Creative Highways Project 2009 Itinerary!

It's official, folks! The trip itinerary for our Creative Highways Project 2009 has been published. It is, of course, subject to change on a whim (we may make a left turn instead of a right way out there in the desert), but we will certainly be keeping you updated on our stops and photos along the way. Here is a summary of our trip:

June 28 – depart Mercersburg, PA for Chicago, IL to stay with Larissa’s best friend, Emily Adair Peterson. Urban fun, Vespa rides, perhaps a stop at The Hideout - and dinner out.

June 29 – Chicago, IL to Kadoka, SD, the gateway to the Badlands National Park and Wall Drug, both common stops on our past trips West.

June 30 – Kadoka, SD through the Badlands, and on to Bighorn National Forest, WY. Though not yet in the “Rockies”, this recreational area rises straight out of the central Wyoming plains and offers beautiful and dramatic vistas and higher elevation relief from the heat below. We’ve camped there before and love everything from the drive up to the explorations above.

July 1 – Bighorn through Yellowstone National Park (Yellowstone in the summer is a bit much to take. We can only take the bumper to bumper traffic through a wildlife area for so long - try it in the winter, it's glorious!), and on to Grand Teton National Park for more camping. The Tetons take our breath away.

July 2 – Breakfast in trendy Jackson, WY, then a drive to Bend, OR (via Pocatello, Twin Falls, and Boise, ID). Don't know if we'll have time to stop off for some climbing at Smith Rock, but it would be sweet. We were there in the fall before, though, so it might be a bit toasty to climb there in July.

July 3 – Bend, OR to Corvallis, OR to stay with friends, Kendra and Adam. Their dog, Jake, just had knee surgery, so even though he and our dog, Sadie, love to play, we'll have to make sure they only have so much fun! Kendra and Adam moved out to Oregon last fall so that Kendra could attend Oregon State University's graduate geology program. We're excited to see where they've been shacking up for the past year.

July 4-5 – Celebrating our furthest point West and our nation’s naissance on the Oregon Coast with Kendra and Adam. Mmmm, the misty Pacific sea cliffs, a camp fire on the beach, wine, the dogs, good friends - nothing like it!

July 6-7 – Bumming around Corvallis and Vicinity - hangin' with the dogs and Kendra and Adam.

July 8 – Corvallis to Walla Walla, WA for some wineries and Palouse Falls.

July 9 – Walla Walla, WA to Moscow, ID, our old Idaho hometown, where we lived from 2001-2003! We will spend two nights staying in downtown Moscow and visiting old haunts such as John’s Alley, the Moscow Food Coop, friends, University of Idaho (Ryan's alma mater and Larissa's former employer), etc.

July 9-11 – Moscow, ID and Vicinity

July 11-13 – Moscow to Lochsa and Selway River regions for hotspringing, camping, and general no-man’s-land-ing.

July 13-15 – Lochsa/Selway area to Riggins, ID for camping on the white sand beaches of the Salmon River, our favorite river in the world! You get a whole beach to yourself! Hope to find French Creek hot springs way up along the canyon walls where we went for Ryan’s birthday in 2003.

July 15 – Riggins, ID to the South Fork of the Payette River near Lowman, ID. More hot springs and beautiful vistas of the Sawtooth Mountain Range await! Just the drive alone is gorgeous.

July 16 – To Redfish Lake, the furthest point East that salmon swimming from the Pacific Ocean along the Colombia River travel - a gorgeous lake near Stanley, ID, nestled along the Sawtooth Mountain Range.

July 17 – Redfish Lake, through the Sawtooths, south through the Snake River plain of Idaho, and on to Provo, UT for a motel, clean-up, and gearing up for more camping.

July 18-20 – Provo to Joe’s Valley in the Manti-La Sal Mountains, and the San Rafael River - a climbing and bouldering mecca and a place we remember loving to camp – gorgeous.

July 20-22 – Joe’s Valley to Moab, UT area for some explorations of Arches National Park and the Canyon Lands.

July 22 – Moab to Boulder, CO in search of the Green Hornet sushi roll, which we ate there way back in 2000 (our first year together). We think we might be able to find it here. Will it taste as good now as it did then?

July 23 – Boulder to St. Louis, MO – we’re truckin’ now, haulin' home.

July 24 – St. Louis to Mercersburg, PA - home at last!


Click here for an interactive map of our trip.

Creative Highways Project 2009!

© Chace + Smith Photography

We have a wonderful trip on the horizon! Starting on June 28, we will be packing up our Honda Fit and driving from Mercersburg, Pennsylvania to the Oregon Coast in 5 days, followed by several weeks of touring through Washington, Idaho, Utah, and Colorado, and many points in between. From 2001-2003, Ryan and I lived in Moscow, Idaho, so this is our chance to return to one of our hometowns with our dog in tow (she was born and adopted out there), as well as explore some of our favorite haunts and new vistas along the way.

Though a personal trip in its majority (this was going to be our honeymoon 3 years ago, but we went to Maine instead), we will be using this opportunity for business purposes as well. Ryan is very excited to get back out to the Wild West and take photographs of all the wonderful things we'll see along the way.

The simple nature of driving across the country will allow us to step away from our daily logistics and focus on a few small tasks each day: drive, stop, take pictures, explore, drive, stop, camp, get up, drive, stop, etc. Our creativity will be re-energized as the artifacts of Americana and open highways of this land unfold before us. Some we have seen before during our many trips across the country while we lived in Idaho and Texas, and many we will look at with new eyes. Others will be new to us, but all will be stimulus for our creativity. Whether as inspiration for a new collection of photographs, or some new songs for Larissa's band, we are so excited to be able to spend four weeks outside our office, home, and town, and get out and explore our beautiful country.

We plan to document our trip on this blog, as well as our photography business blog, Playing Work. We hope you will check back periodically to watch our progress and see some of the beautiful photographs Ryan will be taking.

We're making our travel itinerary now, so we'll keep you posted as things develop.

May your summer travels be gleeful and creative!

Livin' the Honky Tonk Life In Yankee Territory

I have been meaning to write this post for several weeks, but ever since my sister and I performed this past weekend at a Hank Williams Tribute in Baltimore, I am even more inspired to do so.

What does it mean to live a Honky Tonk life? More and more, I find that it is a good description for the ideology under which I live. While Honky Tonk means many things to many people, I thought it would be fun to parcel out what it means to me, particularly after living for 4 years in Austin, Texas and 2 years in Idaho. There is a unique sense of freedom to be found in these parts of the country that is quite different from living in the Northeast. Don't mistake my pride for these areas as somehow trumping my love for my Yankee roots (though I was born in the South, in North Carolina). But I have found ways in which to live in the blue-blooded North, while still celebrating the lifestyle of the great open spaces, honky tonk bars, and raging rivers.

Here are some Honky Tonk guidelines:

• Smile and tip your hat at people you pass, particularly if they look doleful and cross. It might make them feel special, and it'll make you feel even more cheerful.
  
• Kick up your heels and dance, hoot, and holler. Northerners sometimes have trouble with this one, so show 'em how it's done!
  
• A little gluttony goes a long way. My husband, sister, and her boyfriend get our kicks by hiking with our dogs 2 miles over to a local biker bar on the top of a mountain ridge, drinking 3 pitchers of beer, playing some pool, putting some Merle Haggard on the jukebox, eating some wings, and hiking the two miles back. You can walk off your buzz, view some beautiful vistas, and have tons of fun!
• Lighten up! No one is going to take you as seriously as you are. Your happiness is just a shift in perspective away.
• No matter your race, creed, or sexuality (this is the Austin version of Honky Tonk), every person (and animal!) on this earth deserves fair treatment. Unless you are buying the next round, stay out of people's damn business and let them have their rights!
• Avoid turning up your nose at people; it just makes you ugly. And it only means you're uncomfortable with yourself.
• Don't fence yourself in. Try something new and uncomfortable. Add some spice to your life; put some color in your cheeks! Experience it for what it is, and you'll wake up the next day glad that you did it. I was terrified before our performance at the Hank Williams show because we hadn't practiced with the house band until we walked up on stage in front of 200 people. But once we were in the midst of the performance, I was so focused and enjoyed every second of it.
• Do things for the joy of it! Every day is a blessing, and we live in a fascinating time. Stop and enjoy the wonderful details along the way: the strains of lap steel guitar floating up your sunny staircase, the happy cups and plates stacked in your cupboard, the little bird holding on for dear life at the feeder blowing in the winter wind, two young boys walking down a long, lonely city alley, lovers dancing and kissing as if no one is watching, a glance of communication from one musician to another. What is your reality? What do you see in a day?

Now go and have yourself a honky tonkin' good day!

My sister and I (The Hello Strangers) perform at the Hank tribute
Photo at top: Our new friends C.W. and Lindy Loo

All photos © Chace + Smith Photography

Shoshone Sage

Shoshone sage crawls up a hill
where a skinny house with
horror film spires leans
against a clouded moon.

I find a spot behind my
motel gravel lot to take
this strange picture.
RV hookups, dumpster
But an owl too floats quiet,
my dog watches.

I raise my camera for
another good one,
but am startled by
a figure that appears in
my frame, like a tree
I hadn’t noticed yet.

The shutter flashes
against the ground. A young
person, curious to make
an acquaintance asks me
if I’ve heard the chimes
way up in the
Hitchcock tower.

The owl moves, the wind shifts
and we greet each other
between worlds.


Larissa Chace
Wapiti, Wyoming
6/26/02

Enjoy Your Town

Yesterday was one of those days you wish you could seal in a bottle and reopen whenever you want.

We have been living in our hometown for almost 8 months now, after living away for 10 years. I have been wary of the possibility that the novelty of it all would wear off eventually. But yesterday reaffirmed that I really am happy to be here. It also taught me, once again, that you can be content anywhere as long as you have the right attitude. It is a simple concept, but one that can be convoluted and difficult to uphold. In fact, it was the simplicity of the day's activities that made it so special, and I believe that simplicity is at the crux of maintaining the right attitude about where you live.

This season, our business, Chace + Smith Photography, has had the opportunity to shoot for the nearby Whitetail Ski Resort. Because the day was supposed to be clear and mild, Ryan (my husband) decided to head up to Whitetail before dawn and try to capture some great sunrise shots for the company. I met him there around 9:30 a.m., as he was finishing up, to snowboard with him for a while. Mind you, we both snowboarded for free since Ryan works in the repair shop at the resort, and I have managed to get my hands on a few vouchers. If this weren't the case, we definitely wouldn't be able to take advantage of the resort's proximity to our home.

The sun was out and the first signs of Spring were in the air. We whipped down the mountain, filled our lungs with the fresh air while riding the lift, and felt 20 years old again (I always feel very connected to Ryan when we snowboard together). Around noon we decided we had better get back to town (and to work), but since we were feeling free and spontaneous, we thought we would stop for a pint and split a sandwich (keeping in mind that we are trying to live below our means) at the tavern on the square in Mercersburg. We drove the beautiful drive back with the windows down, sat at the bar at Flannery's eating our lunch, and talked to the various people we knew there. My sister, who works at the restaurant, happened to stop in. She joined us at the bar for another beer. I felt very connected to my community, enjoying its slow pace as the sun streamed through the tavern windows.

The rest of the day was balmy and relaxed, partially because of the weather, but also because I had allowed myself to get away from my routine for a bit. Everything seemed to flow; the fun was cheap, adventurous, and whimsical. It was a great day.

We live in a town with two stoplights, with under two thousand residents. Fun can be had anywhere (even on a Monday). Enjoy your town!

What makes your town or home special and fun?

Creature Comforts (Part 2): Be a Pioneer!

In my last post, I asked the following questions: How can we help but opt for the comfort that surrounds us? And is there a happy medium? Ultimately, at the heart of these questions lies the purpose of this blog: to live each day to the fullest. I got some wonderful comments in response to this topic, and I invite you to peruse them and supply your own thoughts. In this post, I will continue my Creature Comforts series and offer insights and personal experiences in order to explore how one might find a happy medium between comfort and precariousness (several proceeding posts will feature more on this topic, so please stay tuned).

BE A PIONEER!
The first time I ever felt like a true pioneer was when I moved with my boyfriend-now-husband from the East Coast to the wilds of Idaho. This would be the first time I would live in a place where none of my family members (or probably even ancestors) had ever lived. Likewise, I couldn’t help but feel like a pioneer in Idaho, knowing that so many settlers had traversed the central plains of our nation to reach this wonderful land of extremes: big spaces, towering mountains, and rushing, icy rivers. Vulnerability took on a different meaning going from city life in Boston (where I went to college) to a state whose entire population hovers around 1 million. I could dare to do things in Idaho that I never would have back East: snowshoeing to the top of Moscow Mountain just outside of our town and snowboarding back down through fresh powder, barely seeing another human all day; rafting across the Salmon River with friends and hiking to hidden hot springs up the side of the canyon, then rafting back down the river in the dark to our private beach where we slept in the open air; traversing 60 miles of river through the Labyrinth Canyon of the Green River with three friends (OK, that was Utah) battling spells of cold rain, slower than expected currents (therefore lots of rowing), reading stories to keep our minds off the slow pace, and living out of a small raft equipped with only a cooler, some gear, a Groover, and my guitar. I might add that none of these activities cost very much money, though good ol' resourcefulness was required to make them happen.

The thing I took away from these marvelous experiences, and the lesson I wish to impart on my readers, is that I was in fact opting not to be comfortable in all three of those scenarios (actually, very uncomfortable in some circumstances). The uncertainty and precariousness of each situation allowed me to define myself as an adventuress, a pioneer, and a more fulfilled person. Ultimately, we do have a choice in the matter, and choosing to challenge the boundaries of our comfortable lives as often as possible is the wisest option if you are interested in seeing how full your life on this earth can be. It is certainly not easy to go beyond one's zone of comfort, but I'll never forget how it felt to slip under crisp, white motel sheets after 5 days on a cold, murky, and dreadfully slow river. For it is the juxtaposition of vulnerability and safety that make being inside and outside of comfort so worthwhile. Indeed, the great part of living in a society that is so navigable is that you can find a happy medium and live a comfortable, daring, and meaningful life. It all depends on what "meaningful" means to you.

Of course, you don’t have to go “into the wild,” so to speak, to be a pioneer or adventurer. The goal is to find opportunities or circumstances that will spark that ember of bravery that lives inside of you, master it, and put it into action. This can involve an enlightening personal journey through nature or paving the way for change in human rights, cancer research, or environmental policies, to name a few.

Being a pioneer is not something that is necessarily accomplished in one day or sitting, so it is important to think of small steps to take that will allow a pioneering goal to come to fruition. And don’t think you have to climb Mount Everest to be a pioneer. The smallest acts can often make the biggest difference.

My latest pioneering achievement was moving with my husband and business from Texas to our tiny hometown in Pennsylvania. It was a risky and precarious decision but I have already noticed the benefits that came with it. I feel more connected to my community, family and friends and see small but wonderful things happening everyday.

What are your pioneering achievements or goals?
In what ways do you opt to go "outside" of comfort?

Creature Comforts: allowing and denying ourselves in modern society (Part 1)

I lay on the floor of my best friend’s apartment, my cheek resting on my left hand, the other hand clutching a hair dryer. On the floor beside me, swaddled in a green fleece blanket, lay my friend’s six-week-old daughter, Louisa. My husband and I were taking the baby’s portrait and were amused to learn that the heat and white noise from the hair dryer would calm her enough so the camera could capture her in a peaceful moment. I held the hair dryer about a foot from her head and gently coaxed the warm air back and forth. Her soft hair lifted in response to the dryer as she wrinkled her brow, a reaction to this new sensation. Then she closed her eyes and cooed. We all laughed, reveling in her comfort. Louisa was still and peaceful as the camera shutter fired loudly. Not even the large soft-box flash could stir her now. As I lay next to her on the floor, I realized that as an adult I yearn for the same creature comforts of warmth and white noise. Watching this tiny infant beside me confirmed the notion that we as humans instinctively yearn for, indeed demand, comfort from the moment we leave the safety of the womb.

For all that, there are these little things we like to call “rites of passage” that we must go through in order to grow as humans. Whether society, family, or our egos mandate it, undertaking these rites undoubtedly involves facing a fear or multiple fears, and coming out on the other side a stronger, more capable adult. For some, the simple act of leaving the house and going into public is a rite. For others, it is climbing Mount Everest.

Several days ago, I happened to catch an episode of “Oprah”. The topic of discussion was the story of Chris McCandless, the young man who journeyed into the Alaskan wilderness to abandon his capitalist roots and live off the land alone, an act many of us in North America would find bold, if not asinine. Incidentally, he did not survive for long in this state, dying of starvation. To find out why, I recommend you read the book about Chris’ journey called “Into the Wild,” by Jon Krakauer. It is truly riveting. Incidentally, Krakauer was a guest on Oprah’s show that day, as was actor Sean Penn, who has recently made a movie based on the story. When asked what they wanted people to take away from the book and movie, both Krakauer and Penn emphasized the need for our society to let go of our comfort addiction and do something meaningful with our lives. The idea of comfort addiction gave me pause, and led me to ponder the paradoxical nature of allowing and denying ourselves comfort in modern society.

Undoubtedly, the sheer popularity of the Chris McCandless story and the can’t-shake-it reactions to it are a result of our growing need as North Americans, during such unstable times, to get back in touch with our natural state - that primal moment when our warm, sopping wet bodies entered the frigid air of the delivery room. Some destiny was waiting for us “out there” in the wild, and we went for it, and have never gone back or been the same since. This is essentially the first of many rites of passage that we must surpass throughout our earthly existence. Beyond this point, however, we generally have a choice as to which and how many risks and adventures we wish to take. And this is what Krakauer and Penn were getting at: that many of us are opting for the cushy comforts of our modern lives in lieu of living full, daring lives.

The paradox in this argument lies in the baby’s reaction to the hair dryer and my empathy with it. If we instinctively yearn for comfort, why should we deny this instinct and purposefully force ourselves into murky waters? After all, in our plush society (and yes, those were very plush chairs the guests on Oprah were sitting in), we actually have to make an effort anymore to be uncomfortable. Going into the wild (or other such daring acts) can actually cost a lot of money these days! So how can we help but opt for the comfort that surrounds us? And is there a happy medium?

I will continue this discussion in my next post.
In the meantime, please share your thoughts on this topic!

Saying Goodbye to Texas, Part 1

This Saturday, Ryan and I visited the parents of one of our friends in San Antonio. We had a lovely time with good company. We barbecued in their yard, sat around the dining room table during an afternoon rain, and relaxed in the muted, post-rain sunshine after a delicious dinner. As Ryan and I spoke to our friend's father in the yard, I started to shift my focus from listening to our conversation, to listening and noticing him in his environment - a big-picture view. I was reminded at that moment of one of the many reasons why I appreciate having lived in so many places around the country and world: I find myself in the welcoming homes and company of so many wonderful and interesting people that I may not have ever had the chance to run into. There we sat with him, hundreds of miles away from our hometown, the other towns we have lived in (such as Moscow, Idaho, and Boston, Massachusetts), with many friends and family scattered about. We were even an hour and a half drive from our home base away from home, Austin. We were both visitors to San Antonio and to Texas in a way (even after four years, I still don't feel like a true Texan). But what I felt in that moment was an immense sense of place, albeit a portable, nomadic sense of place, like something I could pack up and take with me. This, after all, was his space, the world he had created for himself, and we were invited to glimpse it and get comfortable in it, even for just a few hours.

I have felt this nomadic sense of place and belonging before, over the years of being invited into the worlds of many people out West, back East, and across the seas. We wave goodbye to them all eventually and head on down the road. But we never forget the glimpses, the snapshots we take for our memories, and the people woven into the fabric of our lives.


This evening I went for a jog along Town Lake, the section of the Colorado River that runs through the center of Austin. The immense amounts of rain we have been experiencing in Central Texas has caused all the waterways to swell, forcing the river authority to open the dams full-throttle. Our passive, mopey "river" has become a torrential deluge, charging with its army of white caps through the center of town. There is a point on the North side of the river path where the currents are at their peak (see above). It was there that my jogging feet this evening were hypnotized into a zombie-like stride toward the river's edge. I joined a small group of passersby, mesmerized as I was by the swells rarely seen in our fair city. I could tell everyone was caught in the middle of their usual Sunday evening activities - biking, jogging, strolling - when they stopped to see this strange occurrence taking place in their city.


Like a comet passing through the atmosphere, these waves were a fleeting site not to be missed. For those two minutes or so that I stood there, feeling my elevated heart rate slowing, I felt a connection with the strangers around me and to my city that I have loved for four years.

I am not saddened by these moments, or by saying goodbye to our friends in San Antonio, Austin, Idaho, or wherever we may drive away from in the future. For these are the gifts I have been given for leaping a bit farther from the nest than I could have, and keeping my heart open to anyone willing to answer my knock and invite me in.

The Road of Life

"On the road of life, it's not where you go, but who's by your side that makes the difference."

This was the quotation on the inside of the card I gave my husband for our anniversary last weekend. In our years together, we have traveled (and lived) all over the country by car and, thus, this quote seemed fitting as an expression of my feelings about him and our relationship. Well, we have come to yet another interesting turn in the road of life. We have decided to pick up our Austin roots and move back to the Appalachian mountains from whence we came. Yes, we are moving to Pennsylvania!

This has long been a goal of ours, as we have been living away from home for a decade. But, like the twists and turns of the road, one can never quite predict how or when one's goals may come to fruition. We made our decision rather abruptly, two days ago, about a month before our apartment lease will expire. Yet, it seems this is how things must happen sometimes: in the blink of an eye, as if life is suddenly going 90 miles and hour. Despite the speed at which we feel these things often come to pass, it is with peace of mind and joyful hearts that we make our decision. This is, after all, how the tires feel as they hug the curves in the road, you gripping the steering wheel: unfathomably fast, but true in purpose.

We have driven the route from Austin, Texas to Mercersburg, Pennsylvania and back 19 times (one way). The twists and turns of the route have become ever-familiar over the past four years of driving home twice a year. We have our favorite pit stops and landmarks, stopping always at the same Cracker Barrels for breakfast (with winter stops being particularly fun since they often have a fire in the fireplace), always ordering the same thing off the menu (the Old Timer's Breakfast with hot coffee and tea), and remarking on how the black to white employee ratios change as we move from South to North and vice versa. Our 20th trip North in July will be our last on this route, at least in this era of our lives. Surely we will return to Austin in some fashion, but the chances of us making the trip under these circumstances are slim. And so we end another chapter of our lives and start a new one. The feeling is much akin to passing over state lines on a long road trip home; leaving the past behind and driving headlong into the future.

We will greatly miss, but always appreciate, our friends here in Austin, all the wonderful people we've met, and the fun things that we have done. Living for three years in the same city as my younger sister, for example, has been a dream come true for me, one that I have tried not to take for granted. I know I can leave this place knowing that I've made the best of the city and the people we know here. I have made many an effort to "keep Austin weird", swam in Barton Springs Pool, hiked on the Barton Creek Greenbelt more times than I can count, frequented the Alamo Drafthouse Cinemas, eaten a plethora of breakfast tacos, and two-stepped many a night at the Broken Spoke (Chaparral rocks!).

I have spent most of my time here loving this city. I remember our first night in Austin, falling asleep with a big ol' grin on my face! But my heart always seemed to be calling me home. Having a husband who grew up in my hometown has made it even harder to be away, since we both know many of the same people and pine for the same place on this earth. Perhaps moving home will be just another pit stop in the long journey of life, or maybe we will find it to be a perfect home base from which to go out and have many new adventures. Regardless, our heart strings have been pulled for many years by hundreds of goodbyes to family and friends, watching the mountains of our home fade in the distance as we drive away yet again. We will drive the road to Mercersburg this time knowing that a few goodbyes in Austin will yield a hundred hellos at home. I'm ready for this, as bittersweet as it will be.

Photo by Ryan Smith