is the Reference Librarian, is built right on the water. Tim and Nita get around on a well-developed bike trail that circles the lake, follows the river and can take you anywhere you need to go in Menomonie. 

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I stopped at the Menomonie Farmer’s Market on my way out of town and found that all of the  farmers are Hmong immigrants from Laos, many of whom do not speak English. Their beautiful produce was uniformly displayed in small baskets at each booth, with little variation. A pair of shoppers who saw my license plates asked where I was from in California, and I was delighted to find out that Don had grown up surfing in California, and had lived in the canals in Venice Beach, where Joe and I lived before moving to Maui in 1977. Our memorable Venice days were rich with community, beaching, rafting in the canals and sailing from Marina Del Rey. The unique 8 blocks of canals and bridges that exist today are all that remains of the man-made canal city constructed by developer Abbot Kinney in 1905 as part of his Venice of America plan. 

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Van engine and chassis noises are interfering with my plans to head to northern Minnesota and then west to Glacier National Park I stopped for repairs in Ohio, but the mechanic could not hear what I heard. Now it is louder, and I don’t want to embark on the 2,000 mile westward journey until I am confident that all is in working order. I’m a bit overwhelmed at the moment with the engine noise, fluctuating refrigerator temperatures that never reach the desirable zone under 42° in the heat of the day, and my AC that is not cooling. Sometimes I wonder if I have exhausted “Wanda” with the 23,000 miles we have driven, she may not have the determination that I find I have. After days of research and phone calls to shops in Wisconsin and Minnesota, I finally found an RV shop that can handle the size of the van, and has an opening in a week (most RV shops I contact have a 3-6 week wait). Wish me luck.

It is hot, road buckling hot, as a matter of fact, and sponge baths just don’t cut it when you’re sweating from every pore. In between Threshold choir visits, where members kindly offer opportunities to shower, I have been seeking out lakes for bathing. In Illinois, I was surprised to find sandy beaches and easy lake access available in most places, even in downtown Chicago. At the beach parks where I stopped along Lake Michigan, where buoy restricted swimming areas are vigilantly patrolled by lifeguards, it costs $8.00 to enter, and as much as $17.00 to park (with out-of-state fees). In need of both bathing and cooling, I have succumbed to the cost to be  revived by the water, enjoy the exercise and indulge in the cold water showers available after the swim. Outdoor “swimsuit showers” take me back to 1977 Maui, the year that six year old Joe and I moved to the islands, lived in a VW camper there, and showered outdoors at beach parks daily.  Launiopoko Beach Park, just south of Lahaina, was our regular morning stop, with its graceful coconut palms, and the warmest showers on the west side of the island (5 years later,  Jim and I would choose this beach park for our wedding). I’m swimming with lake weeds now, not whales, but grateful to be able to attend to my personal hygiene with warm lake swims and cold outdoor showers. 

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After Chicago, I was welcomed by the Threshold Singers of Wheaton, IL, where I stopped before venturing north to Wisconsin. This exceptionally bonded choir recently transitioned to shared leadership after the founder and director, Grace Fill,  stepped down from her leadership role. Kelley, who led the rehearsal I attended, opened an interesting discussion about the process of choosing songs for patients we know little or nothing about. We talked about reading physical clues in the room, such as objects and photos, and observing the way the client responds to songs, that is so important to be aware of. The intuitive piece, something we very much depended on to guide us in our Pacific Grove TC, is harder to define. I don’t know how you teach intuition, but, I believe, it comes by getting out of the way and allowing our inner voice to drive. Perhaps being present is the formula. Certainly, intuition is one of those divine mysteries that defies logic.  

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My driveway host in Wheaton, a sprightly retired teacher who, like so many other choir members I have met, is a champion of liberal politics in a sea of steadfast Republicans. I honored her request not to talk politics when we shared a lovely meal with her “Trump camp” neighbors and friends of 40 years. It requires finesse (something I am sorely lacking) to maintain close relationships with friends and family who have different political views, and I have heard over and over again that those subjects must be avoided to keep the peace. It was my intention on this trip to open dialogue with “the others” in an effort to bridge the monumental gap that divides us in this country, one person at a time. I expected that leaving my progressive political bubble in California, would provide plenty of opportunities to exchange ideas with folks with political views different from my own, but this hasn’t happened. Even outside of the like-minded world of Threshold Choir in which I travel, I find myself drawn to other progressives with whom I can discuss politics. The subject is so inflammatory, that I find overriding my programming to refrain from remarks that might provoke scorn (or worse) from those in the other “camp” has not been successful so far, but I have hope, and many miles of red states ahead. 

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A sea of emerald green soothes me as I drive north surrounded by corn and soy bean fields as I headed north through Northern Illinois and Southern Wisconsin. Where the land is not cultivated, prairie grasses and wildflowers populate large stretches of land with a profusion of lacy ground cover reaching for the sun. In my mind’s eye, I can see this world dominated by great snorting herds of native buffalo.

I have arrived in the midst of the productive summer season. The growing season is short here, and just as life bursts forth from the ground to take in the warm sunshine, the inhabitants of this northern land also celebrate the summer by playing outdoors in lakes and expansive parks. They are summer people. I was delighted to find that a Cracker Barrel overnight stop in Janesville in Southern Wisconsin landed me in a summer paradise of swimming lakes (with outdoor showers) and unending green space that is a mix of manicured lawns and protected wild prairie land, and a stunning Botanical Garden. In contrast, I found my next stop, the Wisconsin Dells, a maze of Disney-like hotels competing for family summertime amusement, with towering brightly colored water slides.

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My visit to Chicago included a day downtown, with a walk through the magnificent Millennial Park and time to explore the Chicago Institute of Art. I had a full day to hang out with some of my favorite works of art by Gaugin, Chagall, Georgia O’Keeffe, Monet, Manet and Miro. I did not, however, have the opportunity to sing with the Rainbow Threshold Choir. A hospice sing was scheduled, but I am not qualified as a hospice volunteer with this hospice. Hospice training is not transferable, each hospice requires that volunteers complete their specific training to become a qualified volunteer. For this reason, I try to schedule my visits on choir practice dates, instead. There are some Threshold Choirs with agreements with the hospices they serve that allow them to act as visitors, not volunteers. I’m always grateful when that kind of arrangement with hospice makes it possible for me to sing at a bedside with a choir I’m visiting. The bedside experience is always rich and meaningful, but meeting the entire choir at practices allows for dialogue and song sharing that doesn’t happen at bedsides. 

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Even though I would not be singing with the Rainbow Choir in Chicago, a member of the choir extended an offer to stay at her home,  just north of the city, and I was happy to have the opportunity to get to know my driveway host, Kathryn, and another member of the Rainbow TC. While Kathryn, Kitty and I lunched together discussing the choir and my travels, Kitty received a call that her brother, who had struggled with congestive heart failure for some time, was being admitted to the hospital and was not expected to make it. Moments later she got the call that he had passed. Kathryn and I were grateful to be with Kitty when she received the news of her brother, and listened while she told us about him. And then a song came, right there in Panera, Kathryn and I sang for Kitty, and for her brother, “May peace be with you, peace be with you now, peace be with you always, peace be with you now and always”. Threshold Choir singers find it is common for a song to emerge with just the right message at the right time, as was the case with this song, written by a beloved member of the choir, Annie Garretson. The song managed to shift the mood, and the conversation, reminding us of the peace that comes with death, and the peace that her long suffering brother, had surely found. What a gift it was to be present for Kitty at that difficult time, I’m grateful for the shared moment that is now a bond that connects the three of us. 

I am a stranger to most choir members when I arrive. When I reach out to a choir with an email explaining what I’m doing, asking if I can join a practice, and asking if a member has driveway space where I can park, I know that my visit can be a disruption. The members who offer to host me have families, work and plans of their own scheduled, and every minute of a Threshold Choir practice is precious time that is needed to prepare songs, learn harmonies, attend to choir business and share recent bedside experiences. Doubts about whether I am asking too much of the choirs I want to visit, and whether I have anything to offer in exchange for their kindness, are demons that surface at times. Once I’m in the midst of the beautiful circle of singers, I feel the undercurrent, the river of love, that connects us in this service, in these songs that we have learned by heart, and in the extraordinary privilege of being present at bedsides for the tender transition at end of life that we share.  

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In response to my need to be worthy of the generous hospitality offered to me, I offer to teach a song by Laurence Cole, if there is time. I have also created a spreadsheet of “Great Ideas” where I enter something I have learned from the choirs that I visit. Surprisingly, each choir offers practice rituals, organizational structures, ways of supporting each other, and other ideas that I consider worthwhile sharing with other Threshold Choirs and choir directors. I have visited 41 choirs since I started my journey in October 2018, and have forwarded the updated spreadsheet to the choir directors following my visit. (If  you are interested in receiving a copy of this spreadsheet, please send me a comment with your email address and I can send it to you).

In clearer moments, I know that traveling to meet with choirs, and being present with the choir members and choirs that I visit, has worth. By being present, I demonstrate my respect and admiration for the efforts made by choir directors and choir members to learn and practice songs that enable them bring a soothing sound to bedsides; the dedication of time to practicing and being available to sing at bedsides; the inner work required to bring a calm non-judgmental presence to the bedside, where singers may experience death, or any number of emotional experiences; the awareness of what a patient or family may need at any given time (including when it is time to leave); and the desire to blend voices seamlessly without ego or need for personal acknowledgement.  

I also flirt with the notion that my journey to Threshold Choirs around the country is a worthwhile model for manifesting our dreams. Maybe this is a rationalization that I use to justify my cause, but I hope to offer encouragement to identify our dreams and take the action needed to make them reality, while we still can.  

Lake Erie and Lake Michigan have won me over. They are so like the sea, minus jellyfish, whales, seals and tidepools. They do have gulls, beaches, tiny waves (wind induced), undertow and lovely warm water that is 70°at this time of year. Afternoon swims have been essential to lower my body temperature and wash off the all-over stickiness. 

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It has been hot, in the 90s, cooling to 85°at night, which feels closer to 100° with the high humidity.. The van has an AC unit that, until this week, worked when plugged into 110 current, something I can do when driveway camping, and at some campgrounds. Using the AC to lower the temperature inside the van before trying to sleep has been helpful, and coupled with running the exhaust fan all night, has kept me comfortable. Apparently the 20 year old AC unit needs a recharge, just when summer is upon me. The refrigerator, too, is struggling with the heat and yesterday reached 60°. The driver’s cab AC is also malfunctioning, and only works on the full blast stettingnow, which has worked out fine in this heat. Surprisingly, thunderstorms don’t lower the temp at all, they just increase the humidity. Sleeping in the heat + humidity doesn’t come easy for me. I’m missing the cool foggy summers of Pacific Grove, my heater works just fine. 

After Erie, PA, I headed back to northern Ohio for an overnight in Cleveland with Wendy and Ron before joining the Hospice of Northwest Ohio Threshold Choir to celebrate the 4^thof July with patriotic songs at hospice patient’s bedsides. They assured me that the weekly singing at this spacious hospice facility is usually less exuberant. 

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The town of Perrysburg, Ohio, just South of Toledo, is where the Hospice of Northwest Ohio, and my driveway host, Amey Raihala, are located. Perrysburg is a delightful, and very patriotic, small town on the Maumee River with a California style Mexican restaurant where Amey and I shared delicious pork and mango tacos and an equally delicious conversation. Working as a hospice nurse for 18 years, Amey has some fascinating end of life stories to tell. She spoke of the agitation and confusion that is always followed by calm at the end of life. She said that patients on their journey talk about early memories first, and that as the transition is progressing as memories come closer to the present. When patients see someone in the room who is not visible to others, Amie is honest with them, saying that she cannot see the visitor, and then asks the patients to describe what they look like and what it means that they have come. She said that sometimes the unseen visitors (I like to think of them as angels) are departed loved ones, and sometimes they are persons not known to them. Oh, how it feeds me to explore the mysteries surrounding death and dying. I enjoyed the fireworks display at the riverfront park in Perrysburg, something that has been hard to find in fire traumatized California for the last few years. I was impressed by the display of lightning, thunder, and dancing fireflies, that added to the excitement of the evening. 

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I spent some time in Oregon, OH, and Toledo before heading to my overnight destination, a casino parking lot in Michigan City, Indiana. I attempted to get my refrigerator and AC recharged in Toledo, but was told the earliest appointment was 2 weeks out. Repairs are challenging when you are traveling. The port of Toledo is a maze of industrial structures that include oil refineries and grain processing and shipping plants. I stopped at the maritime museum, but found it closed. As with many areas around the Great Lakes, the Maumee River was high and water encroached on docks and sidewalks. On one of the flooded docks, I saw a dad fishing with his 3 young sons. I thought of my own dad and how much fun it was to spend time fishing with him, grateful that he was happy to do the dirty work of impaling the poor little worms with hooks and removing the hooks from the unlucky fish’s mouths. But this little scene was far from that. That angry dad kept yelling at his sons telling them not to touch the poles and to get out of the water. It broke my heart to hear him call one of his sons “moron”. I so wanted to let him know how hurtful that was and to tell him that his words and actions have the power to shape his sons, but, because I did not feel safe approaching this angry man, I stood where he could see that I was watching him with his sons. This did stop the abuse, for the moment, and he quickly gathered his flock, packed up and abandoned the fishing project. I feel so helpless in those types of situations. Parents are not open to hearing criticism from outsiders, and when I have called Child Protective Services, I have been told that proof of physical abuse is required for action. I was reminded of my good friend Vicki Lein, whose revolutionary song, Well Done, reminds us that lives would be changed if kids heard those words from their parents, and how men would be changed if they had heard “well done” from their fathers more often. 

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In Michigan City, I met Lake Michigan. I was surprised to find the water just as warm as the smaller and shallower Lake Erie. The holiday beach scene was in full swing with a beach volleyball tournament, boaters and a crowded beach. It could have been Santa Cruz, except the water was as warm as Hawaii. The only difficulty was making myself get out of the refreshing lake to continue my trip. 

Contributions to my gas and repairs fund much appreciated: https://paypal.me/pools/c/86OfWkYwej

Adding the 2,000 mile loop from Michigan to Canada to southern New York and Western Massachusetts, and back again, gave me more time to experience the lush rolling hills, the rivers, lakes and mountains of Southwestern NY and Western Massachusetts. I strive to be present in everything I do, and taking in the scenery as I drive keeps me busy and fills me with awe. I find books on CD and other activities that require my focus a distraction from fully observing the passing clouds, weather worn barns, the light playing on each leaf that I pass, the fairylike sparkle of lightning bugs dancing in the dark, and, of course, traffic and potholes in the road. 

After “singing summer camp”, I had a couple of days to wander and happened upon a carpet store that would cut and bind new carpet for my van. I’ve been trying to replace the warn van carpeting with something other than neutral colors since I bought the van over a year ago. The two day carpet process allowed me more time in the verdant Hudson River Valley. I found the town of Rhinebeck upscale and charming, with the Culinary Institute of America nearby, as well as Vassar College, the alma mater of my only Aunt, Connie Joyce. I could picture Aunt Connie as I walked the same campus pathways she must have walked in her white gloved youth.

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My return to Northampton, MA, gave me one more sweet visit with my friend, Reneé, before heading West. I also collected my mail, which included a replacement Joe sent for the inverter that he had installed in September to recharge my computer from the house batteries. I didn’t realize what a game changer that is until it failed. I don’t always need access to internet, but I do need to be able to write on my computer each day. With Joe’s phone support, I have learned how to install an inverter with a remote switch! I feel like a real RVer. 

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As I headed back to Erie, PA, for my next choir practice, I took in the wonder of State Parks, and plenty of thunderstorms, along the way. One afternoon, when I was exhausted after hours of driving, I stopped for a pick-me-up milkshake. The sky darkened outside as I sat sipping the chocolatey creamy treat in the blarring lights of a fast food joint. Checking the weather on my phone, I saw that a thundershower was due to pass through. I managed to get to my van before the rain started and parked it in an empty lot, seeking shelter on the lee side of a large warehouse in case there was hail. I saw what I now recognize as the typical thunderstorm pattern; a fluky wind that changes directions over and over, flashes of light and rolling thunder, and then intermittent downpours. I laid down on my cozy bed in the back of the van to watch. What a marvel to be able to stop everything to observe the show. The sounds of rain pounding the van (and washing it, thank you very much), the wind, and the thunder created a background symphony for the spectacle of water pouring from the clouds. Watching the storm build, crescendo and then pass proved to be a magnificent way to spend an afternoon. 

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Singing with the Erie TC, and getting acquainted with my driveway host, Linda Williams, was yet another highlight of the trip. Linda took the time to show me the sites; we visited the stunning Presque Isle Park, we researched the history of Western PA at the grand lake front library, and learned that the Erie lakeside triangle was added to the state in 1792, and we returned to the wine country of Northeast, PA, for a garden tour. Linda is a Master Gardener and one of our stops was her friend’s enchanted garden that has been 20 in the making. Thanks, Linda, for all of this, the enlightening conversations and the book recommendations. 

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In her book, Singin’ and Swingin’ and Gettin’ Merry Like Christmas, Maya Angelou wrote, people would, “sing and swing and get merry like Christmas so one would have some fuel with which to live the rest of the week”. Coming off of 5 days of fueling up with song and group bonding, I find I myself full and needing some alone time to process, and to write. Naturally, the Walmart parking lot in Fishkill, NY, is where I landed for a night of solitude in the midst of mad consumerism (who knew the parking lot of this 24 hour Walmart would be party central on Friday nights?). 

My need for connection and bonding are driving forces for me, especially now, when my kids, and even my grandkids, are grown and no longer require my mothering. In Anam Cara, John O’Donohue writes that being born into a human body creates a separation from others that drives us to spend a lifetime seeking connection. I have long been drawn to the connection that occurs when singing with others. I believe that this bonding grows from the shared vulnerability that comes of singing out loud and being heard by others in the circle, and the shared joy of doing so. 

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Attending the Singing Our Way Back Together retreat at the Omega Institute, led by the generous Lisa Littlebird, and her friend and fellow “Song Carrier”, Lyndsey Scott, was certainly a bonding experience for our eclectic group of 13 participants. The pure joy of singing, along with Lisa’s skill at building community, and Lyndsey’s unbridled passion for singing combined with movement, provided opportunities for shared laughter and tears. The song offerings invited participants to dive deep into exultation, consciousness and loss. Lisa calls this process, “Prescription vitamin sing”.

Lisa calls community singing, “Socially acceptable intimacy”. She is all about building community, and has trained hundreds of singers to start singing circles in their communities. On her Website, thebirdsings.com, she writes, “Community singing is a powerful and joyful way to reconnect us to our courage, joy and humanity. It’s also the quickest way I’ve ever found to create a “we” out of a group of ‘me’s’.” She says that it is the unfiltered authenticity of singing that clears the way for connection, and accessing the raw authentic voice from our core can be achieved by “belly breathing”. She teaches deep breathing exercises and encourages singers to draw deep from source breath to access the core fire that lives in our bellies. I once asked Vernon Bush, the director of the Glide Memorial Gospel Choir in San Francisco, why my voice is freer when I sing gospel music. He replied that gospel singing comes from the belly, like a baby crying. The image of a puppy, or a baby, sleeping with their soft belly exposed certainly evokes vulnerability and trust. 

There is also work involved in this practice. I’m no Diva, and not being able to create the sound I want to hear, or reach the notes I want to reach, is disappointing, and can be downright disheartening. I can’t deny envying those exquisite voices that have the ability to touch something deep inside the listener. A voice lesson with Lisa helped me recognize that trusting my voice is a challenge at this time in my life, as aging, jaw tightness and the patterns of straining to push sound out of my throat interfere with my ability to sing freely. Daily exercise is required to keep the diaphragm supported and the jaw and throat muscles relaxed. Lisa suggests singing like your body is at the gym from the diaphragm down, while your upper body is at the spa. Singing is important to me, and I want to keep singing as long as I can. I need daily singing to keep the equipment lubricated and in working order, and it makes me happy.

Fortunately, singing in community is forgiving, whether it is singing in a community singing circle or Threshold Choir, and there is room for voices that are less than perfect, like mine. Lisa welcomes all levels of singers to join her circle. When the focus is blending your voice with others with the goal of creating a beautiful sound together, one can step away from ego, and the judgement of our own performance.  

I left the campground at Lake Taghkanic State Park, near the Catskill Mountains of New York, to drive to the Omega Institute of Holistic Studies for a singing retreat with Lisa Littlebird today. Yes! Lisa from Monterey is in New York, and I am in New York and we will be singing together. And if that isn’t enough, my sweet friend, Pacia, is here from Pacific Grove to sing with Lisa, too. I’m coming off of 9 days of being on my own with no contact with friends or Threshold Choirs which makes the reunion even sweeter. When I’m camping and overnighting in parking lots, I have , what my friend Marj Davis calls, “days without words”. I am enjoying the balance of time alone and time connecting with others on this journey.

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I spent 3 days exploring the New York countryside on my way back to the Catskills after Ontario with overnights in 3 different Cracker Barrel restaurant parking lots. Seriously, I planned my route around Cracker Barrels. I discovered more Erie Canal history in Lockport, one of 30 something locks still in operation on the canal. I was charmed by the village of Fair Haven, on Lake Ontario, where I joined locals, and other travelers, at the popular ice cream shop in the otherwise quiet downtown. A wrong turn leaving Fair Haven landed me at a nature preserve where I followed forest trails to the lake to catch late afternoon sun. I braved the weekend crowds to take a swim at the public beach in Green Lakes State Park. I was awed by the grand castle-like buildings in downtown Albany.  And then there are the trees, taking in the glorious Spring wash of green is so nourishing for the soul. 

I reserved 6 nights at Lake Taghkanic State Park, in the shadow of the Catskills, my longest campground stay so far, as part of my plan to stay clear of tornado alley, and to give myself time to recharge after driving 2,000 miles in the past three weeks, with 4 choir visits and overnights in 12 different locations. I needed a break from driving, and from the task of figuring out where I would park each night.

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The park is vast and I had the place to myself when I arrived on Monday afternoon. I took off early the next morning to take the van back to the repair shop in Sawkill, only 20 miles away, where work had been done on the brakes in May. The front end squeal that has plagued me over and over, had returned. In no time, Mike, the mechanic, had the wheels off the van and made the adjustment that will, hopefully, stop the squeal, and within an hour I was free to explore the town of Kingston, the verdant Hudson Valley and the Hudson Maritime Museum where Pete Segar’s efforts to raise awareness and clean up the Hudson River are revered.

Back in camp, I was determined not to move the van for a few days. I was able to spend time preparing and eating meals outside, exploring the campgrounds and climbing the stone water tower built by the CCC in 1933, swimming in the lake, taking hot showers and I even spread out my yoga mat on one of the scores of empty wooden tent platforms to do some stretching. I amused myself one evening by reverting to childhood comfort food with a tuna fish casserole for dinner. Ahh!   

It was a little eerie seeing 59 empty campsites around me, having two clean camp bathrooms to choose from, and having showers available any time I wanted, with all the hot water I could possibly want. The weather was half and half, sunny and rainy. The sunshine ideal for hiking the lakeside trails through impossibly lush forests and exploring the remnants of 1933 CCC structures, and for jumping into the warmish lake for a swim, and the intermittent rain helped clear the air of the pollens that have awakened my allergies. Besides the saffron colored pollen dust that covered everything, little Cheeto-like pollen pellets rained down from the Pitch Pines, and when a breeze kicked up, seeds carried on white feathery fluff balls floated in the air like snow. I found myself in the midst of mad reproduction 

I guessed that weekends at the lakeside picnic areas, beach and campground would be busy, but I wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of humanity that started pouring into the camp on Friday afternoon and continued well into the night. Joyous shrieking kids and barking dogs are happy noises that I don’t have a problem with, but the trash, the fouled bathrooms and people clogging bathroom sinks washing their dishes (regardless of the posted signs) was too much. I did some exploring of local villages on Saturday and spent the afternoon away from  the crowds by walking lakeside trails, where I sang to warn the bears I was coming (which apparently worked, since I saw no bears). By 9:00 AM on Sunday morning, the place was practically empty again. It was a bit surreal.

And now I’m at the beautiful Omega Institute of Holistic Studies, ready to sing, play and socialize. The things I won’t be doing are making phone calls, accessing WiFi, or sleeping in my van on campus. To take advantage of the scholarship that Lisa offered, I had to rent a space at an RV park nearby. 

Ann Arbor Blooms, Tornado Trepidation Leads to Spontaneity

Farm country dominates the landscape along the 3+ hour drive from Yellow Springs, Ohio, to Ann Arbor, Michigan. Historic farmhouses and barns speak of generations of hard working farm families who have navigated years of abundance and crop failure. The presence of silos implies that grain and feed corn (who was it who decided cows should eat corn?) is planted here, or would be planted, if the fields were not saturated from unrelenting spring rains. What I see are fields plowed and ready for the planting that would normally have taken place last month. This promises to be a difficult year for farmers with the impacts of the trade war and wet weather.    

I hit traffic when I approached Ann Arbor, a city dominated by the University of Michigan with its curious mix of gothic and tutor architecture and a modern hospital and sports complex. The 25,000 UM students make up 20% of the city’s population, and no doubt, the student population contributes to the city’s liberal politics. I stayed in the driveway of my friend, Tammy Renner, the founder of the Ann Arbor TC. We share a mutual friendship with Renee in Northampton, MA, and Tammy visited me in Pacific Grove when she attended a Threshold Choir gathering in California. She took me to the Arboretum on the University campus, to walk through the famous peony garden in bloom. Everything was in bloom in Ann Arbor, and pretty as it was, it did my allergies no good. 

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The Ann Arbor choir practice was rich with song and respect for each other. Susie Lorand’s calm and compassionate direction of the practice provided the support members needed to express their feelings as we moved into a discussion about a choir member’s announcement that she was leaving the choir. There was sadness and concern regarding the member’s choice to leave the choir because she was not ready to sing at bedsides. The concern  resulted in a decision to review and update the choir’s current requirements to become a bedside singer. The practice also included a discussion of sensitivity and diversity within TC. Edie, a talented diversity trainer and member of the choir, skillfully led the discussion. I found her suggestions to practice “awareness, compassion and action”, and to always consider the consequences of our actions, most valuable tools. 

Singing with this large, talented choir was marvelous. They  shared original songs written by their choir members, and brilliantly sang my song in the Threshold repertoire, “Duerme”, which I was pleased to learn they regularly sing at bedsides. Thanks to the Ann Arbor TC for demonstrating such skill and compassion in listening to and caring for each other.

I hadn’t decided which direction I would travel after Ann Arbor, and was still vacillating on the morning I was to leave. I had originally planned to start heading west toward the Rockies after Michigan, stopping in Chicago and other choir locations along the route, but this would mean crossing the Midwest during June, traditionally the busiest tornado month. After the Memorial Day tornado in Ohio, and my 3 other near misses, I did not want to put myself in harm’s way. I went so far as to get my emergency weather radio and go bag ready, but I was still hesitant, or should I say scared, to commit to the Midwest crossing in June. I applied for a temporary camp host job for the remainder of June at a New York State Park in the Catskills, a place that is not in tornado alley, where I would like to spend more time, but I hadn’t heard back yet. Knowing I had to decide where I was going before I could start driving, I made a camping reservation for 6 nights in the Catskills, and chose to travel along the north shore of Lake Ontario heading back to New York, because I had already driven the south shore. I found a Harvest Host brewery along the route and called to secure a place to park for the night.

After 3 hours on the road, I stopped at the information center in London, Ontario, for a much needed break. In the parking area behind the center, I snacked on cheese, crackers and grapes and noticed that there was a nature preserve with a trailhead 10 feet from where I sat. I needed a break from driving and I was still an hour away from the brewery where I would overnight, and the sun was shining, it was the perfect time for a walk. The trail wound through wetlands and around lily ponds, where I amused myself conversing with the bull frogs using a technique I learned from Ron in Cleveland. When I returned to the van, I looked up the Threshold Choir practice days for the London Threshold Choir and was happy to discover that they would be practicing nearby just two hours from now. I left a message for the director, who responded within 10 minutes, delighted to have me join the practice and offering her house for the night. Feeling proud of my spontaneity (I had to change my brewery overnight plan), I agreed.        

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The London, Ontario, Canada, TC choir practice was lively and fun. The relatively new choir has a gorgeous blended sound, and is already busy singing at bedsides and Hospice events, thanks to their exuberant young director, Elaine Andrews, who is an employee of the Hospice organization where they practice. Elaine and I stayed up late sharing personal stories and talking about her process welcoming new TC members, supporting members who aren’t able to match pitch, blend and/or sing quietly, and the difficult task of compassionately letting members know if it isn’t working before too much time passes. I loved staying at her resort-like home and a morning swim in her heated pool made it difficult to leave. I’m feeling blessed by the friends I’m making and the freedom I have to be spontaneous. 

After 6 days singing and playing in Cleveland, I drove 200 miles south to visit the Threshold Choir in Yellow Springs, Ohio. This picturesque town of less than 5,000 inhabitants has been a progressive enclave since 1850, when Antioch College was founded here. The hippie flavored downtown buzzes with tourist activity on the weekends, and on the sunny weekend I visited, it was roaring with motorcycles coming and going from a biker friendly pub. The driveway digs offered by Dinah and David Anderson at their sweet home on a beautiful country road, is just minutes from downtown, the Glen Helen Nature Preserve and the John Bryant State Park with miles of trails along an impressive limestone gorge and the Little Miami River. 

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Little did I know that Dinah and David would welcome me with such warmth, cook for me (Dinah’s biscuits are the best I’ve ever tasted), give me a tour of the area, treat me to ice cream, and, as if that weren’t enough, David helped me with a van electrical repair. 

On the afternoon of my arrival, Dinah invited me to join her, and another YS Threshold Choir member, to sing for a hospice patient the next morning. A choir member from California, who was in Ohio visiting her mother, had requested that the YS Threshold Choir join her singing at her mother’s bedside. I don’t often have the opportunity to sing at bedsides while I am traveling, and I consider it an honor to be included. Dinah gave me the song list that night so I could practice the harmonies I would be singing. Knowing the same Threshold Choir repertoire makes it possible to step in like this at bedsides, and to join in at the practices I attend. When we arrived, I was surprised to see that the choir member from California, Mary, was familiar from my visit to the wonderful Riverside, TC, Riversong, in January. It was a warm reunion, and Mary’s sweet voice and loving devotion to her mother contributed to a memorable bedside sing. Family members from different parts of the country had gathered at the bedside, and all were grateful that we had come. Having members from the local Threshold Choir show up at her mother’s bedside was a great comfort to Mary in this difficult time. I so love the way Threshold Choir members are able to support each other in this way. 

The Yellow Springs choir practice I attended followed within a week of the Memorial Day Tornado that had touched down in Dayton, very close to some of the member’s homes. This was particularly difficult for members who had survived devastating tornados in the past, and receiving singing in the chair provided comfort to one of those choir members. Each choir has a portable reclining chair that is placed in the middle of a circle of singers to offer “song baths” during rehearsals. Being sung to in the chair gives the recipient a healing “surround sound” experience, similar to singing at a bedside. The choir member in the chair confided that the chair experience calmed her for the first time since the tornado, and that knowing that she would be joining the choir at this practice had helped her through some difficult days following the tornado. Providing opportunities to receive a song bath is another way that Threshold Choir members support one another. (Apologies, I neglected to take a photo of beautiful YellowSprings choir.)

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Dinah made another batch of her delicious biscuits with eggs, ham, gravy and larrup (stewed blackberries for spooning over biscuits), for a hearty send off on the morning I left Yellow Springs heading for my next stop, Ann Arbor, Michigan. Many thanks to Dinah and David for making me feel like part of the family, and thank you, Dinah, for your family biscuit recipe. I’m so grateful for our time together, and glad to have made the trip to Yellow Springs at the urging of wonderful Wendy in Cleveland.