Dreaming about the AT

Wistful. Dawn in the Smoky Mountains, at least while I visited at the beginning of September, meant cool, dark forests kissed with the fog that gave the Smokies their name. I started my first hike of the trip just after day break, parking at the almost-empty Newfound Gap parking lot and heading straight for the trees. My goal was a short out-and-back hike to Charlie's Bunion, a popular rock outcrop affording amazing views of the Smokie's foothills and land beyond the mountains that was an easy dayhike along a section of the Appalachian Trail within the park.  With little net elevation change and the popularity of the AT with both dayhikers and section- or thru-hikers, I wanted to start my hike early enough to avoid the crowds that would descend on this section of trail, plus I just really enjoy early morning hiking. I'm one of the few early-risers in the world, and I will happily take full advantage of that if it means less people on a trail I want to hike.

I had the trail to myself at that early hour, and scooted along at my own pace unhampered by other hikers trying to scramble up the same tree root ladders or jump down short ledges created by boulders on the path. This section of the AT met my preference regarding trail maintenance vs a certain degree of wilderness; everybody likes well-marked trails, but I also want to feel like I'm the only person on the planet.

For most of the trail my view included the understory of a dark, thick forest of deciduous trees just beginning to feel the touch of autumn, leaf litter from previous years, and the dark wet dirt that made those mountains so fertile. Occasionally a break in the trees and shrubs allowed a glimpse of the mountains waking up under a bright yellow disk blurred by mist that clung to trees and settled in valleys, but I was mostly privy to the going-ons of the forest under the canopy of trees. It wasn't difficult to imagine a bear around the next bend or a cougar crouching on a thick tree limb above my head. My head whipped toward every noise, allowing my eyes to search for its source. I was under no illusions that I was the biggest creature out there.

I made fantastic time, reaching Charlie's Bunion less than two hours after I set out. After glancing at the sign warning parents to closely control their children, I ditched my backpack and shoes and scrambled to the very edge of the Bunion itself, peeking over the edge of the drop-off into the tree tops far below. It's a damn good thing heights don't bother me. I settled back in a nook and let my feet cool, munching snacks and guzzling water. Twenty minutes and a hundred photos later, I took my leave of the Bunion and headed back.

I saw significantly more people on my way back, considering I didn't run into a single soul out. Usually groups of two or three, people nodded politely and a few stopped to chat about the trail ahead, wondering where I'd come from so early in the morning. I even crossed paths with a pair of section-hikers who were traversing the whole expanse of the AT within the park boundaries. That got me thinking, very seriously, of attempting an AT thru-hike myself. It's an idea I've been playing with for a long time, ever since I started hiking as a serious hobby. A lot goes into a thru-hike, and I know I'm not prepared to up and leave on a multi-month hike anytime in the future Cheryl Strayed-style (the movie Wild, fyi) but it is something I would like to do in my lifetime. The miniscule section of the AT that I hiked within Great Smoky Mountains National Park was merely the briefest taste of what I would hike through if I were to thru-hike, but that short experience was all it took to kick my imagination into overdrive. I can see myself doing the whole trail, and doing it alone. Someday, I will.

What I'm listening to: Palladio by eScala

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Mushrooms, Mushrooms As Far As The Eye Can See

Guys, I love mushrooms. I love the taste of mushrooms, I love the variety in shapes of mushrooms, I love finding little mushrooms growing on downed trees and in moist nooks and crannies, and I recently discovered that I love the explosion of color mushrooms can provide. Great Smoky Mountains National Park had an absolute abundance of mushrooms, and I couldn't stop marveling at each and every one that I came across. I knew about your standard brownish-tanish-whitish mushrooms, the ones that grew back home in Nebraska and the ones you find at the grocery store, but I had no idea that mushrooms came in so many different colors. In the park, I found blood red mushrooms on the side of a moss covered log, tiny pale yellow mushrooms hidden in a secluded notch in some rocks, giant ones clinging to the side of living trees that were dark brown on top with startlingly bright white marshmallow-like growths underneath, and I even stumbled across deep green mushrooms that blended in with their surroundings so well that I wouldn't have noticed them if I hadn't tripped and nearly squash them with my hand as I caught myself. I found these toxic-orange mushrooms on the side of a back country gravel road through a small corner of the park, just off of the Blue Ridge Parkway. They were so striking that I actually thought someone had put a deflated traffic cone in the road, until I got closer and realized they were giant mushrooms. The near-daily rain and temperate climate in the mountains provide a perfect home for such a variety in fungi, and I wouldn't be surprised to find some other random color of mushroom (purple? blue? pink? oh, please let there be pink!) growing on a tree root somewhere.

Leave me a comment below and tell me what you think about mushrooms. Are you a fan? Do you like the taste of the edible ones?

Meet and Greet with Great Smoky Mountains National Park

Excited. Beyond excited. Whenever I travel, I try very hard to do something I've never done or go somewhere I've never been. This year, it seems, has been a year of revisiting places and finding new things to do in those areas. I wanted to get to know the places I love better than ever. This September, however, I chucked that sentiment out the window and struck out in a new direction: East. I almost never travel East, and until this point, all of my favorite places are located west of Nebraska. For eight days at the beginning of September, though, I headed East (and a little North) and drove to Great Smoky Mountains National Park on the Tennessee-North Carolina border to spend the week camping, hiking, and otherwise exploring the Smokies. Oh, and I was alone.

My first day in the park was spectacular. I was up before dawn drove to the park in time to watch the sunrise from a pullout on the road as I wound my way up and away from civilization. I headed straight for the area of the park that presented my best chance at seeing wildlife, and arrived at Cade's Cove right at 8am. I started the 11 mile paved loop road immediately, and started seeing deer right off the bat. A little guidebook is provided for a suggested donation fee, and I picked one of those up and attempted to follow along as I joined a line of cars slowly rolling encircling the cove. I decided, however, that my first time at the cove was going to be one that I just drove through, and I'd come back another day to actually follow the guide book and stop along the way.

I don't think Cade's Cove can be described in words, and even the hundreds of pictures I took don't do it justice. Green fields filled with morning mists and dotted with groves of trees stretch across relatively flat ground before meeting the forests where the mountains start rising again. The mists obscure distance and hide the movements of living creatures, even swallowing the tail lights of the cars in front of me. At that early of an hour there were few people in the Cove and it wasn't difficult to pretend that I was alone, until I hit a traffic jam that can only be caused by the sighting of an animal. As I slowly inched forward a herd of deer came into view, contentedly muching on the grasses dripping with dew and completely ignoring the line of cars and amateur photographers along the shoulder of the road. This happened three more times, until I joined the back on the longest jam yet, unable to see why we were stopped up so far back yet growing more excited with every car length I moved forward. There was only a small handful of reasons why so many people would be stopped for so long on the road, and my suspicions were confirmed when I stopped a lady walking past my car: BEAR!!

I tried, really hard, to be patient. I knew the bear was likely not going anywhere fast, that it was probably foraging and would be in the area for a while, but I was so damn excited to see a bear that I was bouncing in my car seat with anticipation. I had been telling everybody for weeks that I was going to see a bear in Great Smoky Mountains National Park, and here I was, a grand total of two hours in the park, and I was going to see my first bear of the trip. Slowly, excruciatingly, the bear came into view, lounging in a small clump of bushes and trees and foraging for breakfast. A park ranger was near it, making sure people remained in their cars, allowing a brief stop for pictures before he kept us moving. Finally, I got close enough to take pictures of it, and didn't stop taking photos until I was well past the bear and actually in danger of running off the road due to not paying attention. After I was well past and traffic was flowing normally again, I pulled off the road onto a small shoulder and took a minute. I was so excited I was shaking, and seriously had tears in my eyes. A bear! After only two hours in the park! What other exciting adventures would the whole week hold?!

It took me a little while to calm down after my first bear encounter, but eventually I finished the Cade's Cove loop and continued my drive through the park. I stopped at every single pull out, read every informational sign and stopped at every marked building I could find. I usually try to get to know the park first via car, then when I'm familiar with the roads, hit the trails. Driving over Newfound Gap and gazing in wonder at the Smoky Mountains laid out before me, I knew that this trip wouldn't be the only time I visited the area. That'll be in the future though; at the time, I was more concerned with exploring every single reachable area of the park in eight short days.

Once I reached North Carolina and the visitor's center on the far eastern side of the park, I stopped and chatted with a park ranger about neat drives and the possibility of solitude within the park boundaries. He pointed out a one-way back country mountain road, accessible via a short drive up the Blue Ridge Parkway, that was perfectly passible by all cars and that would almost certainly provide the solitude I was looking for. Feeling a little crowded on the main road of the most-visited national park in the States, on Labor Day, I headed gratefully toward the mountain road, immensely enjoying myself on the winding Parkway and short, paved side road that led to a picnic area, and the mountain road beyond.

It was exactly what I was looking for: I didn't see a single other person, and was able to take my time as I coasted into small forested canyons and cruised up ridges. I could have been the only person at the park, and the surrounding forest muted sounds around me, so that even my car was quieter than normal. Even though it was the second week of September, wildflowers still clung to summer. Pale purple and cheerful yellow seemed to dominate the understory, though if I looked closely I could see bright whites and the most delicate shade of pink. On the horizon, muted green blended the line where the clouds kissed the mountains. I've never been in a place like it. The road itself was mostly dirt, and clearly unmaintained, riddled with giant potholes filled with dirty brown water. It was one of those great "bad" roads that I love so much. I mean, you know you had fun when you splash mud on the windshield of your Toyota Yaris.

I spent well over two hours on that mountain road, absorbing the sounds and smells and feel of the mountain forests. Once I finished and found myself in the bustle of the main park, I decided it was late enough in the day to try visiting Clingman's Dome, the highest point in the park and one of the most popular. As it was after 5pm, the visitor's center on the dome was closed, and that significantly decreased the amount of traffic. I found a parking spot with ease, and scooted up the paved path the half-mile to the observation tower on the crown of the dome. Unfortuately for me, clouds closed in as I made my way to the top, and I was rewarded for my climb by a forest shrouded in mist and absolutely no view. The observation deck, a giant, spiraling concrete ramp ending in a rounded deck high above the tree tops that would have provided an unparalled view on a clear day. Giving it up for a bad job, I left and headed back to my campsite, trying to remember everything that had happened on my first day at Great Smoky Mountains National Park. It was a day that would definitely be hard to top.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: I Can Get Excited Over Slimy Amphibians

My September trip to Great Smoky Mountains National Park was full of new experiences, and seeing a wild salamander for the first time was certainly a highlight. Of course, it rains A TON in the Smokies, and all that moisture creates a perfect habitat for the amphibious salamanders. This guy blended in perfectly with the dark trail under the forest canopy, and I wouldn't have seen him at all if he hadn't scurried over my foot. He was bigger than I expected, and lightening-fast. I got so excited every time I saw a new salamander, and every one of them was different! They were all quick and usually dark in color, making them nearly impossible to see. I'm sure I stepped over many more on my many miles of trails exploring the rainy forests of the Smokies. I can't wait to be back in that area (perhaps on an AT thru-hike??) and see what else those trees and little rivers hide.

Leave me a comment below and give me your thoughts on salamanders! Are they only good for fish bait or do you think they're as fascinating as I do?

Time Seems Different, Somehow, Now That I Live In Texas

Mindful. I've been adventuring  for over a year now, starting January 2014 with my New Year's Resolution, and my travels have significantly increased since I moved to Texas at the end of February this year. Last year, I planned my trips carefully, staying mostly around my hometown with a few long-distance travels where I took multiple days to enjoy my time. I had a hard time thinking outside of the parameters set by my travels as a child, where any drive longer than an hour or two usually constituted at least an overnight stay, if not more. Why would I change? My "commute" to my job, at the longest, was about 15 minutes, and everything I needed around town was close and easy to get to. If I wanted to go on a trip, how many days I was gone depended on how far away my destination was. Anything longer than four hours away was at least an overnight trip, and anywhere more than twelve hours away was certainly at least a week-long excursion.

I started to change my travel habits last year, starting in February with a five hour drive (one way) to northern Nebraska in a weekend trip. Then came March, and a 15-hour driving day just for the hell of it. My next true "quick trip" was in July for my first attempt to skydive, where I spent nearly 24 of 48 total hours in the car, driving to and from my destination(s). One day in September I randomly drove three hours north to go for a hike, got bored, and drove back home. October was my short and sweet (read:AWESOME) skydiving trip, where I was gone for 48 hours total but did so much. And, of course, December found me driving 12 hours to Texas to visit Jared on a Friday night, and returning 12 hours home on Monday morning.

And then I followed Jared and moved to Texas. Things down here are a lot more spread-out, and if you have to do something, you have to drive. Our job is a thirty minute commute from home, and that's daily. Then there's our second job, which is an hour's drive from home. I would have never considered getting a job in Omaha due to the hour long commute, but out here that same amount of time is nothing to me. Maybe that has something to do with getting to work with exotic animals or something, ya know, but still.

I started traveling more frequently, determined to return to my favorite haunts, even though they are now much farther away. My favorite places in Colorado are 12-14 hours from my house now, instead of 8-10 hours like they were back in Lincoln. And I don't even blink an eye about doing that kind of driving, plus the destination itself, in three or four days. My deserts around Moab, UT are now an 18 hour drive, one way, from where I live, but that didn't stop me from driving there in July, and it won't stop me from driving there again in the future.

I've developed a formula that I adhere to regarding how far away my destination is and how long I will be away from home. I realize that this is probably borderline crazy for the amounts of time I'm willing to spend in a car, but whatever. Judge all you like: for a one day trip, I will drive to a destination that is no farther than 4 hours away. For a two day trip, a destination has to be within 8 hours from home. For a three day trip, 12 hours one way is my limit. Of course, I realize there is drive time on the way home, so during a one day trip I'll spend up to 8 total hours in the car, 16 for a two day trip, and 24 for a three day trip. These are my outter limits, and I'm not crazy enough to actually want to spend that much time in the car; I love driving, but unless my trip is the drive itself, my destinations are usually much more rewarding. The formula continues, essentially adding eight hours of driving for every day I'm away.

Just like with any rule, there are exceptions. I would happily spend two days in a place that is less than 4 hours from home, and the limits outlined above are just that: limits. If a place is 5 hours away, I generally refuse to do that trip in one day. There would be absolutely no time to do anything once I arrive at my destination, except turn around and drive back home. I've done longer trips in shorter amounts of time, and those trips are responsible for helping me realize my travel-time formula; I'd rather not rush once I arrive at my destination. Plus I like to sleep, and I know myself well enough to admit that I'll skip sleeping if it means getting to do something I enjoy while on a time crunch.

So basically, in the future if anybody ever wants to go on an adventure with me, figure out how many days we have available, and follow my formula to pick a destination within our time limits. So...where are we off to next?

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Bear - Proofing EVERYTHING

The minute I arrived in Great Smoky Mountains National Park, there were signs of bears everywhere. Literally. Signs warned of bears in the area, what to do if you encountered a bear, guidelines on safe viewing distances, and of course, around the areas where people ate and slept. I drove past this sign every time I left my campground, and I actually loved it. It's a good reminder for people to be safe, keep others safe, and keep bears from being put down due to human negligence. There were also biological signs of bears, mostly in piles of bear poop, but occasionally in marks on the ground or trees where they were digging for food. I've never stayed in an area that had so many active bears, and I loved every minute of it!

Visiting the Past

Inquisitive. On this summer's desert adventure I spent a lot of time among ancient Puebloan ruins, remnants of a past culture that survived and thrived in the desert canyons of south western Colorado and southern Utah. Every time I came upon one of these archaeological sites, I stopped and spent some time exploring. Some sites let you actually walk among the ruins. Others had barriers. All of them preserved an amazing chapter in this continent's history. With red rock and scrub brush spread around you as far as you could see, it was difficult to imagine a civilization actually surviving in the desert; then you see their homes, their buildings and their paths, and they become very real. In some of the ruins, they might have just left yesterday.

My first stop was a recently named National Monument, Chimney Rock, located in southern Colorado. Even from the interstate, the "chimney" was obvious: a bright whitish rock just over the surrounding trees and bushes, prominent even from a distance. As I turned off the highway and onto the gravel road that led me into the park, I lost sight of the chimney. I wound my way part way up a short mesa before I finally reached the parking lot and small cabin that housed the park's visitor center. I signed up for the guided tour, then followed the convoy of cars up the mesa to our meeting point. Our tour guide took us through the juniper forest along a well marked trail, pointing out pit houses, grinding stones and rudimentary tools as we follwed behind him. Then we started to climb. Up and up, almost all the way to the park's namesake and right into the middle of a mid-sized ruin, complete with several kivas and a turkey run. We stopped to take in the view: the chimney, the river far below, and other ruin sites that were evident from the hilltop. Honestly, it wasn't the best tour I've ever had. The guide tried too hard to be funny, and there were too many small children who could have easily fallen off the cliff edges, but the history of the area and being in the ruins made my trip worthwhile.

Canyons of the Ancients National Monument was another stop along my journey. This out-of-the-way monument isn't easy to reach, as the dirt roads aren't well marked and would be nearly impassable if it were to rain. Once there, no visitors center or amenities greet you. A short dirt pathway leads you from the parking lot straight to a large, multi-level ruin with a tin roof over it to protect it from the elements. The area is very much self-guided, and there were only two other people when I visited. I circled the compound twice, reading every word on the information signs posted throughout the area. You were even allowed to crawl through a small door and enter the ruin! A kiva was placed just outside of the main complex, though it was roped off to prevent people from climbing into it. After taking my fair share of pictures, and with the threat of an approaching rain shower, I headed back toward the highway, and continued my journey into the desert.

After spending several days in Moab, UT with my family, my sister and I headed off on our own to check out a few other parks before we too headed our separate ways. We stopped at Hovenweep National Monument, which I'll write about later, then headed to Mesa Verde National Park in Colorado. Alisha stayed the night with me in the park, then headed home while I continued my exploration of the desert. One of the areas I checked out while in the park was Spruce Tree House, a ruin that was semi-open to the public, though of course a ranger was on hand to prevent any damage to the artifacts. Spruce Tree House is set in a small alcove just above a cool canyon wash, which provided the ancient settlement with water and some shade. There are multiple kivas throughout the alcove, and the park service even reconstructed one so that the public could experience the cool darkness the kivas provided. The kiva, which means "meeting place," is a circular pit, lined with stones and typically a fireplace with a vent to the outside world. The pit was roofed over, and a ladder was used to climb down into the kiva whenever it was occupied. The real purpose of a kiva is the point of some debate, though a general consensus of using the kiva as a social area seems to be accepted. Whatever the reason, kivas are pretty neat, especially when you remember they were dug and constructed by hand. Seriously.

The Step House, also in Mesa Verde, was the last set of ruins I visited while I was in the desert. Also established in an alcove, Step House was home to some amazing petroglyphs, and even had some soot "paintings" of the ancient's hands against the red rock walls. I spent a long time there, talking to the ranger and wandering along the front of the buildings. The ranger pointed out several drawings that I never would have seen on my own; it pays to take some time and talk to the locals! You do learn new things! After I had explored to my satisfaction, I hiked out of the canyon and back to my car, not quite ready to finish my desert adventure. Luckily, I still had a couple of days to spare!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Me, Cooking On An Adventure!

Guys, I actually cooked while on an adventure. And I don't mean hotdogs and s'mores, but actual hot meals that I had to put a tiny bit of effort into. Kinda. I've known about freeze-dried meals for a while, ever since I started researching how to be a better hiker/adventurer, but never really had the urge to try them. Why should I, when granola bars and gatorade, trailmix and coffee were getting me through each trip? Then one of my best friends sent me a few packets for my birthday this year, I knew I needed to give them a try. I actually won an ultralite cooking system, and only needed to buy the can of fuel to make a meal. So, on my recent week spent in the forests of Great Smoky Mountains National Park, I put in the effort to make myself a hot meal. And by put in the effort I mean I filled the little pot with water, screwed the stove together, lit a match and watched water boil. Once boiling, you pour the water into the packet, seal it, and wait. That's my kind of meal! Some of the meals were great, some not so much, but I'll definitely be buying more of these for my next trip. My only complaint: I need packets that are single serve; I just can't eat a two-serving packet in one sitting, and I don't like carrying a cooler+ice. Otherwise, I'm sold!

Leave me a comment below and let me know if you know where I can find some single-serve meal packets!

What A Difference A Year Can Make

Introspective. Sometime in the middle of 2014, I decided that I would be moving out of Nebraska. I knew I never wanted to stay there, and kept telling myself that I was almost ready to move. Where? I had nothing concrete, but I played with fantasies of central Colorado, southern Utah, or western Oregon. I had gone as far as to confide in my family and friends that I would be moving some time in the next year. I had no idea how I was going to make it, no job (I hadn't even looked) or anything. And then, around this time last year, Jared got a phone call from a place in Texas called Tiger Creek Wildlife Refuge. They offered him a job, starting as soon as possible. A simple phone call threw both Jared's and my lives up in the air. The two of us had several long discussions about where we stood, what we wanted, and if/how we could continue seeing each other. Jared had thought that Texas was off the table for me; I had been vehemently anti-Texas for a while, and that was something he was aware of. Texas was on the very bottom of the list of states I wanted to live in. And yet, I was actually willing to consider moving from Nebraska, to Texas, with Jared.

Marley protecting Freya as we drive to Texas

Trajen settled right in to our new home

However, I wasn't going anywhere immediately. With my health problems last year, I would have had a hard time leaving my doctor's care, plus I wasn't prepared to up and leave everything anyway. During the course of our discussions Jared even tried to talk me out of following him, to stay in Lincoln with all of my friends, family, and everything I'd ever known. After I reminded him multiple times that one way or another I would be moving out of Nebraska in 2015, either to Texas with him or to some other state alone, he and I decided to try the long-distance thing and see how it went. He moved to Texas to begin working with big cats in the middle of November, and I tried to go back to normal while also thinking more about moving away from home. Jared and I Skyped whenever we could, and even put up with phone calls to each other (neither of us like talking on the phone much,) and I went to visit him for my December Adventure.

Thunder likes laying on his back...he's an odd cat

Luna isn't grumpy, she's actually a sweetheart!

Then, on New Year's Eve while sitting at home being antisocial I started looking for jobs and places to live in Tyler, Texas. Jared and I talked a lot that night, and I made sure that as long as he was ok with it, as long as we still wanted to make this work, me moving to Texas was still an option. On New Year's Eve I decided to pack up and move to Texas at the end of February. I spent the next two months getting every detail hammered out, saying goodbye to friends, and packing. Except for a job. I was unemployed when I left my parent's house around 6am on February 26th to begin my biggest adventure, move in with Jared, and start my new life.

Chesler the hedgehog! Jared got him for me for my birthday

Caiera gets pushy when she wants attention!

The new life I chose has failed to settle down at all since I moved to Texas. I knew the first month or so would be crazy, getting unpacked, learning a new town, getting used to the idea of having to call everybody I've ever known if I wanted to talk to them. And the job thing. Remember, I didn't have a job. I thought that once I developed a routine, new habits, and got used to my new life things would slow down. Instead, I seem to have developed a new "normal," the tempo of which is much faster than my life in Lincoln.

My owl-eyed Freya gets along just fine with everybody in the house!

Callie plays hard all day, then passes out when her day sits with her

I went in to Tiger Creek on the Monday after I moved down here to talk to the boss, to see if I could get at least a part time job just to have some sort of income. I started work that day. I also worked part time for a lady who has a private collection of exotics, and hoped to be able to make it working both jobs until something became more permanent. Now, nearly eight months later, Jared's and my relationship is better than ever, I'm a full time administrator at Tiger Creek, I work once a week with hedgehogs at the same private residence, I've made friends, and my traveling passion has only grown. I'm always doing something, whether adventuring, working, or planning my next trip.

Tara, one of the amazing tigers at Tiger Creek, always comes to say hi whenever I go see her

I still get to adventure, including a recent white-water rafting trip with an old friend from Lincoln

I'm still trying to find a balance between work life, home life with Jared, and all of my traveling. As I become more comfortable at my job, I get new responsibilities and tasks that take up a lot of time. I've been able to devote most of my weekends, holidays, and vacation time to adventuring, whether it's for a day trip or a week trip, and I'm gone a lot. If I'm off of work but not traveling, I'm usually either getting ready for another adventure, or cleaning up from my last adventure. Sorting through countless photos takes a lot of time (just ask Jared how many pictures I take,) and I always make the effort to sit down and write. I maintain a travel journal when I'm on the road, but I also enjoy sharing my stories on places like Instagram, Facebook, and of course, this blog. *Side note: It's my blog's birthday! I've been sharing my travel stories for a full year now....crazy!!*

Cybil the Leopard is so goofy!! She's go quite the personality

Tin Cup loves to play hide-and-seek, and he won't say no to a nice mouse for a snack either. He's a mountain lion.

Dakari and Cleo, Servals, are so spunky! They're still babies...for now. 

I wouldn't trade any of this for the world. Moving to Texas has been the best decision I've ever made, and I'm reminded how much I love it here nearly every day. I've managed to surround myself with animal people, just like I did in Lincoln, and have challenged myself in both my work life and home life, and have found that I can overcome anything. Things have a tendency to work out the way I want them to...I'm persistant to a fault. I work hard, play hard, and know how to chill and take it easy. Guys, I love my life.

Bosco the bobcat hangs out in his hammock

This is a week old hedgehog. Aren't they cute!?

Pepe's calls, and that of his pride, can be heard all over Tiger Creek. It's pretty neat.

What a difference a year can make. Look at me now!

I still managed to visit Canyonlands this year, even with everything going on!