You may not find this terribly rewarding unless you're included here, so this is a good time for casual and random browsers to turn back before they get too caught up in the sweep and majesty of the proceedings and can't let go.
Our brief sojourn in New Mexico was marvellous, and the mountain scenery was invigorating, but . . .
. . . now we've got to get out of here. A couple of days worth of utter and complete flatness ought to do it.
From what we've seen, the locals seem well pleased with this fairly empty countryside, and all good wishes to them, but it's not something that comes comfortably to inveterate mountain fans.
Anyway, it's time for lunch. Uh oh, maybe not.
Even the 'Hop the line' isn't working.
'Closed till further notice'. Not even any strawberry biscuits/pies, no cheesey bites, and, worst of all, no shrimp. We'll just step over to the Subway next door.
Well, probably not.
Maybe the Texas Panhandle will have something for us.
At least we're back in the Texas wind farm country. It's tempting to applaud something that Texas can do right these days; except that the turbines aren't turbining.
After a seven-hour flight out of New Mexico and Texas, we're comfortably settled into a welcoming La Quinta in Clinton, Oklahoma, where in the nearby Taco Mayo restaurant the staff sang happy birthday to me and put a sombrero on my head.
In the morning, Choupette doesn't want to leave, and hides.
Blessedly, two days later we've been gifted with a Culver's -- home of the ButterBurger. Somewhere in the wilds of Missouri.
We've been gifted in the past by having been able to get a ButterBurger (or a special chili) at the first of more than 1,000 Culver's restaurants mostly in the MidWest, established in 1984 in Sauk City, Wisconsin, halfway between Madison and Baraboo and Devil's Lake State Park to the north.
After a Drury Inn (w/ free dinner) in Springfield, MO, on I-44 on 5 March, we've managed another 6-hr to Evansville, IN, in a comfy La Quinta 20km south of the I-64 interchange, having failed to identify any pet-friendly hotels less than $60-70 per pet anywhere near the interstate.
Tomorrow, another 6-hr up I-64 to Barboursville near Huntington, WV, territory better known to us east of Louisville and Lexington, KY, where . . .
. . . the next day, after another Culver's for lunch, we stayed at a very nice Comfort Inn and a good dinner at Smokin' Momma's Burgers & BBQ next door. And now, still on I-64, which we joined in St Louis and will take us to our front door in Staunton, VA, we're crossing the colorful Chuck Yeager Bridge over the Kanawha River near Charleston, WV, five hours over the mountains to home.
And time for a nap for everyone.
It's time for the crèche to come down for another year.
It's a viciously cold January in Virginia, not much enthusiasm for stepping out the door . . . except for a little walk round this useless little snowfall on 17 January. But, really, we can't stand it anymore, and . . .
. . . we'll go back to the Augusta Springs Wetlands for a chilly walk round the ponds, 18 January 2026.
No one else is here, of course.
It's all iced over -- this isn't why we came to the American South.
The vegetation is extremely sparse now, and we've noticed something left over from the old hotel/spa days that looks worth exploring.
We've sent Kristin on ahead to check it out. It looks to be something like a spring house to pump the health-water out one of the springs to the devoted spa clients way back in the day.
-- Oh, don't come up here. It's Horrible. Stay where you are.
-- Okay.
From 1817 into the 20th century, there was a well-known resort hotel here, with clientele from all over and a regular stagecoach out from Staunton for the guests. It had its own theatre, casino, dances, carriage rides, sports, and what not, and served as a hospital for Stonewall Jackson's men in 1862. All of that is gone now, but the story is an interesting one, and we've recounted it several times after earlier visits; our most useful version, though, with period photographs, is probably this one from 2020.
Our traditional reading bench (just thinking about that on a day like today is soul-shivering).
-- Should we go up the Uplands Trail today?
-- Get serious!
What's that all about?! Is it coming this way?
(-- Ready to head back to the car? -- Yep.)
-- Let's hurry.
Wouldn't like to trip up and fall into that lot!
We've sworn to come on back as soon as the temperature rises above 32°F.
-- The heater on, subito!
The always interesting road the ca. 20 miles back to downtown Staunton, a fair amount of it . . .
. . . abandoned.
-- Remember to lock up when you leave. And don't forget to hang the flag up.
But besides the abandonments, the countryside is genuinely wonderful, in any season actually.
'Pandora's Box'
26 January 2026 -- a proper snow at last.
But actually, it's not just any old snowfall: it's an overnight 'snowcrete' attack. 'Snowcrete' is an 'intensely hard, dense layer of ice and packed snow formed by a mixture of snow, sleet, and freezing temperatures. This ... is notoriously hard to remove, requiring specialized equipment like bulldozers or pick-axes'.
28 January 2026 -- at first we couldn't figure out why it's taken so long for the usually efficient Staunton authorities to get more than a few through roads and few outdoor parking areas freed up.
Though we were told that the town had some 30 vehicles, trucks, buses, and what not, capable of bearing snowplows in front when required, and that 27 had broken. Happily, the city makes the indoor multistory carparks available for free, and our fine automobile was stationed up in one of those for several days.
Meanwhile, we have just to sit round and let the cats entertain us.
They have a lot of fun in what we still hope are 'playful moods', sneaking up on one another, facing off and waving paws around threateningly, and . . .
. . . nobody getting hurt. After six years, so far so good. Choupette is nearly always the aggressor.
We recognize Choupie's paused glare when she realized an opportunity in the making . . .
. . . and gets right down to business before Melvin realizes that he might be in trouble.
But generally, they're obviously devoted to each other . . .
. . . obviously.
Choup can even look fondly understanding of her friend's moods.
2 February 2026, more of the streets and sidewalks are getting cleared off, with more dedicated equipment brought in than people's pickups and tractors with plows on.
4 February 2026, they're finally getting round to us. With specialized machinery.
They're doing a good job. Though now, nearly two weeks after the snowcrete storm, we're getting 'wintry mix' storm warnings again.
Cats can get bored from time to time . . .
. . . but always a team.
5 February 2026: Snowpiles that may require grenades if the temperatures don't finally go up.
Mainly what's left are the huge piles the functioning plows have created, where now . . .
. . . bulldozers can crack out piles of it and fill large dump trucks for getting this stuff piled up outside of town.
Like here.
6 February 2026. Good work! Soon we'll be able to park on our own street (on the far side).
All sentient people have to be aware of the oncoming Climate Crisis and are probably used to preparing for Super Hot Conditions when necessary. But two weeks of dealing with 'snowcrete'?
Next up: Reacquainting ourselves with some of our classic wintry walks
Dwight Peck's personal website
Feedback
and suggestions are welcome if positive, resented if negative, 
.
All rights reserved, all wrongs avenged. Posted 17 March 2026.
