Three States, Just as Many States of Mind

The night was brutal. A slow-moving storm rolled in with howling wind, rattling the rig like a warning. Rob slept. I tried. Eventually, I gave up and woke him. After listening to the wind buffet our little home, he called me into the living room: “It’s much less dramatic in here.” And he was right. I distracted myself with TV and my phone until the wind died down—just in time for the storm to get real. I slept a little then.

By morning, every small rig tore out of the RV park like they’d seen a ghost. We were leaving too, but more leisurely. The ducks gathered to wish us goodbye, and I took the dogs on a hazy walk to inspect the carnage. A river now flowed where a dry bed had been. A few fallen limbs. Nothing too terrible.

We packed up and headed north, through Mineola and Winnsboro—two towns we’ve long wanted to visit. And now? They might just be our next home. Each one is sweet and soulful, with rehabbed old buildings housing modern businesses, vibrant farmers markets, and people everywhere. Geographically stunning, too: tree-covered hills, creeks, and lakes as far as the eye can see. It looks nothing like Texas. The cows beg to differ.

Crossing into Oklahoma, the temperature dropped twenty degrees. The landscape flattened briefly until we reached Broken Bow—a town I’d been excited to see. I wish I hadn’t. Both sides of the highway were lined with sloppily built theme-park retail outlets, the kind designed to lure kids and drain wallets. On the upside, I won’t rearrange plans to visit again.

But nearby, the Ouachita National Forest was a revelation. Tall mountains cut by rivers and lakes, foliage in every imaginable shade. Even through dense fog, it was stunning. What wasn’t stunning was towing a behemoth of a vehicle through sharp mountain switchbacks with visibility down to five feet. Rob kept his cool. I did not. We crawled at twenty miles per hour, which made Daisy pout—her window wasn’t open. When it was, she reveled in the cooler temps, jowls and ears flapping like flags. Luna hugged the floorboards, as concerned as I was.

Ages later, in the dark and drizzle, we crossed into Arkansas. The temperature dropped again, and though it was hard to see much, it looks quite pretty here. I’m excited to explore.

These long travel days are probably a mistake, but we’re getting better at our “landing” routine. Rob muscles up outside while I nest inside. No carnage this time—shocking, given the switchbacks. The dogs settled in immediately, as if they’d always lived here.

Now, it’s quiet time. Tomorrow we’ll reset: offices, laundry, errands. Civilization means shopping, and we’ll see when the youngest girl can fit us into her school and social schedule.

Next Up: Fayetteville

Tomorrow begins a new kind of exploration. Fayetteville promises dog-friendly restaurants, winding trails, and parks that might just become part of our daily rhythm. The forecast is chillier than I prefer, but maybe the crisp air will sharpen the senses. I’m excited to walk the campus, wander the streets, and pour over listings in these newly beloved towns—Mineola, Winnsboro, and whatever else the map reveals. The land is still speaking. I’m still listening.