Day 23 — Friday, September 25, 2026
I didn’t sleep particularly well Thursday night. My mind was stuck in a loop.
We are still trying to resolve some paperwork issues with the FCC involving KQUA Community Radio. It has been quite a challenge, and I seem to be the link connecting the engineers who “built” the full-power station, the antenna manufacturer, and the other bit players in what sometimes feels like a poorly directed slapstick comedy.
Hopefully, after three years of frustration, a resolution to some of these issues is finally coming into focus.
It has been a three-year nightmare for me personally, but through all of it I have never lost my belief in what KQUA can become. I remain convinced that KQUA Community Radio will ultimately be a tremendous asset for communities throughout the Umpqua.
Those thoughts were circling through my head from about 2:00 until 4:00 in the morning.
Our Minnesota adventure, meanwhile, has settled into a bit of a holding pattern. Alice has been sick all week. Lynn is tied up caring for Randy, and Ashley and company are two hours south, immersed in the daily rhythms of their own lives.
And that is okay.
We are very comfortable going with the flow and simply being here.
I spent much of the morning working on a City of Roseburg tourism grant that I thought was due next Friday. It turns out it isn’t due until the end of October, which was welcome news. The grant request itself is only $7,500, but it is an important piece of a project with a budget of roughly $100,000, so getting it right matters.
I finished the grant around noon and then had a somewhat tense Zoom meeting. During the meeting, another team member suggested that I needed to do a better job, in my role as Executive Director, of leading our process for managing potential volunteers at Umpqua Watersheds.
There is truth in that. We do need a better process.
Still, it wasn’t exactly what I wanted, or needed to hear at that particular moment.
I listened, suggested some ways we could begin making progress, and gradually the conversation shifted into a more productive discussion about Umpqua Watersheds operations. Forty-five minutes later, we had some ideas for moving forward.
Then it was back to KQUA.
I talked with our radio engineer about changes to FCC paperwork we have been working on since February. That led to another follow-up with a contractor whose information we needed. I wrote an email, sent along the necessary paperwork, and waited.
And finally, perhaps, the problem that had kept me awake between 2:00 and 4:00 that morning was moving toward resolution.
By the time I wrapped up my Umpqua Watersheds and KQUA responsibilities, it was nearly 4:00 in the afternoon.
Real life and motorhome life were waiting.
We needed to make the 15-minute trip into Mora to dump our holding tanks, fill the freshwater tank, find propane, do laundry, and pick up a few groceries. While I was finishing my phone calls, Janice began getting the motorhome ready to travel.
We both took showers—might as well put a little something extra into the holding tanks before visiting the free dump station at the fairgrounds, then unplugged the motorhome and headed for Mora.
Tad assumed his position in the front seat, excited by the possibility that another grand adventure was underway.
I dropped Janice and our laundry at the laundromat and headed over to the fairgrounds for our weekly sani-dump. I emptied the tanks, filled the motorhome with fresh water, and then went looking for propane.
Unfortunately, it was after 5:00, and I couldn’t find anyone still open who could fill our tank.
So I headed back to help Janice with the laundry.
I opened Google Maps and clicked on Janice’s picture to guide me back to the laundromat, five minutes away. Those of you who know me understand that getting turned around is something of a specialty of mine.
Following the map, I drove along the frontage road toward the little icon representing Janice.
But instead of finding her inside the laundromat, I found her standing outside talking with a small group of about 15 people holding “No Kings” signs.
She saw the motorhome coming and waved at me with an impish, “Look what I found!” grin on her face.
One of Lynn’s neighbors from Klondike Loop was there with his dog, and he and Janice had been chatting. The small group was friendly and welcoming. They told us they gather there every Friday to demonstrate in support of democracy.
Nearby was a man who had arrived on a motorcycle. He was dressed almost entirely in black, coat, pants, fingerless gloves and a face covering, with sunglasses and a backward ball cap. He was recording the gathering with his cell phone. Members of the group told us that he regularly appears during their Friday demonstrations and said they believed his presence and filming were intended to intimidate them.
It was an unexpected little slice of life in Mora, Minnesota.
Janice eventually climbed aboard the motorhome, and we headed off to do our shopping. She called around looking for propane while we drove. Everyone she spoke with was friendly and apologetic, but no propane was to be had that evening.
We crossed the county road, retrieved our clean laundry, and headed back to Lynn’s place on Klondike Loop.
By then, the workday was finally behind us.
We set up camp again. Janice built a fire and took Tad for a walk while I made dinner. Soon we were sitting beside the fire eating hot dogs, relaxing, talking, and occasionally checking our phones to catch up on what was happening in the larger world.
And then the world became much smaller.
Just us.
The fire crackling beside us.
Tad nearby.
The tall Minnesota pines silhouetted across the dirt road.
A nearly full moon rose and illuminated the evening sky above the trees. Somewhere in the darkness, a Barred Owl began calling, its familiar voice carrying through the autumn night.
After a day spent worrying about FCC paperwork, writing grants, navigating difficult conversations, solving problems 1,800 miles away, emptying holding tanks, chasing propane, washing clothes, buying groceries, and unexpectedly encountering a little Friday-evening demonstration in Mora, there really wasn’t anywhere else we needed to be.
There was no schedule to keep.
No adventure we needed to manufacture.
No problem that had to be solved before bedtime.
There was simply Janice and me, Tad, a campfire, an owl, the moon, and an autumn Friday evening in Minnesota.
Sometimes the best part of an adventure isn’t going somewhere.
Sometimes it is simply being together.
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