Day 21: Bear, Washington

Bear, Washington appears on a map, and Mapquest and Google Maps provide directions to get there. We didn't know what to expect -- and we've both been building emotional expectations for a year.

We pulled off the road onto the beginning of a dirt driveway, exactly where the directions said "Bear, WA" is -- we got out, walked around, surveyed the dozens of bugs, many of which we had never seen before. While driving as well, we were astonished by the landscape, one of the most beautiful and unique we have seen -- rolling hills (the tallest of which I believe is Bear Mountain), covered in purple, yellow, and white flowers -- some hill faces just shimmer with soft purple color -- and to our right, down the hill, is Lake Roosevelt, thin enough to be a large river, and so beautiful, curving between these colorful hills and pine trees. We walked down some very old tire tracks, which we hope weren't on anyone's private property, until we found a place that felt secluded and comfortable enough to sit, eat some snacks, set the camera on a tripod, and have a hearty conversation.

We've driven about 4,500 miles and arrived at the first Bear. There was so much anticipation -- we both wanted something really big, something profound, a feeling we hadn't experienced anywhere else. Instead, we used the unique location to reflect. Every day we are meeting people and learning about a community; this was an opportunity to be on our own, to be introspective, to experience a location rather than experience its people. We even ended up staying in a motel -- it's currently the following morning, and while I write this, Sarah is assembling footage from our day in Mazomanie, WI, to learn about how we've been documenting our experiences and how we can expand, or condense, or reshape what we're doing. Every day we learn new things, and every day there are dozens of things that happen off-camera, and dozens that happen on camera that we know we'll never use, right after they happen. We've been shooting about two hours of footage a day, and now, in the couple hours of this morning before we have to travel to our next town, we're reviewing what happens in those two hours a day and learning how to make them the most interesting, dynamic, and story-driven two hours we can capture.

As we say every day, we've been meeting fascinating people. Most of the families we've stayed with have been unconventional families -- maybe a mother, a father, maybe divorce is involved, or adoption -- and we've started wondering how this trend works. If complex families are more likely to welcome guests and trust strangers, it then raises the chicken/egg question -- are these people inherently warm and trusting, which may have led them to their complex family dynamics, or did the complex family make them more open and trusting? Maybe we should start asking people what kind of family they come from -- how many of the people that say no to us are from traditional families? We've also acknowledged the Christian element, which hasn't abated -- but it's also geographical. We've visited many towns that are almost homogenous with white Christians. We want to experience diverse races and cultures, and learn about that interaction with strangers, but we also hate the idea of targeting other races just to have them in the film. It's a constant dilemma, whether we should seek out the community's outliers, or continue to experience people randomly. We often choose a culturally-neutral attribute, like glasses, or sandals, to help us randomly select who we approach. But maybe we need to explore the outskirts of town, or spend more time in the grocery store or Wal-Mart, in order to meet all stripes of the community, and not just its majority.

In Bear, we had the chance to reflect on our relationship as well. We are spending more time together than ever before -- including the few days in New Jersey before we hit the road, Sarah and I have spent 25 days together, 24/7. We have literally not been apart. It's a little shocking to think about that, because it feels so natural at this point. And we bicker, and we've had a couple bigger fights. But I've also been experiencing my love grow every day. I'm having experiences that I couldn't be sharing with anyone else, and we are at the height of our working/personal relationships being intertwined -- which is at once stressful and amazing. But it's also difficult to reflect on our personal emotions when the only time we have apart is in the bathroom. We recently decided we needed to document more of our personal experiences -- our conversations in the car, or between interviews, or buying a milkshake, or doing laundry (at a laundromat this morning) -- we want this film to capture our journey, our adventures, we want to bring the audience along. But it's scary to wonder if we're diminishing our experiences by making sure to turn the camera on; by having personal and creative conversations while one person is holding our rig and invisible behind it; by turning this adventure into work. We knew that was an issue months ago, but I think we're both really feeling the effects now, especially as we review our footage and wish we had more of us, more scenes to build our relationship in the film, more to connect and reflect on other moments.

We're more than a third done with the film, but we've also got almost two-thirds left -- how will the camera and the work and the driving and the lack of sleep and the togetherness continue to wear us down? Or create an even more dynamic film?

Days 12 and 13: The Grotto at West Bend, IA, and Vermillion, SD

West Bend, Iowa, is a tiny town, stuck in the middle of county roads that drive past vast farmland and hopefully have a stray gas station every few dozen miles. But it's also home to Iowa's most spiritual and unusual tourist attraction: The Grotto of the Redemption. Built over several decades by Father Dobberstein from Germany, this shrine occupies one square block, and features its own campgrounds and cafe for the many Midwesterners who visit.

Grotto of the Redemption in West Bend, Iowa.

Jane, the tour guide, couldn't take us to her home in Pocahontas, as it was filled with her recently passed mother's belongings. However, she struck a deal with the Grotto Director, Rhonda, to let us sleep in the rock showroom -- a huge air-conditioned room with rock displays. And thank goodness -- the thunderstorms pummelled West Bend for the second night in a row, flooding fields of crops. We could see the lightning all around the town.

We met some other folks -- like the Maahs family reunion in the Grotto campgrounds, where the kids loaded Super Soakers and the adults played cribbage. We ate at the Wagon Wheel in town, where the vegetable burger on the menu means a hamburger with lettuce and tomato.

A glimpse at West Bend itself. No still photos of the terrible-smelling corn factory-type-place though -- but it will be in the big-screen version.

Spending most of our time in West Bend on our own was still an excellent way to expand our project. We took the opportunity to film a lot of ourselves, so the audience can go on the journey with us.

Today we wound through more of those farm highways till we hit I-29 aqnd crossed into South Dakota. We had interviews with Dr. Jack Niemonen and Dr. Leroy Meyer at the University of South Dakota -- both exceptionally kind men whose knowledge and storytelling are only matched by their love to share. From Jack, we learned about race relations, the ambiguity of the term "racism," and the ideology of "whiteness." With Leroy, we learned about the philosophy and culture of religion -- he also waited patiently while we explored the National Music Museum, the world's greatest collection of historical musical instruments, and one of Leroy's favorite places.


As we did in Grinnell two days ago, we chose to do a camera-less approach today. From the Mexican restaurant where we ate dinner (staffed by one waitress and one cook, both young and white) to the Wal-Mart, we visited about eight different places and spoke with over 25 people. Having heard much about the Native American culture from Leroy, we were very excited by an offer of hospitality from a Native American in Wal-Mart -- but despite assuring us he would check with his wife and give us a call, we never heard from him.

Instead, we happened to run into Leroy Meyer's son, Andrew, working at the movie theater -- a bizarre coincidence, but Andrew, who is typically quiet and would have been much more nervous around the camera, ended up inviting us to the house he shares with three other college-age men. We ended up having a fantastic night with Andrew and his housemate Skylar -- the two are a hilarious pair, and they treated us to conversation, stories, and a trip to Spirit Mound, rich in Native American legend, and, unfortunately, hundreds of mosquitoes. My bite count is over 40, I'm pretty sure, but being on the mound, surrounded by plains, hundreds of fireflies, the nearly full moon, clear sky of stars, made it more than worth it.

Skylar and Andrew.

Yet another great night -- but also a tougher day than most. Keeping the camera and the details of our film a secret means that our question catches people far more off guard, and although some express genuine disappointment that they can't help us, many simply seem apathetic or even bothered that we asked such a silly question. Today we got lucky by meeting Leroy's son and having a connection to him -- but we could have easily ended up in the car, and our interactions with people in Vermillion would have amounted to just an awkward minute or two with each person.

A woman at Wal-Mart warned us that as we head west, the people will get less friendly. So as we lay down on Andrew and Skylar's mattresses on the floor tonight, we hope we discover something a little brighter.

Day 11: Grinnell, Iowa

Downtown Mazomanie, Wisconsin.

En route to the Mazo Beach three days ago.

On the floor in Julia's apartment, just two nights ago in Decorah, Iowa.

We interviewed two scholars at Grinnell College. Dr. Kesho Scott had a wonderful conversation with us about her work in “unlearning racism” and what it means to be American, and Dr. Lakesia Johnson discussed gender roles and race relations – both conversations energized us about the overarching themes of our project, and gave us inspiration for the conversations we could be having with our strangers, pushing at nebulous terms like “diversity” and digging deeper into the trust and fear within the American psyche.

So far, we’ve been working with our “camera” approach – bringing the camera along as we explore town and meet people, providing the opportunity to speak directly to people as they see the camera and we ask if we can do a quick interview with them – although these initial conversations are often 20-25 minutes now. We love this approach. It’s easy, in a way – having the camera not only provides more footage for our film, but also legitimizes our project and tends to make people more comfortable (although there are certainly cases where people shy away from the camera or refuse an interview).

To mix it up, we chose to do a “camera-less” approach today. It’s much more difficult to speak to people out of the blue, to start with small talk while knowing that we’re hoping to develop the brief conversation into our big question. And when I say difficult, I mean it’s really hard for me, whereas Sarah has no trouble starting a conversation with anyone – but for both of us, popping the question is a challenge. We chose to make this an indirect approach as well, as most of our interviews with the camera are, in which we tell people about what we’re doing but refrain from directly asking if we can stay with them. In most cases, people offer or back away right when we describe the project.

We met about ten people in Grinnell as we explored the community, and everyone was very friendly. We got two offers, but each offer was also throwing a party and noted that we might want more rest somewhere else. So we continued exploring, and had a couple more hesitant and confusing offers for later on – but our plans fell into place when Sam, who we had met earlier at Yumi’s Bakery, called us and said that his neighbor Bob could put us up in his camper behind the house. We always ask people if they know anyone who could put us up, and this is the first time a reference has actually come through – feeling a little nervous and certainly excited, we set off to meet the complete stranger who had already agreed to put us up.

Bob’s wife Rachel opened the door with a very welcoming smile, and our nerves immediately subsided. We had dinner with Bob, Rachel, and their 7-year-old son Davis, and later got a driving tour of the Grinnell campus and a trip to Dari Barn, sort of a local Dairy Queen with massive tractors nextdoor that the kids love to climb on. We had a fantastic conversation with Rachel about the decision to let us in based on just a recommendation. This was also one of our few nights with hosts who weren’t overtly Christian, which developed some different views on why kindness from strangers is a virtue even without religious affiliation.

Sarah and I spent the night in the camper, waking up occasionally to the thunderstorms rumbling around us – the storms keep chasing us, but at least they’re mostly at night. We’re now transferring our footage in their kitchen, anticipating Rachel’s French toast, and snacking on the best pastries from the best bakeries in town.

Every day is giving Sarah more reason to want to move to Iowa.

American Bear, Day Two: Avoca, NY

We're taking advantage of free internet at a Krispy Kreme in Erie, PA, on our way to Ashtabula, OH -- okay, we took advantage of the donuts too. We're looking forward to our third night, this time on Lake Erie.


Yesterday began with eggs and toast with Joe, and then we were off. With only a 2 1/2-hour drive to Avoca, we were able to take our time a little bit, visiting the Corning Museum of Glass, the world's largest glass museum. We didn't actually go in, but they had excellent bathrooms, and Sarah tried to tickle me a lot. In other words, it was like a break before getting back to work in Avoca.


Avoca technically has a higher population than Roscoe, but it sure felt smaller. Maybe it was the strictly logical arrangement of the town: the two-block downtown, with exactly 2 stores and 2 restaurants, is exactly in the center of the small grid of roads with houses. The house we ended up staying in was built in 1902, and most of the buildings look just as old, with signage reminiscent of the 1950s. A cute, slow-motion town.


We started in the Avoca Cafe, where one older resident was enjoying his lunch, and the waitress was always smiling. We spoke to the head of the kitchen, Robert, and ended up with a piece of carrot cake (their recommended dessert) and chicken cordon bleu casserole -- for free. For whatever reason, our out-of-town charm and interest in their town won them over. It would have been especially great if I ate meat -- but Sarah enjoyed some bites of the casserole before we gave it to our eventual hosts.


We soon ran into Randy on the street while he was walking Bobo, a German shepherd/beagle mix. Randy is a veteran of the Vietnam War who turned down a Purple Heart medal, and although he seemed nervous at first, he welcomed being on camera and quickly offered up his house for the night, mentioning that he and his wife had two extra bedrooms. But it was only 1:30, so we decided to continue exploring before we joined Randy and his wife Patti at their home. We would actually see Randy again before that, when he walked down the street with Dickens, their larger dog, while we ate some snacks in a gazebo in the small town park.


We spoke with some young people hanging out on their front porch -- with a "No Trespassing" sign complemented by a "Welcome" decoration next to the door. Two had dropped out of high school, and another had graduated and continued to hang around as one of the few people who claimed to love Avoca. We heard a lot of small-town drama, and saw many more teenagers walking around in groups, smoking, and otherwise enjoying the day. Kind of a strange energy in a town whose two churches were advertised from the highway.


We drove out of town and down County Road 415, until we glimpsed wind turbines over a hill -- Sarah and I have been fairly obsessed with the visual elegance of wind turbines since we drove by a wind farm in Kansas last summer. We turned off 415 and drove past several farms, chasing the turbines. As if by destiny, we found ourselves on an unmarked dirt road that led us right to the turbines themselves. There were three right there, and we counted 39 more on the hills in a several mile radius, which we could only see from the top of our hill, way up with the turbines. So huge, so graceful. 


We headed back to Avoca and straight to Randy and Patti's house. We had a fascinating evening with them -- Patti has been married eight times, and two of those are to Randy. Their house had its own energy, as Patti told us about the three spirits that live there -- a woman and a dog with good intentions, and an evil man who pushed her onto a piano, requiring stitches near her eye. We saw hundreds of pictures of the house in which strange orbs appear, and even had Patti's friend Judy e-mail us pictures of the spirit woman, complete with red lipstick. Patti says they're most active between 10pm and 3am, and maybe someday we'll come back to hunt the spirits with our camera.


We bought a pizza and hot wings from the Avoca Pizzeria and shared it with Randy and Patti. They told us about their history, all those marriages, Randy's time in Vietnam and his brother who served with him and passed away just a month ago. Randy and Patti are both born-again Christians, which has made the kindness of strangers an ideal they hold high, with many charitable donations as well as other experiences taking people in for the night. Christian images and phrases were all over the house, as plentiful as the images and figures of Maine and lighthouses, one of Patti's favorite things. We had our own bedroom, complete with brand new pillows that Patti was excited for us to break in.


This morning, Patti made eggs and toast (quickly becoming the most common breakfast in America), and I howled with Randy, Patti, Bobo, and Dickens in a beautiful chorus of dog noises. We didn't say goodbye, but simply farewell, and see you later.


Our donuts are long finished, and I think we're going to get some lunch before getting back on the highway for about an hour to Ashtabula. We can't wait to see how our adventures continue to surprise us.

American Bear The Official Day One: Roscoe, NY

I can hear the brook outside the window, along with the frogs that Joe calls peepers. I imagine they are tiny, but I bet I am wrong. When I stepped outside I saw lighting bugs, pine trees and fading light. It smells like camping.

Joe tells us about the flood that happened here a few years ago - about how it somehow avoided his home and most of his belongings, taking with it only a small shed. He shows us the gazebo he built, pebbles in the center making a medicine wheel. "I didn't realize when I built it that I had put the door facing west. I didn't have a compass or anything. I just wanted it pointed towards the house."

And it does face directly west, an axis of stones like an arrow out the front towards the setting sun.

Everything here is so green. A darker green than Vermont and maybe more constantly the same color. And there's a lot of pebbles. Everywhere. Joe says the stones have a special energy - a heat to them. All stones really, but because this land is made of rock and stone it makes it a whole different kind of place. He puts his hand a rock by the brook - he smiles at Greg.

Greg and I started in Morristown - at Greg's house. We said good bye and headed out. I have a sense of something beginning, but because I have no idea what, I don't get the usual nervousness. I think mostly I am just curious. Excited always, but mostly I just want to know whats going to happen. I feel like I am going to learn so much about who I am in the next 60 days - about other people, about our country. So my curiosity is overtaking my nerves. And it always helps to sing with Greg in the car.

We passed through New York City on our way Northwest. It's such an important place for me, for both of us, that it made sense to see it as a sort of beginning. If it weren't for New York City this whole journey would never be happening. I would never have fallen in love with Greg, never made this film with him. But I moved there and that is where this all began. All of it.

New York is such a busy place. So many pairs of feet and clenched palms.

Our final destination: Roscoe, NY.
Now we are in an even smaller neighboring town, watching old movies and hearing Joe Modica's stories. But the destination was downtown Roscoe - nicknamed Trout Town, USA and filled with trout imagery and traveling fishermen. Everyone of the locals kept referring to it as a tourist town - and we saw some license plates from very far away, but it feels like everyone we saw knew each other. It was not even close to the level of touristy that we had encountered in a couple of our test shoot towns. It was quaint -the down town only two blocks from start to finish. Even the locals see it that way. Quaint and quiet and close.

Very close. We talked to Kimberly who told us about her sister's horse back riding accident and the town coming together in a huge display of community to raise the money for her operation.

And now we are home for the night, getting ready to tuck into the comfy bed Joe has generously let us use - I keep thinking about energy and Joe's stories. I keep thinking about the exchange that happens between people when they tell each other stories. Joe told us we were changing things, that we are living the American dream.

Today, it certainly feels that way.