Thanksgiving is the sixteenth installment of Finding My Way Home. To view the previous installment, click here. If you wish to start from the beginning, click here. This is the ongoing story of the six years I spent as a vagabond photographer.

I remember visiting Packwood, Washington years ago. My uncle was working for a telecommunications company installing fiber optic cable in different locations around the U.S. One of the places he ended up working for a few months was Packwood. My then-husband and I visited that summer while the kids were at their grandparent’s place in Iowa. I remember loving the place and making a mental note that I would like to come back again someday. Someday is now here, and Packwood does not disappoint. The elk casually walk through town. The local stores sell bags of blemished apples so people can feed them. And, to top it off, the town is at the foot of Mount Rainier.

As far as photo opportunities go, anyone who has looked at my portfolio knows that snow-capped mountains reflected in water are a favorite subject. I discover a small lake on the eastern edge of the national park and decide this is where I want to try for a sunrise shot. Luckily, it’s late in the year, so sunrise isn’t happening until around seven-thirty. Not so luckily, the lake is located a good forty-five minutes to an hour away from camp. I arrive at the lake just at first light. It looks like there will be no clouds and the sunrise will be uninteresting. As I walk the trail around the lake, looking for a good vantage point, I notice some wispy clouds that were not visible when it was darker. Maybe it will be a nice sunrise after all.

Mount Rainier also has several waterfalls—one of my other favorite subjects. All in all, I could spend a month exploring this national park and the surrounding area. Alas, winter is closing in and I cannot. Another reason to come back yet again.

Mount Saint Helens interests us both. I am interested because she erupted the day I graduated from high school. May 18, 1980 is a day I will never forget. Chris is interested because he lives in the shadow of an active volcano—Mount Shasta. We take a day trip to visit the “back side” of the volcano. We also have plans for our next stop to visit the more heavily traveled side, including the visitor center at Johnston Ridge.

As it turns out, there aren’t many places to stay near Mount Saint Helens, and the limited places that are there are already shut down for the season. We find a place that is accepting RV’s, but the office and public buildings are closed. Instructions are to pay the rent to a host on-site. After we arrive and get settled, I take a walk over to the camp host to pay for our stay. It’s mid-afternoon when I knock on the door of a large fifth-wheel trailer. When the door opens, and I am shocked to see an elderly gentleman, wearing nothing but disposable underwear. I ask him if he is the person I am supposed to pay. He yells toward the back of the trailer for someone, but no one comes. I very hurriedly excuse myself, saying I will come back later.

Back at the motor home, I tell Chris what just happened, then I call the manager who gave me the instructions on who to pay and explain the situation to him. He tells me to watch for a car parked at the site, meaning the man’s wife is home, and pay then. I tell him I will do that. Later in the evening, a car shows up, so I try again. The same thing happens that happened in the afternoon. This is getting ridiculous.

The next day, the car is there again. This time, I beg Chris to take the money over because I can’t stomach the naked man again. He goes over, and the exact same thing happens to him. At this point, we decide we are just not going to pay unless the manager gives us some other alternative.

Meanwhile, we attend one of the shows in the theater at the Johnston Visitor Center. Although the technology is somewhat dated, the presentation is impressive. The historic photos and information are shocking and fantastic at the same time. The theater is situated so that after you watch the film about the eruption, the curtains open to a view of the crater. Even though it’s foggy on the day we visit, it’s quite breathtaking.

After three days, we leave the RV park, not having paid, and vowing never to return to this particular place. The next stop is another place I have visited once before—Silver Falls State Park, Oregon.

Last time I visited, I stayed in the actual state park. This time, I’ve secured a site in the town of Silverton, near the park. Because it’s the off-season, the rate is half price. Plus, the office is open. No naked camp host here! The rain is rather relentless, but I manage to visit some of the many waterfalls, which are surround by fall foliage. My sister also makes the drive from Portland one day for lunch and a little shopping.

My next destination is Chris’s place in Mount Shasta. By now, idea of buying a better motor home has me distracted. I spend three days with Chris at his place, but the temperatures are dropping into the teens at night. Worried that a hard freeze will damage the plumbing of my current motorhome, and not wanting to winterize it for only a few nights, I decide to move a bit farther south. I end up in Red Bluff, California.

My daughter, who is living in the Santa Cruz area, decides to come visit for Thanksgiving. When I was living in a house, Thanksgiving was my big holiday. I would spend all week preparing a feast for friends and family. It became somewhat of a tradition for me to host. Now that I have a tiny kitchen and a fraction of the cooking equipment I once had, that tradition is over. We decide to do the best we can with just the two of us. We have a wonderful meal of grilled turkey breast, mashed potatoes and a store-bought pie.

After dinner, we take a drive up toward Mount Lassen National Park. Although we have to turn back as the road gets more and more icy, it’s a beautiful drive in the mountains, and a fantastic way to end the day.

I have much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving, including my understanding and supportive children. I know my decision to pull up roots and hit the road has impacted them. Unlike most of their friends, they don’t have Mom’s place to “go home” for the holidays. While I know this is difficult for them, they never blame me or try to make me feel guilty about it. In fact, they go out of their way to spend time with me whenever possible. I am a lucky mom.