The fringe of South Australia, between Mt. Gambier and Adelaide reminds a North American girl a lot of central Illinois, or Idaho, with a side dish of northern California and a sprinkling of Texas on top. With wallabies and kangaroos dead by the roadside.

The rolling green hills, dotted with cottony white spring lambs are hemmed in by fencerows shaded  by grey-green gum trees filled with white and pink cockatoos and crimson parrots. Vineyards filled with hope are sprouting countless acres of curly chartreuse toupees in long, orderly, optimistic rows. Cattle in every shade, from tawny to black, graze, haunch deep in new grass. Windmills dot the landscape in the same way oil wells do across the Texas flatlands; these spinning with furious industriousness, drawing water to fill cisterns. They make us miss our buddy Phil, who builds them in Iowa.

Mercifully, the two way radios were run completely out of batteries by over-zealous boys yesterday. As a result, our van is quiet, but we’ve missed the giggles across the airways as our self appointed “flight attendant” narrated our entry into various “landings” yesterday afternoon.

The first night in two new tents (one for the Rickards and one for the Millers) went perfectly. Rhoda and her three little men spent their very, very first night camping with the delight one would expect from six, four and one year olds. We parents toasted our success in whispers over ginger wine and merlot in the velvet darkness last night as the mothers emerged, one at a time, with the stealth only the mother of a child just put to sleep knows. There were stories and giggles all around as we relived our day, longer than expected, and better than expected, all at once.

I’m considering recommending us to the Catholic church for sainthood. We’ve got our required miracle under our belts: we were up, dressed, fed, packed, pottied, and in the vehicles rolling forward by 8:35 a.m. this morning. Three families. 13 children, 9 of them under ten. 9 of them on their very first camping excursion. If that’s not a miracle, then I’ve never seen one. AND, everyone was happy.

Highlights of the day thus far have included:

• Standing by the quarantine bin at the border between Victoria and South Australia in a drizzle gobbling our apples and chopped veggies as fast as we could, lest we have to waste them.
• Everyone tromping off into the forest for a wee… except Elijah, who is four, and refuses to “Poop like a bear.”
• Finding the side headlight of the Rickard van dangling like an eyeball pried loose from its socket by two wires. (Rescued with duct tape from my possible’s kit!)
• And also, no one has “spooked.” Yet.

Ever wonder what our kids do in the car for hours on end:

In a word: school.

• Hannah had her conference call with her Spanish partner (in Oregon) while we packed the tent.
• Gabe and Tony had a little meeting of the minds over the finer points of a Geometry proof.
• Elisha got all but one page of his math done before the internet gave out.
• Ez has been reading, writing and looking out the window when his belly gets soft. (He’s the one in our family that sometimes “spooks!”)

I must give the boy some extra credit. In spite of Ez being BEYOND excited about the impending visit with one of his bestest buddies, (Tin Tin from Going Anyway) he has not, even one time, asked the fatal question regarding our arrival and how much longer he must wait to run amok with the child on the other end of his famous lemon caper. This is massive personal growth. Ez is not, over all, known for his ability to maintain any level of zen.

And so, we roll. 

Just under three hours left, according to the GPS. I’m dying to hug my friend hard and bask in the sunny presence of one of the sweetest families we know. This is one of those rare journeys and I’m palpably aware of the urgency of sucking the marrow out of every moment.