First Stop

Furry Detour & Pool Escapes

It’s official—we’re out. Out of the house, out of the driveway, out of the neighborhood, and, most importantly, out of the heat (well, not exactly). The Mothership has left the launch pad. Destination: our oldest son’s wedding next month. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves—we’re meandering our way there like a couple of seasoned pros with nowhere to be and everywhere to explore. No itinerary, no alarms, and absolutely no regrets (yet).

So, where did the winds of adventure first toss us?

Alpacas!

Yep. Not the beach, not the mountains. Alpacas.. dozens of them. Possibly hundreds.. (okay, maybe not hundreds, more like a solid ten). Time loses meaning when you're surrounded by lanky-legged fluff muffins who look at you like you might be holding snacks—or deep emotional truths. (Spoiler: it’s always snacks.)

These gentle, humming, four-stomached wonders greeted us with more curiosity than we deserved. One moment you’re living a relatively normal life, the next you’re googling “Can alpacas ride in RVs?” and “Do alpacas like jazz?” They don’t swim (we asked), but they were happy to loiter nearby while we floated in the pool with our most special friends, hiding from the brutal Texas sun that chased us out of our zip code in the first place.

The pool, by the way, wasn’t just a luxury—it was a lifeline. We’re talking 100° pavement-melting, hat-sweat-soaking, why-do-we-live-here heat. But submerged in water, surrounded by alpacas and the slow pace of somewhere-else, we started to remember what this whole thing is about: pausing, breathing, wandering.

Now, in case anyone’s wondering—no, we did not acquire a baby alpaca.

Let me say that again louder for the people in the back who remember the goat incident of early summer: We. Did. Not. Adopt. A. Baby. Alpaca. Could I see one in our someday? Oh absolutely. I can already picture the arguments over whose lap it gets to ride in.

With our first stop behind us (and the RV only mildly covered in alpaca fuzz), we’re pointing our noses toward Oklahoma—land of red dirt, wind-swept plains, and possibly trout? We’ve been promised trout. We're suspicious.

So what’s next?

We have no idea. But we’re rolling with it. The Mothership’s tires are officially dirty, the fridge is full of snacks, and the playlist is on shuffle. Whether it’s another unexpected detour, a record-breaking heatwave, or a deeply average fishing trip, we’re just happy to be on the road—with each other, and with absolutely zero baby alpacas in tow.

For now.

More soon, from somewhere yonder. ✌️