Slow Travel - RVing with Rex

Learning to Speak Bird: The Language of Woodpecker Drumming

Learn to recognize five familiar North American woodpeckers by their drumming and calls, and discover what their distinctive sounds reveal about bird communication.

“I love woodpeckers—they’re so specialized and focused on their work.”

My daughter Sandy said that after watching these remarkable birds and I think she captured something that makes woodpeckers endlessly fascinating. They are specialists in every sense of the word. Their bills, claws, tongues, and behaviors are all perfectly adapted to the life they lead.

In the first article of this two-part series, we learned to notice woodpeckers—their colors, patterns, movements, and the remarkable adaptations that make each species unique.

This time, we’re going to discover another part of their story.

We’re going to listen.

Long before many woodpeckers reveal themselves, they announce their presence with sounds that echo through forests, parks, and neighborhoods.

A rhythm.

A pattern.

A voice.

To many people, it sounds like random tapping echoing through the trees. But woodpecker drumming is anything but random. Every burst of sound has a purpose—claiming territory, attracting a mate, or communicating with another woodpecker.

Like spoken languages, each species has its own rhythm and voice. The more time you spend listening, the more those differences begin to stand out. What once sounded like noise becomes something altogether different.

It becomes a language.

The quick, rhythmic tapping of a Ladder-backed Woodpecker blends into the thornscrub, rewarding those who slow down enough to listen. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Every drumbeat has a purpose

Every rhythm carries a message for those willing to listen

At first, woodpecker drumming can sound like nothing more than random tapping echoing through the trees. But once you begin to understand what you’re hearing, those sharp bursts of sound take on an entirely different meaning.

Woodpeckers don’t drum to make noise. They drum to communicate.

A rapid burst of drumming may be a male announcing that a territory is already claimed. Another rhythm may be part of attracting a mate. Sometimes it’s simply one woodpecker letting another know exactly where it is. Unlike songbirds that rely primarily on vocal calls, woodpeckers have turned drumming into another language.

Not all drumming sounds the same. Some species produce a quick, rapid-fire roll, while others drum more slowly or with a different cadence. Just as each species has its own markings and behavior, each has its own rhythm.

One of the things that surprised me most was discovering that woodpeckers aren’t always looking for food when they drum. A bird searching for insects pecks differently than one sending a message. When they’re communicating, they’re often looking for the loudest stage they can find.

That’s why you may hear a woodpecker drumming on a hollow tree, a fence post, a utility pole, or even the metal flashing on a chimney. To us it may sound like an odd choice. To the woodpecker, it’s simply the best way to make sure the message carries.

The longer I spend watching birds, the more I realize that learning to speak bird isn’t just about recognizing feathers and field marks. It’s about learning to recognize voices, rhythms, and the hidden conversations taking place all around us.

Before long, what once sounded like random tapping becomes something much more familiar.

It becomes a language.

The rapid drumming of a Red-headed Woodpecker echoes through the forest, announcing its presence before its brilliant red head comes into view. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Red-headed Woodpecker: A voice as striking as its appearance

The voice behind the flash of red

The first time I encountered a Red-headed Woodpecker, it was the sound that drew me in.

Following the drumming through a forest in central Alberta, I eventually spotted a flash of brilliant red moving among the trees. Clinging to the trunk was a Red-headed Woodpecker, one of North America’s most striking and memorable birds.

At the time, I was focused on what I could see—the bold red head, the black-and-white pattern of its feathers, and the confidence of a bird that seemed impossible to miss.

But the sound was telling its own story.

The Red-headed Woodpecker’s voice is just as distinctive as its appearance. Its loud churr-churr and rolling yarrow-yarrow-yarrow calls carry through the forest, often revealing its presence before the bird comes into view. Like its drumming, these calls are part of how it communicates with others and announces its place in the landscape.

Learning to recognize that sound changes the experience. A walk through the woods is no longer just a search for a bird perched in a tree. It becomes a search for the voice that introduced itself first.

The soft, rapid tapping of a Ladder-backed Woodpecker can be easy to miss, making its quiet drumming another reason to slow down and listen. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Ladder-backed Woodpecker: The quiet specialist of thornscrub

The quiet specialist of thornscrub

In the thornscrub of the Rio Grande Valley, life can appear hidden at first glance. The landscape is dry, dense, and filled with plants adapted to survive with limited water. But slow down and pay attention, and the quiet places begin to reveal their secrets.

That is where I spotted a Ladder-backed Woodpecker, carefully working its way along a tree trunk.

In my first encounter, I noticed the bird’s remarkable markings and the way it moved through a landscape that many people might pass by without a second look. But learning its voice revealed another way to find this small specialist of the thornscrub.

The Ladder-backed Woodpecker’s call is not as dramatic as some of its larger relatives. A sharp pik note, sometimes compared to the call of a Downy Woodpecker, can easily disappear among the sounds of the desert. It may also give a descending whinny that carries through the brush.

But that is part of what makes learning bird language so rewarding. Not every bird announces itself with a loud call or a powerful drum. Some require patience. Some require listening closely.

The more familiar we become with their voices, the more we realize that even the quietest landscapes are filled with conversations waiting to be heard.

The loud, rolling drumming of a Golden-fronted Woodpecker carries through the Texas brush, making its presence known long before the bird comes into view. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Golden-fronted Woodpecker: The voice of the thornscrub

The bird that always had something to say

The Golden-fronted Woodpecker rarely arrived quietly.

While exploring the dry brushlands and shady bosques near the Rio Grande in south Texas, I often heard these woodpeckers before spotting them. Their loud calls announced their presence long before I caught sight of the flashes of gold and red moving through the trees.

Some birds seem to blend into their surroundings and wait to be discovered. The Golden-fronted Woodpecker seems to take the opposite approach. It lets you know it is nearby.

Its voice is hard to miss—a loud, rolling churrrr or a burry chuck-chuck-chuck that carries through the landscape. Once you learn that sound, the bird becomes easier to find, even when branches and foliage hide the colorful markings that make it so memorable.

The Golden-fronted Woodpecker is a reminder that learning to speak bird is not only about recognizing a quiet call in the distance. Sometimes the lesson is learning to appreciate the birds that proudly introduce themselves.

The Gilded Flicker’s rapid, rolling drumming carries across the open Sonoran Desert, its rhythm echoing among the saguaros. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Gilded Flicker: The voice of the saguaro forest

Finding a home where few trees exist

The Sonoran Desert does not look like a place built for woodpeckers.

Yet among the towering saguaros and rugged desert landscape, one woodpecker has found a way to thrive. While camping at Usery Mountain Regional Park in Arizona, I was fortunate to spot a Gilded Flicker, a bird perfectly adapted to a landscape unlike any other.

In the first article, the Gilded Flicker introduced us to the remarkable relationship between a bird and its environment. The saguaro may not look like a traditional tree but for this woodpecker, it provides a home, shelter, and a place to raise young.

But the desert does not just reveal this bird through its bright markings and distinctive habitat. It also reveals it through sound.

The Gilded Flicker’s loud, repeated woika call carries across the open desert, sometimes followed by a series of sharp kee notes. In a landscape where sounds can travel across great distances, its voice becomes another way this woodpecker announces its presence.

The more time we spend listening, the more we realize that every landscape has its own soundtrack. In the Sonoran Desert, the voice of the Gilded Flicker has become part of the music of the saguaros.

The loud, distinctive drumming of an Acorn Woodpecker echoes through the forest, punctuated by its unmistakable calls as it announces itself to the entire family group. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Acorn Woodpecker: The sound of the acorn forest

The bird that turns trees into treasure chests

The first time I encountered an Acorn Woodpecker, I had to stop and wonder what I was seeing.

While camping in the Sierra Nevada, not far from Yosemite, I came across a bird unlike any woodpecker I had known. It was not simply searching for food—it was storing it.

The more I learned about the Acorn Woodpecker, the more fascinating it became. This clown-faced western woodpecker lives in small family groups and has developed one of the most unusual survival strategies in the bird world. Instead of hiding individual acorns, these birds create shared storage sites, carefully placing their winter food supply into thousands of small holes drilled into trees and other wooden surfaces.

But the Acorn Woodpecker’s story is not only written in the trees. It is also heard in the forest.

Its loud, distinctive ja-cob, ja-cob call—or what some describe as wake-up, wake-up—is one of the easiest woodpecker voices to recognize once you learn it. Unlike the quiet work of storing acorns, this bird has a voice that seems to announce the activity of the entire colony.

Listening to an Acorn Woodpecker is a reminder that every bird has its own personality. Some The Acorn Woodpecker does not simply live in the forest—it transforms the forest around it, leaving behind a story written in thousands of tiny holes.

The rhythmic drumming of a Golden Flicker echoes through the trees, announcing its presence with a steady tapping that carries across the landscape. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Every forest has a voice

Learning begins when we slow down enough to listen

The longer I watch birds, the more I realize that seeing is only part of the experience. Learning to speak bird also means learning to listen.

Sometimes the forest reveals its stories through a flash of color. Other times, those stories begin with a rhythm echoing through the trees or a familiar call drifting through the branches. Either way, the lesson is the same: slow down, pay attention, and let nature introduce itself.

Every woodpecker has its own voice. Some announce themselves with loud, unmistakable calls. Others communicate through rapid drumming that carries across the landscape. Some require patience to hear at all. But each reminds us that nature is constantly communicating with those willing to listen.

The next time you hear a woodpecker tapping somewhere beyond the trail, resist the urge to simply look for the bird. Pause for a moment. Listen to the rhythm. Wonder what message it might be sending. You may discover that what once sounded like random tapping has become something much more meaningful.

That is how we begin learning to speak bird.

Enjoyed this article?

Share it with friends, fellow RVers, or your social network to inspire their next adventure.

Editor’s note

This article was originally published in September 2026. Information reflects what was accurate at the time of writing. Conditions, access, and amenities may change over time, so please verify current details before planning your trip.

To maintain transparency and editorial independence, this website contains no ads, no sponsored content, and no affiliate links—just firsthand RV travel experiences and practical information for fellow travelers.

Badlands After Dark: Discovering the Other Half of the National Park

Badlands National Park is spectacular by day, but its new International Dark Sky designation reveals an entirely different side of the landscape. Stay after sunset to discover the Milky Way, nighttime wildlife, silence, and a Badlands few visitors ever experience.

On July 17, 2026, Badlands National Park was designated an International Dark Sky Park, recognizing the extraordinary darkness of a landscape I thought I knew well.

I’ve written about the Badlands many times over the years. I’ve explored its strange formations, followed its roads and trails, watched its wildlife, and written about experiencing the park as an RVer.

Yet the designation made me realize something.

For all the time I’ve spent in the Badlands, I’ve mostly experienced it in daylight.

What happens when the sun goes down?

That is what I want to discover.

Badlands Loop Road winds through a landscape that looks dramatically different as the light changes—and even more so after the stars come out. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

The Badlands in a different light

The landscape changes long before the sun disappears

The Badlands are a daytime landscape. At least, that is how most of us experience them.

We arrive with the sun overhead, following Badlands Loop Road as sharply eroded buttes, pinnacles, and canyons rise from the prairie. Tan, yellow, red, and gray layers catch the light while deep shadows fill the narrow canyons. Every bend seems to offer another photograph.

I’ve experienced that feeling many times. The Badlands are almost impossible to ignore in daylight.

But the light keeps changing. Morning brings long shadows and subtle colors. Afternoon makes the formations stark and dramatic. As evening approaches, the shadows lengthen, the colors soften, and the landscape begins to look unfamiliar.

Then the formations slowly become silhouettes against the fading sky.

The Badlands hasn’t changed, yet somehow it feels different.

And this is only the beginning.

Because if you stay, the transformation continues long after the last sunlight disappears.

Cedar Pass Campground offers a front-row seat to the Badlands, making it possible to stay after sunset and experience the park as darkness settles over the formations. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Camping: Stay until the landscape goes dark

The best way to experience the Badlands after dark is to stay

If you want to discover the Badlands after dark, you have to do something simple: stay.

Camping becomes more than a place to sleep. Instead of leaving as the last light fades, you can sit outside your RV and watch the landscape disappear into darkness.

Badlands National Park offers two very different campgrounds. Cedar Pass Campground, near the Ben Reifel Visitor Center, has 96 sites, including electric hookups plus potable water, restrooms, showers, a restaurant, and a nearby general store. Reservations are recommended.

Sage Creek Campground offers a more primitive experience with 22 free, first-come, first-served sites. There are picnic tables and pit toilets but no water. The unpaved access road can be rough after rain and the campground is best suited to RVs 18 feet or shorter.

Backcountry camping offers even more solitude. Campsites must be at least a half-mile from roads and trails and out of sight. No permit is required but the park recommends checking with a ranger before heading out. Campfires aren’t permitted.

For RVers, Cedar Pass offers the most convenience. But wherever you stay, the important thing is remaining after the daytime visitors leave.

That’s when the real reason for staying begins to reveal itself.

The formations are spectacular in daylight, but staying after sunset reveals another side of this remarkable landscape. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Stay for the sunset

The Badlands puts on one last show

By late afternoon, the Badlands begins to change. The harsh midday light softens, shadows stretch across the formations, and muted colors deepen.

This is when I slow down.

Rather than returning to the campground, find a place to watch the sun sink toward the horizon. The formations become silhouettes, the prairie glows, and for a few minutes the landscape seems suspended between day and night.

Sunset is often the finale of a day in a national park. Here, it feels more like a transition.

As the last light disappears, the formations that dominated your attention all day fade from view. The horizon darkens, the first stars emerge, and your eyes begin adjusting to a landscape you can no longer see in the same way.

Most visitors are gone.

You are still there.

And the Badlands is beginning to reveal its other half.

Layer upon layer of ancient sediment creates the Badlands’ familiar shapes, silhouetted against a sky that will look very different after dark. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

When darkness arrives

The landscape disappears, and another one emerges

At first, darkness feels like something is missing. The familiar formations fade into silhouettes and the details that define the Badlands during the day disappear.

Then your eyes adjust.

The prairie stretches into the darkness. A breeze moves through the grass. Somewhere beyond the campground, a coyote calls. Without the constant visual drama, sounds become more noticeable and the vastness of the landscape easier to feel.

It is a different kind of experience.

During the day, the Badlands demands that you look. At night, it asks you to slow down and listen.

There is nothing you need to do. Sit outside the RV. Turn off the lights. Let your eyes adjust and watch the sky fill with stars.

The darkness isn’t hiding the Badlands.

It is revealing a side of the park that daylight keeps from us.

From the overlooks, the Badlands seems almost endless. After sunset, that same vastness extends upward into a sky filled with stars. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Under a Badlands sky

The Milky Way becomes the landscape

This is where the new designation becomes more than a title.

Badlands National Park is now recognized as an International Dark Sky Park, acknowledging the exceptional quality of its night sky and efforts to protect it. Far from major sources of artificial light, the Badlands offers something increasingly rare: a sky where the Milky Way can stretch across the darkness with little competition from city lights.

Look up on a clear night and the Badlands suddenly seems much larger.

The stars don’t simply decorate the sky. They become part of the landscape.

As your eyes adjust, planets, constellations, and countless stars emerge. On clear nights, the Milky Way appears as a luminous band overhead, reminding us how much of the universe is hidden by artificial light.

That darkness is precisely what the new designation recognizes—and seeks to protect.

You don’t need a telescope or knowledge of astronomy. Find a dark spot, turn off the lights, let your eyes adjust, and look up.

Sometimes the best view in the Badlands isn’t in front of you.

It’s above you.

The prairie may appear quiet during the day, but darkness brings a different rhythm—and a sky increasingly rare in our light-filled world. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

A sky with a story

The night sky means more than astronomy

Long before telescopes, people looked to the night sky to understand the world around them.

For the Lakota, the stars have long been part of a larger body of knowledge connecting the sky, land, seasons, animals, and cultural traditions. The night wasn’t simply darkness between days. It was a source of knowledge, stories, and meaning passed from one generation to the next.

That adds another dimension to the Dark Sky designation.

Protecting the night sky isn’t simply about preserving a spectacular view of the Milky Way. It is also about protecting a natural and cultural resource whose meaning extends far beyond astronomy.

Standing beneath a dark Badlands sky, it’s worth remembering that we aren’t the first people to look up and wonder.

The stars were here long before the roads and campgrounds.

And they will be here long after we leave.

This is the Badlands most visitors see. Stay awhile longer, and another landscape slowly reveals itself. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

The Badlands Doesn’t Sleep

Wildlife has its own night shift

When daylight fades, the Badlands doesn’t become empty. It simply becomes harder for us to see.

During the day, prairie dogs chatter, bison graze, bighorn sheep move across the formations, and birds fill the air with calls. After dark, another world becomes more noticeable.

A coyote’s call carries across the prairie. Small mammals move through the grass. Insects begin their nighttime chorus. Beyond the reach of your flashlight, wildlife continues as it does every night.

The darkness changes more than what we see. It changes what we notice.

Without traffic, conversation, and the search for the next overlook, we become more aware of sounds and movement around us. Sitting quietly outside the RV, you may hear things you would never notice during a daytime drive.

This is another reason to stay.

The Badlands after dark isn’t a landscape that has gone to sleep. It is a living landscape we are simply less equipped to see.

The Badlands fills the horizon by day. At night, the sky adds an entirely new dimension to the experience. The Badlands fills the horizon by day. At night, the sky adds an entirely new dimension to the experience.

The Badlands I hadn’t seen

Sometimes returning to a familiar place reveals something entirely new

I’ve written about Badlands National Park many times. I’ve described its strange beauty, geology, wildlife, roads, trails, and appeal to RV travelers.

Yet somehow, I had missed this.

The Badlands I knew was a place of sunlight and shadows, dramatic formations and endless prairie. Now I realize it was only half the story.

The other half begins when the sun disappears.

It is found in the darkness settling over the prairie, a coyote’s call carrying across the grass, and the first stars appearing overhead. It is found in the silence, the vastness, and the feeling of standing beneath a sky that has changed little in thousands of years.

The new International Dark Sky designation gives the Badlands another reason to be noticed. For me, it is also a reminder that returning to a familiar place doesn’t mean experiencing the same place again.

Sometimes you simply have to stay longer.

And sometimes, the best way to see the Badlands is to stop looking and pay attention to what happens after dark.

There is always another view to discover here—and after dark, the best view may be the one above you. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Staying long enough to see more

Sometimes you have to stay to truly see

Perhaps that is what the Badlands has been teaching me all along. We often think seeing a place means covering its roads, finding its overlooks, and checking its trails off a list. But some places reveal themselves only when we stop moving.

The new Dark Sky designation has given the Badlands a new identity but darkness doesn’t create a different park. It reveals the one that was here all along.

Maybe that’s the real gift of slow travel: not seeing more places but seeing more of the places we choose to stay.

Enjoyed this article?

Share it with friends, fellow RVers, or your social network to inspire their next adventure.

Editor’s note

Parke County, Indiana: Where the Road Becomes the Destination

Parke County, Indiana, is more than its famous covered bridges. Discover scenic backroads, working farms, Amish buggies, Raccoon Lake, and the pleasures of exploring by RV.

Some places are defined by a single attraction. Others reveal themselves slowly, one mile at a time.

For RV travelers, discovery begins with finding a place to call home for a few days. Once the RV is settled, the roads beyond the campground become an invitation to explore.

That is how we experienced Parke County, Indiana. From our campground, we left the motorhome behind and followed quiet roads by toad, discovering a landscape where farms still define the horizon, buggies share the road and historic bridges appear as reminders of the past.

The covered bridges may draw visitors to Parke County but the real story is found in the roads between them.

Our home base at Terre Haute Campground while we explored Parke County. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Finding our basecamp

Every RV adventure begins with a place to park

When traveling with a large RV, the first step in discovering a new area is finding the right basecamp. We don’t simply arrive, unplug, and move on the next morning. A comfortable campground becomes our home while we explore everything beyond it.

For our visit to Parke County, we stayed at Terre Haute Campground. Located near I-70, it provided the convenience and amenities we appreciate when traveling with a larger motorhome including spacious sites, full hookups, and the practical comforts that make an extended stay easier.

Once the RV was settled, the real adventure could begin. The motorhome became our home base, the toad became our exploring vehicle, and the roads of Parke County became an invitation to discover what was waiting beyond the campground.

Leaving our home base behind, we set out to discover Parke County’s backroads by toad. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Taking the backroads

The landscape reveals itself one mile at a time

With our motorhome settled at the campground, we set out to discover Parke County by toad. We weren’t rushing from one attraction to another. The roads themselves became the reason to explore.

Away from the highways, the countryside unfolded slowly. Fields stretched toward distant tree lines, farmhouses and barns appeared along the way, and quiet roads invited us to slow down and pay attention.

This is the kind of travel we enjoy most. Not every discovery has to be a famous attraction. Sometimes it is a curve in the road, a view across a field, or a moment that makes you stop for a photograph.

In Parke County, the journey between destinations became part of the destination itself.

A glimpse of Parke County at work as the fall harvest moves from field to truck. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

A landscape still at work

Where farming remains part of everyday life

As we explored the backroads of Parke County, it quickly became clear this was not a landscape created for visitors. It was a place where people still worked the land.

Fields stretched across the countryside, barns stood beside quiet roads, and farm machinery waited for another day of work. These were not attractions placed along a route; they were part of the everyday rhythm of the community.

I have always enjoyed photographing working landscapes because they tell stories beyond what first catches the eye. A tractor in a field or an old barn beside a country road reveals a connection between people and the land that has continued for generations.

Parke County’s beauty comes partly from that authenticity. It is not a rural landscape preserved in time—it is a rural landscape still being lived.

We slowed down to share the road with an Amish buggy on a Parke County backroad. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

When a buggy shares the road

An unexpected glimpse of a slower pace of life

I wasn’t expecting to find an Amish community in Parke County. I was familiar with the much larger Amish presence in northwest Indiana but I hadn’t thought of Parke County in the same way.

Then, while exploring the backroads, we encountered Amish buggies sharing the road.

Their presence seemed perfectly at home among the farms, fields, and quiet countryside. The horse and buggy moved at a pace that matched the landscape around it, reminding us that not every journey needs to be hurried.

We slowed down, gave them plenty of room and appreciated the simple rhythm of a different way of life moving alongside our own.

It was another reminder that Parke County reveals itself in unexpected ways. Sometimes the best discoveries are the ones you weren’t looking for.

Driving through McAllister Covered Bridge in our toad—following Parke County’s backroads into the past. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

The bridges that connect generations

More than a structure, they are part of the landscape

Eventually, the covered bridges began to appear.

Parke County is known as the “Covered Bridge Capital of the World” with 31 covered bridges scattered throughout the county. For many visitors, they are the reason to come. But what makes them special is not simply the craftsmanship or history. It is the way they seem to belong exactly where they are.

McAllister Covered Bridge and Neet Covered Bridge were two that captured my attention. I photographed them from different angles but what I appreciated most was their setting—the quiet roads, surrounding countryside, and sense of connection to the past.

These bridges are more than crossings over streams. They are reminders of an earlier time when roads moved at a slower pace and the journey mattered as much as the destination.

October brings another reason to visit. Parke County’s annual Covered Bridge Festival celebrates the county’s 31 historic bridges and draws visitors from across the region.

We’ll take a closer look at the bridges and the festival in a future article.

Leaving the backroads behind to explore the woods and waters of Raccoon State Recreation Area. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

A place to pause

Water and woods add another dimension

After exploring the backroads, farms and covered bridges, we discovered another side of Parke County at Raccoon State Recreation Area.

Here, the landscape changed. Open fields gave way to woods and water, creating a place to slow down, walk a trail, watch wildlife or simply enjoy the quiet surroundings. Raccoon Lake offered a different rhythm from the rural roads we had been following.

For RV travelers, places like this are part of what makes exploring a region rewarding. Not every stop needs to be a major attraction. Sometimes the best discoveries are the places that invite us to stay a little longer.

Raccoon was another reminder that Parke County is not defined by one feature. Its appeal comes from the variety of experiences found along the way.

Returning to basecamp

The comfort of having a place to come home to

One of the advantages of RV travel is the ability to establish a home base while exploring a new area. Instead of moving every night, we can settle in, leave the motorhome behind, and spend our days discovering what surrounds us.

Terre Haute Campground served that purpose during our visit to Parke County. With spacious sites, full hookups, and the practical amenities that make a stay comfortable, it gave us a convenient place to return after each day of exploring.

But the real value of a campground is not just the site itself. It is the freedom it provides—the ability to wander farther, stay longer, and experience a place at a slower pace.

For us, Terre Haute Campground was more than a place to park. It was the starting point and ending point of each day’s discoveries.

A covered bridge opens a window onto the timeless farmland of Parke County. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

More than a road to somewhere

Discovering what remains when we slow down

We arrived in Parke County expecting covered bridges and discovered something much broader.

The bridges, farms, quiet roads, Amish buggies, and natural areas all tell the story of a place where the past and present still exist side by side. It is a landscape that does not demand attention but rewards those who slow down enough to notice.

For RV travelers, that is often what we hope to find—not just another destination but a place that reminds us why we travel.

In Parke County, the road truly becomes the destination.

Enjoyed this article?

Share it with friends, fellow RVers, or your social network to inspire their next adventure.

Editor’s note

The Power of Awe: What Science Is Discovering

For thousands of years, people have experienced awe without understanding what was happening. Now science is beginning to reveal how awe can change our attention, sense of self, connection to others, and experience of the world.

A note on this series: This is a five-article exploration of birds, attention, awe, and the RV lifestyle.

Notice → Understand → Experience → Awe → Meaning

Each article stands on its own but together they form a progression—from learning to pay attention to discovering why awe matters and how the RV lifestyle gives us opportunities to experience it.

For thousands of years, people have described awe. Philosophers wondered about it, poets tried to capture it, and generations of people experienced it without having a scientific explanation for what was happening.

Today, researchers are beginning to ask a different question: What happens to us when we experience awe?

The answers are still emerging. But the research is becoming difficult to ignore. Awe appears to affect not only how we feel but where we place our attention, how we see ourselves, and how connected we feel to the world around us.

And as I read the research, I kept finding something familiar.

I’ve been experiencing some of this for years.

Fall colors turn an ordinary scenic drive into a moment of awe. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

What exactly is awe?

When something exceeds our usual way of seeing the world

Before scientists can study awe, they have to define it.

In 2003, psychologists Dacher Keltner and Jonathan Haidt identified two essential elements: vastness and a need for accommodation.

Vastness doesn’t have to mean something enormous. It can be an idea, a person, music, an act of courage, or a landscape—anything that feels larger than our usual frame of reference.

Then comes accommodation. Our existing understanding isn’t quite enough, so our minds have to adjust.

We’ve all experienced it.

A landscape we weren’t prepared for. A piece of music that stops us. A bird doing something we’ve never seen before.

For a moment, we don’t need an explanation.

We simply experience it.

And perhaps that’s why awe captures our attention so completely.

The world has exceeded our expectations.

Discovering a unique bird can turn an ordinary moment into one of awe. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Awe captures our attention

For a moment, the mental noise gets quieter

We live in a world designed to compete for our attention. Notifications, headlines, advertising, schedules, and endless information keep asking us to look at one more thing.

Awe does something different.

It pulls our attention away from ourselves and toward the experience in front of us. Researchers describe this as a reduction in self-focused thinking—the constant mental commentary about our problems, plans, and place in the world.

I recognize that immediately.

It’s what happens when I stop to watch a bird. For a few minutes, I’m not thinking about yesterday or tomorrow. I’m watching what is happening now.

The bird hasn’t asked me to meditate.

It has simply given my mind somewhere else to go.

Perhaps that’s one reason awe feels so refreshing.

For a moment, we stop thinking about ourselves and start paying attention to the world.

A Sonoran Desert sunset can leave us awestruck by the beauty of a landscape we thought we already knew. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Awe makes the self feel smaller

And the world feels larger

Another important finding in awe research is the “small self.”

It doesn’t mean feeling unimportant. It means that, for a moment, our own concerns occupy less of our attention.

Think of standing beneath a star-filled sky, looking across a vast landscape, or watching a bird go about its life, completely unaware of our worries.

For a moment, we aren’t the center of the story.

Our problems may still be there but they no longer fill the entire frame.

Perhaps that is one of awe’s quiet gifts: It doesn’t make our world smaller. It makes our place in it feel larger.

A mountain vista can fill us with awe by revealing a world far larger than ourselves. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Awe connects us

Beyond ourselves and toward one another

If awe makes the self feel smaller, it may also make room for connection.

Research has linked awe with greater connectedness and prosocial behaviors such as generosity, cooperation, and helping others. When our own concerns become less dominant, we may become more aware of the people and world around us.

I’ve felt this while traveling.

A shared view from a trail. A conversation with a stranger at a campground. Two people stopping to watch the same bird.

For a moment, the usual boundaries between us seem less important.

Awe can make us feel part of something larger.

Pausing along a forest lane in autumn, I found myself surrounded by the quiet awe of the season. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Awe and the body

When attention changes, something else may change too

Awe may reach beyond our thoughts and emotions. Researchers are finding evidence that it can influence how the body responds to stress although this science is still developing.

Studies have linked experiences of awe with lower perceived stress and, in some experiments, lower physiological arousal.

That interests me because it connects with something I’ve practiced for years: mindfulness.

When I slow down and pay attention, I’m not trying to make anything happen. I’m simply noticing what is already there.

Perhaps awe does something similar.

It gives the mind—and perhaps the body—a reason to slow down.

The sculpted formations of the badlands inspire awe as nature reveals the power of time and erosion. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Fifteen minutes can be enough

The experiment that made me think about mindfulness

One study particularly caught my attention.

Researchers asked older adults to take a 15-minute outdoor walk once a week for eight weeks. One group simply walked; the other was asked to look for moments of awe.

The awe-walk group experienced more awe, joy, compassion, and other positive emotions, along with less daily distress. Their photographs also suggested a growing sense of the “small self” as their attention shifted toward the world around them.

The walks were the same.

Fifteen minutes was the same.

What changed was where they placed their attention.

That sounds remarkably like mindfulness to me.

I’ve spent years learning to slow down, notice what is around me, and stay with the moment rather than rush past it.

The researchers called it an awe walk.

I’ve simply called it paying attention.

The otherworldly beauty of White Sands can inspire awe by making us feel as though we’ve stepped into another world. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Awe can be cultivated

We don’t have to wait for it to find us

Perhaps the most encouraging finding is that we don’t have to wait for awe to happen. Research suggests we can become more receptive to it by slowing down, paying attention, and deliberately noticing what we might otherwise overlook.

That feels familiar to me.

Mindfulness taught me to pay attention. Slow travel taught me not to hurry past what deserves attention. Birding taught me to look and listen more carefully.

Perhaps I’ve been cultivating awe without knowing its name.

Maybe awe isn’t something we find. Maybe it’s something we learn to notice.

I think that is stronger. And it sets us up beautifully for the next part of the article where we can move from what the research says to what all of this means in our own lives.

A meandering mountain stream reflecting the colors of autumn can inspire a quiet sense of awe. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

What we don’t know yet

Science is still learning

The science of awe is promising but it is still young. Researchers don’t agree on every aspect of how awe works or how lasting its effects may be. Some findings are strong; others need more study.

That doesn’t diminish what we’ve learned.

It simply reminds us that awe is an experience we are beginning to understand, not one science has already explained.

Even a single flower can inspire awe when we pause long enough to notice its beauty. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

The world feels different

Perhaps that is the power of awe

The science of awe is still young but a pattern is emerging. Awe can draw our attention outward, quiet our preoccupation with ourselves, and deepen our connection with the world and others. Researchers are still working out exactly how and how lasting these effects may be.

What interests me most is how little may be required.

A walk. A bird. A landscape. A few minutes of paying attention.

Perhaps awe doesn’t change the world around us.

Perhaps it changes the way we experience the world we’re already in.

Continue the series

← Previous: The Power of Awe: An Ancient Human Experience

Next → The Bird in You
How learning to observe and understand birds can lead us toward awe.

Enjoyed this article?

Share it with friends, fellow RVers, or your social network to inspire their next adventure.

Editor’s note

Bitter Lake National Wildlife Refuge: An Oasis in the Desert

Bitter Lake National Wildlife Refuge may look like an unlikely place for abundant wildlife, but its wetlands, springs, and unusual geology create an oasis in the Chihuahuan Desert.

At first glance, Bitter Lake National Wildlife Refuge doesn’t look like an oasis. Set in the dry landscape of southeastern New Mexico, it appears open, quiet, and almost barren in places. But look a little closer and the landscape begins to tell a different story.

The refuge is especially intriguing in the changing seasons. September brings the annual Dragonfly Festival while by early November the first signs of winter migration are beginning to appear.

I visited in early November and found myself drawn into a landscape that was changing almost by the day. The road, the water, the birds, and even the smallest creatures offered reasons to stop and look.

Sometimes the most interesting places are the ones that don’t reveal themselves all at once.

Bitter Lake National Wildlife Refuge visitor center, surrounded by the desert landscape and wetlands that make this unlikely oasis possible. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

An 0asis in the desert

Look beyond the first impression

Bitter Lake is a study in contrasts. Dry grasslands and open desert surround wetlands, springs and shallow lakes, creating an unexpected patchwork of habitats.

The refuge lies where the Chihuahuan Desert meets the Southern Plains, along the Pecos River watershed. Its gypsum geology has created sinkholes and other unusual formations while water supports an abundance of life that seems out of place in such an arid setting.

From a distance, much of Bitter Lake can look stark and almost barren. But that first impression doesn’t last long.

Here, water changes the landscape—and the landscape creates a refuge for wildlife. Native grasslands, brush, dunes, and wetlands each support different forms of life, making Bitter Lake far more diverse than its surroundings suggest.

The visitor center offers a good introduction to that hidden world. Its exhibits explain the refuge’s geology, wildlife, and importance as a wetland in the desert. After seeing the landscape outside, the information inside gives you a better sense of what you’re about to explore.

That contrast is what makes Bitter Lake worth exploring. You don’t have to look far to begin discovering what is hidden here.

The loop road winds through Bitter Lake National Wildlife Refuge, offering changing views of desert, grassland, wetlands, and wildlife habitat. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Follow the loop

The road becomes part of the experience

We followed the loop road slowly with no reason to hurry. It led through open grasslands, past wetlands, and along stretches of water where something always seemed worth stopping to see.

Numerous pullouts make it easy to stop when the landscape or wildlife catches your attention. Some offer broad views across the refuge; others bring you closer to the water and habitats that make Bitter Lake so unusual.

Walking trails provide another way to explore. Getting out of the vehicle changes the experience. Instead of passing through the landscape, you become part of it, listening and watching for movement in the grass, along the shoreline, or overhead.

For a photographer, the loop offers plenty of opportunities. The combination of land, water, and wildlife provides subjects at nearly every turn.

We drove the entire loop, stopping often. There was no need to see everything at once.

At Bitter Lake, the road isn’t simply a way to get somewhere. It is part of the discovery.

A dragonfly pauses on the boardwalk at Bitter Lake National Wildlife Refuge, surrounded by the wetlands that support more than 100 species of dragonflies and damselflies. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

The smaller wonders

Look closely and you’ll find more than birds

Birds may be the most obvious attraction at Bitter Lake but they are only part of its story. Look closer and another world comes into view.

The refuge is home to more than 100 species of dragonflies and damselflies, an extraordinary diversity for a place surrounded by desert. In summer, they hover over the wetlands and dart among the vegetation, adding another layer of movement to the refuge.

That diversity is celebrated each September during the annual Dragonfly Festival. This year’s festival is scheduled for September 12, 2026, offering visitors an opportunity to learn more about these remarkable insects and the habitat that supports them.

When we visited in early November, the dragonflies were thinning out with the changing season. Still, a few remained above the water—a small reminder of the summer world that was giving way to fall.

At Bitter Lake, you never know what you might discover when you stop and look a little closer.

**Snow geese gather on the wetlands at Bitter Lake National Wildlife Refuge, adding another seasonal dimension to this desert oasis.** © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

When the birds begin to arrive

The refuge starts changing with the season

By early November, Bitter Lake was beginning to take on a different character. The dragonflies were thinning out as the first winter migrants arrived.

Sandhill cranes and snow geese had begun gathering on the wetlands. It wasn’t yet the spectacle that would develop later in the season but there was a sense that something was underway.

That made our timing especially interesting. We weren’t seeing Bitter Lake as a seasonal peak, but in transition, as one season was giving way to another.

The cranes brought movement and sound to the quiet landscape while the snow geese added another dimension to the wetlands. Even in relatively small numbers, their arrival changed the feeling of the refuge.

Wildlife refuges are never static. The landscape may look much the same but the life within it is constantly changing.

We had arrived just as one season was giving way to another.

A pair of juvenile ibises walk along the shoreline at Bitter Lake National Wildlife Refuge, searching for food near the water. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

More than cranes

An unexpected variety of birds

Sandhill cranes and snow geese may draw the most attention at Bitter Lake but they are far from the only birds worth watching.

The refuge’s wetlands, grasslands and brush provide habitat for a remarkable variety of species throughout the year. Wading birds and waterfowl gather around the water while other birds make use of the surrounding habitats.

Among those we encountered were juvenile ibis, their darker plumage giving them a distinctive appearance. Watching them move through the shallows was another reminder that there is always more happening at Bitter Lake than its most famous visitors suggest.

That’s part of the appeal of a wildlife refuge. You may arrive hoping to see cranes and find yourself watching an ibis—or noticing something you hadn’t expected at all.

At Bitter Lake, the best discoveries aren’t always the ones you came looking for.

Wetlands at Bitter Lake National Wildlife Refuge create an oasis of water and life within the surrounding Chihuahuan Desert. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Life beneath the surface

An oasis built on water and geology

The life at Bitter Lake isn’t limited to what we see flying overhead or moving along the shoreline.

The refuge is home to the Pecos pupfish, a unique species adapted to the warm, mineral-rich waters of the Pecos River basin. Its presence is another sign of just how unusual this environment is.

Much of that uniqueness begins with the geology. Bitter Lake’s gypsum karst has created sinkholes, springs, and other features that influence how water moves through the refuge. Those waters create wetlands in an otherwise arid landscape and support plant and animal communities that could not exist here without them.

It’s easy to focus on the birds at Bitter Lake. But understanding the water and geology beneath them changes how you see the refuge.

Bitter Lake isn’t simply where wildlife gathers.

The landscape itself makes their presence possible.

Snow geese and other waterfowl gather among the wetlands of Bitter Lake National Wildlife Refuge where water brings life to the surrounding desert. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

A place to slow down

The rewards of simply looking

Bitter Lake isn’t a place to rush through. The loop road, pullouts, and walking trails invite you to stop, look, and listen.

During our November visit, we often found ourselves pausing simply to take in the landscape. The water reflected the sky, birds moved along the shoreline, and the open desert stretched beyond the wetlands.

For a photographer, that quiet pace is part of the attraction. There is time to watch before raising the camera, to see how the light changes, and to catch details you might otherwise miss.

Perhaps that’s what I enjoyed most about Bitter Lake. It doesn’t demand your attention. It rewards you for giving it.

Sometimes, slowing down is how you begin to see a place.

Water dominates the landscape at Bitter Lake National Wildlife Refuge, with the distant shoreline revealing the contrast between wetlands and the surrounding desert. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

An oasis revealed

Some places ask you to look twice

Bitter Lake reminded me that an oasis doesn’t always announce itself. In September, dragonflies take center stage; by early November, they are thinning as cranes and snow geese begin to arrive. Beneath it all, water and geology sustain a remarkable diversity of life.

What first appears to be a quiet, barren landscape is anything but.

Sometimes, you simply have to slow down, look closer, and give a place time to reveal itself.

Enjoyed this article?

Share it with friends, fellow RVers, or your social network to inspire their next adventure.

Editor’s note

Helen, Georgia: More Than Oktoberfest

Helen, Georgia, may be famous for Oktoberfest and its Bavarian-style architecture, but this unusual mountain town offers much more. Discover its history, food, RV camping, and the Blue Ridge Mountains beyond.

Helen is not what you expect to find in the North Georgia mountains.

Tucked into the Blue Ridge Mountains, the little town looks as though a piece of Bavaria has somehow found its way to Georgia. Buildings with Alpine-style facades line the streets, balconies overlook the sidewalks, and German-inspired restaurants and shops give Helen an unmistakable character.

For many visitors, especially this time of year, Helen means Oktoberfest. But there is more to this unusual mountain town than its famous festival or its Bavarian appearance.

To understand Helen, however, we have to go back to a time when the town looked nothing like it does today.

Helen’s Alpine-style architecture is what makes this Georgia mountain town instantly recognizable. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

The story behind Helen

From a struggling mountain town to something entirely unexpected

Helen began in the early 1800s as a small mountain settlement, first shaped by gold mining and later by the timber industry. The railroad brought prosperity and Helen became an important lumber town in the North Georgia mountains.

But the timber was eventually exhausted, the mill closed, and the community declined. By the 1960s, Helen was a small town with an uncertain future.

Then three local businessmen began thinking differently. Rather than accept Helen’s decline, they imagined something that would make the town stand out. Inspired by the Alpine villages of Germany, they proposed transforming Helen’s appearance into a Bavarian-style community.

It was an ambitious idea. Existing buildings were remodeled, new construction followed the same architectural theme, and Helen gradually became the village visitors recognize today.

The transformation changed everything. Tourism replaced timber as the town’s economic foundation, and a community that might otherwise have faded into the mountains found a new identity.

Helen’s Bavarian character wasn’t inherited. It was created.

Timber details, steep roofs, and balconies give Helen its distinctly Bavarian character. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Walking through Bavaria

The architecture is part of the experience

The first thing you notice about Helen is the architecture. Alpine-style buildings line the streets with steep roofs, balconies, flower boxes, and timber details that make the town feel distinctly Bavarian.

But the architecture does more than create a theme. It changes how you experience the town. Walking through Helen, there is something to notice around almost every corner—a balcony, window, sign, or storefront detail that invites you to slow down.

That is what makes exploring Helen on foot so enjoyable. The town itself becomes the attraction.

I found myself stopping often to photograph the buildings. Together, they create a place unlike anywhere else I’ve encountered in Georgia.

Helen may have borrowed its character from Bavaria but it has made it uniquely its own.

Walking Helen’s streets feels a little like stepping into a Bavarian village in the North Georgia mountains. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Helen by RV

A mountain town worth settling into

Helen makes a natural RV basecamp. Campgrounds near the town put the Bavarian village within easy reach while nearby Unicoi State Park offers a forested mountain setting. Vogel State Park, about 24 miles away, is another option for those wanting to make the mountains part of their stay.

Stay close to Helen and explore the village or settle into a mountain campground and let Helen become part of a broader North Georgia adventure.

For RVers, the advantage is simple: establish a base and stay awhile. There is no need to move the RV every day to find something new.

Oktoberfest makes advance planning especially important. The 2026 celebration runs September 10 through November 1 and nearby camping can be in high demand.

Helen is best experienced as more than a quick stop.

Colorful facades and Alpine-inspired details turn ordinary storefronts into part of Helen’s attraction. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Where Helen meets the mountains

The town is only part of the story

Helen sits in the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains, surrounded by forested ridges, winding roads, rushing streams, and waterfalls.

Having an RV basecamp makes exploring the area easier. A day might mean following the Russell-Brasstown Scenic Byway, visiting Vogel State Park, or simply taking a mountain road and seeing where it leads.

The Chattahoochee River flows through Helen while nearby waterfalls and trails offer more reasons to venture beyond town.

I’ve written before about the Russell-Brasstown Scenic Byway but experiencing it from Helen gives the road a different context. Helen isn’t just somewhere along the way; it can be the place where we settle in and explore the mountains at our own pace.

Sometimes the best part of a destination is what lies beyond it.

Helen’s Bavarian appearance wasn’t inherited—it was deliberately created to give the struggling town a new identity. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

A taste of Bavaria

Some places are meant to be tasted

Helen’s Bavarian character isn’t limited to its buildings. It shows up at the table, too.

German-inspired restaurants, bakeries, beer gardens, sausages, schnitzel, pretzels, and other traditional foods are part of the experience. You don’t have to search very hard for something that feels different from the usual small-town Georgia fare.

And perhaps that’s where slow travel fits Helen particularly well. Instead of grabbing something and moving on, sit down and enjoy it. Have a beer. Share a meal. Take your time.

Food may not be the reason we travel to Helen but it becomes part of what makes the town memorable.

Sometimes you experience a place one bite—and one sip—at a time.

From flower boxes to timber framing, the details reinforce Helen’s unmistakable Alpine personality. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Oktoberfest arrives

Helen’s Bavarian spirit takes center stage

By September, Helen’s Bavarian identity becomes impossible to miss. Oktoberfest runs September 10 through November 1, 2026, filling the town with music, German food, beer, dancing, and visitors.

The celebration begins with three September weekends before continuing daily through October and into November. The Oktoberfest parade is September 12.

For visitors, Oktoberfest is quite an experience. The streets grow busier, music fills the air, and the relaxed mountain village takes on a decidedly festive mood.

If Oktoberfest is on your agenda, plan ahead. Campgrounds and accommodations can fill quickly, particularly on weekends.

Helen may be more than Oktoberfest but Oktoberfest is certainly part of Helen.

The architecture is more than decoration; it is what makes a walk through Helen such a visual experience. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

More than Oktoberfest

Some places deserve more than a quick visit

Helen may be best known for its Bavarian buildings and Oktoberfest but those are only the most visible parts of its story.

Behind them is a town that reinvented itself, surrounded by the forests and mountains of North Georgia. Perhaps that is what makes Helen worth slowing down for.

We can come for the unusual architecture and Oktoberfest but the mountains, the history, and the simple pleasure of wandering may be what stays with us.

Come for the Bavarian village. Stay for the mountains.

Bavaria may have provided the inspiration but Helen has made the style uniquely its own. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Rejuvenation

Sometimes a place can give us a fresh start

Perhaps the real story of Helen isn’t that a struggling mountain town reinvented itself but what that reinvention has given to the millions who come here.

We arrive to see something different, to wander its streets, enjoy a meal, explore the mountains, or celebrate Oktoberfest. For a while, we step outside our familiar routines and simply enjoy being somewhere else.

Maybe that is why Helen continues to draw us back. It offers something we don’t always realize we need: a chance to slow down, breathe a little deeper, and feel refreshed.

Helen reinvented itself. Perhaps, for a few days, it can rejuvenate us, too.

Enjoyed this article?

Share it with friends, fellow RVers, or your social network to inspire their next adventure.

Editor’s note

The Power of Awe: An Ancient Human Experience

Long before scientists began studying awe, philosophers wondered why certain experiences stop us in our tracks. From ancient Greek wonder to modern psychology, the story of awe may begin with something surprisingly simple: paying attention.

A note on this series: This is a five-article exploration of birds, attention, awe, and the RV lifestyle.

Notice → Understand → Experience → Awe → Meaning

Each article stands on its own but together they form a progression—from learning to pay attention to discovering why awe matters and how the RV lifestyle gives us opportunities to experience it.

Awe is not a new idea. Long before scientists began studying it, philosophers and writers were trying to understand what happens when we encounter something larger than ourselves.

Perhaps awe is also one of the things that makes a life fully lived. It interrupts the ordinary, pulls us out of ourselves, and reminds us that there is more to the world than what occupies our immediate attention.

I’ve written about mindfulness, slow travel, and learning to speak bird without realizing they share a common thread.

Pay attention.

Perhaps that is where awe begins.

A familiar bird can become something more when we slow down, look closely, and allow ourselves to wonder. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Wonder begins the search

The ancient Greeks had a word for it: thauma

Long before awe became a subject for modern psychology, the ancient Greeks were fascinated by wonder—thauma—the experience of encountering something remarkable, mysterious, or difficult to explain.

For them, wonder wasn’t simply a feeling. It could be the beginning of inquiry.

In Theaetetus, Plato has Socrates describe wonder as the beginning of philosophy. Aristotle made a similar observation in Metaphysics, suggesting that philosophy began with our wondering about the world around us—the moon, the sun, the stars, and ultimately existence itself.

We tend to think of awe as something that stops us in our tracks. But perhaps stopping is only the beginning.

Awe can be found not only in grand landscapes, but in the devotion, craftsmanship, and quiet beauty of places created by ordinary people. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Wonder makes us look again.

A bird can be just a bird. Or we can stop and wonder where it came from, what it sees, what it hears, and what it is saying.

The bird hasn’t changed.

Our attention has.

And perhaps that is the first clue to the power of awe.

Looking beyond ourselves

The Stoics and the larger world

The Stoics took wonder in another direction. They looked at nature as an ordered whole and encouraged us to step outside our narrow concerns and consider our place within it.

Marcus Aurelius often contemplated the stars, the seasons, and the vastness of nature—not simply as things to admire but as reminders that our individual troubles occupy a very small place in a much larger world.

There is something remarkably familiar in that.

Awe can change the scale at which we see our lives. A problem that fills our attention can seem different beneath a night sky, watching a storm cross the desert, or listening to birdsong.

The problem hasn’t necessarily disappeared.

But we’re no longer looking at it from the same place.

Perhaps that is another power of awe: it reminds us that we are part of something larger than ourselves.

Deep beneath the earth, the sheer scale and otherworldly beauty of the caverns evoke the sublime—a feeling of wonder when we encounter something beyond our ability to fully comprehend. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

When the world becomes sublime

Burke, Kant, and the experience of vastness

More than two thousand years after the Greeks wrote about wonder, Edmund Burke gave the experience a new language: the sublime.

In 1757, Burke wrote about things vast, powerful, dark, or overwhelming. The sublime could produce such astonishment that ordinary thought seemed to fall away.

Immanuel Kant later took the idea further. For him, the sublime arose when we encountered something so immense that our ability to comprehend it seemed inadequate.

A mountain. A storm. The ocean. A star-filled sky.

The important thing wasn’t simply the thing itself but what happened within us when we encountered it.

Sometimes we meet something that doesn’t fit neatly into our understanding. We have to stop, take it in, and make room for something larger.

Perhaps that is why awe can feel so powerful.

For a moment, the world exceeds us.

Nature’s wonders don’t have to be vast to inspire awe. Sometimes a simple arch of stone is enough to make us stop, look closer, and wonder how it came to be. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Nature as a doorway

Emerson and the receptive mind

By the nineteenth century, Ralph Waldo Emerson was looking at nature differently. In Nature, published in 1836, he suggested that the natural world could change us when we were truly open to it.

Nature wasn’t simply scenery. It was an experience.

Look at the stars, Emerson suggested, and ordinary concerns can fall away. Enter the woods with an open mind, and the familiar can become new again.

The stars haven’t changed. The woods haven’t changed.

We have changed the way we see them.

Emerson understood something that will become important throughout this series: we don’t always need to travel farther or find something extraordinary. Sometimes we simply need to be present enough to notice what is already there.

Perhaps the experience isn’t about finding a more extraordinary world.

Perhaps it’s about becoming more receptive to the one we already inhabit.

A trail through nature invites us to slow down, pay attention, and discover the quiet moments of awe waiting just beyond the next bend. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

From wonder to science

The question changes

For thousands of years, people could describe awe, wonder, and the sublime. They could tell us what it felt like to encounter something larger than themselves. What they couldn’t do was ask, scientifically, what was happening to them.

That began to change in recent decades.

In 2003, psychologists Dacher Keltner and Jonathan Haidt proposed a framework for studying awe, identifying two essential features: vastness and a need for accommodation—the feeling that what we’re experiencing is so expansive that our existing understanding has to stretch to take it in.

It was an important shift.

Awe was no longer simply something philosophers described.

It had become something scientists could investigate.

And that raises a fascinating question: If humans have experienced awe for thousands of years, what is modern science beginning to discover about what it actually does to us?

Awe doesn’t always wait in the wilderness. Sometimes it lands on the motorhome, reminding us that wonder can find us when we simply pay attention. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

The question becomes personal

Perhaps I have been experiencing awe all along

That question brings me back to my own experience.

For years I’ve written about mindfulness without thinking of it as a way of finding awe. I’ve written about slow travel without thinking of it as creating the conditions for awe. I’ve written about learning to speak bird without realizing that birds were teaching me the same lesson.

Pay attention.

Perhaps that is where awe begins.

A bird outside the RV window. A landscape that makes me stop. The quiet of a desert morning. An old building that suddenly makes history feel present.

None required finding something extraordinary.

They required me to notice.

Perhaps that is why this ancient experience remains so relevant. The world hasn’t become less capable of inspiring awe.

We’ve simply become very good at looking past it.

Standing before an immense waterfall, we are reminded of our smallness and the extraordinary forces of nature that shape the world around us. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Where awe leads

From understanding to experiencing

The more I looked into awe, the more I realized I hadn’t discovered a new subject. I had discovered a thread running through much of what I’ve written about for years.

Birds taught me to pay attention.

Slow travel taught me to linger.

RVing gave me the time and freedom to do both.

Perhaps these aren’t separate interests after all. Perhaps they are different ways of experiencing the same thing.

Awe.

In the articles that follow, I want to explore that connection—not as a theory but through the experiences that have taught me something about paying attention.

And I’ll begin with the creatures that may be our best teachers.

Continue the series

Next → The Power of Awe: What Science Is Discovering
What science is beginning to reveal about this ancient human experience.

Enjoyed this article?

Share it with friends, fellow RVers, or your social network to inspire their next adventure.

Editor’s note

Enjoyed this article?

Share it with friends, fellow RVers, or your social network to inspire their next adventure.

Editor’s note

Slow Travel Arizona: 5 Small Towns Worth Parking the RV For

Arizona is more than desert highways and famous landmarks. These five small towns invite RV travelers to slow down, stay awhile, and experience a quieter, more meaningful side of the state.

Arizona is often measured in miles—long desert highways, iconic stops, and destinations that pull you from one landmark to the next. But somewhere between the interstates and the well-known viewpoints, a different kind of travel begins.

It happens when you turn off the main road, ease into a small town, and decide not to leave the next morning.

For RV travelers, these places offer something rare: the chance to stay put long enough to notice the rhythm of a place—the quiet mornings, the slower afternoons, the conversations that only happen when you’re not in a hurry. Whether it’s a hillside mining town, a desert outpost, or a mountain village, Arizona’s small towns reward those willing to trade distance for depth.

These are the places worth parking the RV for a few days—and experiencing Arizona at a slower, more meaningful pace.

What makes a town worth slowing down for

Not every small town is built for slow travel. Some are better as quick stops while others quietly invite you to stay a little longer. The difference often comes down to a few simple but important qualities.

A town worth slowing down for is easy to explore without a plan. Walkable streets, a compact downtown, or even just a place where you can park the RV and wander for a few hours makes all the difference. You’re not rushing from one attraction to the next—you’re letting the place reveal itself as you go.

The setting matters, too. In Arizona, light transforms the landscape throughout the day. The way a hillside town glows at sunset or how the desert softens in the early morning adds depth to the experience. These are places where staying an extra day gives you something new to see without going anywhere.

There should be just enough to do—without feeling like you need an itinerary. A few good cafes, a scenic drive, a local shop or two, maybe a short trail nearby. The goal isn’t to stay busy; it’s to stay engaged.

And for RV travelers, practicality can’t be overlooked. Easy access, reasonable parking, nearby campgrounds, and at least some level of cell service all play a role in whether a town feels relaxing or frustrating. The best slow travel destinations strike a balance—they’re interesting enough to hold your attention and accessible enough to let you settle in comfortably.

Historic Route 66 still runs through this quirky little town, where vintage signs and roadside Americana keep the spirit of the Mother Road alive. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

1. Seligman

Perched along one of the longest surviving stretches of Historic Route 66, Seligman feels like a place where the spirit of the open road never quite faded.

Why it’s worth parking the RV

Seligman isn’t just another stop on Route 66—it’s one of the towns that refused to disappear when the interstate bypassed it. After Interstate 40 diverted traffic in 1978, the town faded fast. It was local barber Angel Delgadillo who helped bring it back, leading the push to designate Historic Route 66 in Arizona.

That effort didn’t just save Seligman—it helped preserve the “Mother Road” across the country. Today, the town marks the start of Arizona’s longest uninterrupted stretch of Historic Route 66, and still leans fully into that identity.

The feel of the place

Seligman feels like stepping into a living roadside time capsule. Hand-painted signs, vintage storefronts, and playful nods to old-school Americana line the main drag. It’s quirky, a little worn-in, and completely unpolished—in a way that works.

Mornings are quiet with a few early travelers passing through. By midday, the town hums with Route 66 enthusiasts then settles again by evening. It’s not a place packed with activity but that’s the point—you’re here to slow down and take it in.

RV reality check

Seligman is easy to access right off I-40 and the Seligman/Route 66 KOA Journey provides a convenient and reliable base. Located just off historic Route 66, it offers spacious sites, full hookups, and the kind of straightforward amenities that make a short stay easy. Fuel, basic supplies, and food are available nearby, though selection is limited—plan ahead if you need more. Cell service is generally reliable but can vary depending on your carrier.

A town worth slowing down for, where the character of old Route 66 is found in its colorful storefronts, signs, and roadside attractions. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

What to do (without rushing)

Walk the main stretch of Route 66 and take in the roadside details—this is a place to wander, not rush
Grab a burger and enjoy the atmosphere at Delgadillo’s Snow Cap, a classic stop known as much for its humor as its food
Stop at Westside Lilo’s Café for a more relaxed sit-down meal (and homemade desserts)
Browse vintage signs, cars, and souvenirs at local shops like the Motoporium
If you want a short drive, explore Grand Canyon Caverns for a completely different underground experience

Best time to stay

Spring and fall offer the most comfortable temperatures for lingering outdoors. Summer can be hot but manageable at this elevation while winter is quieter with cooler nights.

From the neon nostalgia of Route 66, the road shifts away from roadside humor and vintage signage into something older, heavier, and more storied. As the highways straighten and the desert opens, Arizona’s Wild West past begins to take center stage—where legend isn’t just remembered, it’s reenacted.

Allen Street preserves the look and feel of the Old West, where wooden boardwalks, historic buildings, and Western lore meet. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

2. Tombstone

Steeped in frontier legend and anchored by the storied O.K. Corral, Tombstone is where Arizona’s Wild West past still plays out in real time.

Why it’s worth parking the RV

Tombstone leans fully into its identity—but underneath the staged gunfights and Old West storefronts is a town that’s managed to hold onto its sense of place. Founded in the late 1870s after a major silver discovery, it quickly grew into one of the richest mining towns in the Arizona Territory.

Its reputation, though, comes from the events that followed—especially the infamous shootout near the O.K. Corral. That moment cemented Tombstone’s place in Western lore, but it’s the town’s persistence—earning the nickname “The Town Too Tough to Die”—that makes it worth more than a quick stop.

The feel of the place

Yes, there’s a performative side to Tombstone. Gunfight reenactments, costumed actors, and saloons line the main street. But step beyond the busiest stretch, and the pace shifts.

Early mornings are quiet with wooden boardwalks still and storefronts just opening. By midday, visitors fill Allen Street then taper off again toward evening. If you give it time—especially staying overnight—you begin to notice the small-town rhythm that longtime residents still talk about.

RV reality check

Tombstone is easy to reach with straightforward highway access and no major grades or tight approaches making it manageable even for larger RVs. Parking in the historic district can be limited but nearby lots help ease the pressure. For a more comfortable stay, options like Tombstone RV Park and Campground and Tombstone Territories RV Park offer convenient bases just outside the main drag—close enough to explore town while providing a quieter place to settle in. Cell service is generally reliable.

Once a booming silver-mining town, Tombstone keeps its frontier past alive along its historic streets. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

What to do (without rushing)

Walk Allen Street early or late in the day to experience the town without peak crowds
Catch a reenactment near the O.K. Corral, then take time to explore beyond the main attractions
Step into Big Nose Kate’s Saloon for a classic Western atmosphere and a slower meal
Visit Boothill Cemetery to connect with the town’s layered history
Stop by the Rose Tree Museum for a quieter, more unexpected glimpse into local life

Best time to stay

Fall through spring offers the most comfortable weather for walking and exploring. Summers can be hot though early mornings and evenings remain enjoyable. Visiting midweek or staying overnight helps avoid the heaviest daytime crowds.

Leaving Tombstone, the energy gradually thins out. The saloons and staged gunfights give way to wider horizons and longer stretches of open road. The landscape starts to feel more isolated again, as if the state is pulling you back toward its quieter edges—where towns aren’t built for crowds, but for space.

At the heart of Ajo, a wide plaza is anchored by distinctive Spanish Colonial–style architecture. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

3. Ajo

Set deep in the Sonoran Desert, Ajo is a quiet former mining town where wide-open space and a slow pace invite you to linger.

Why it’s worth parking the RV

Ajo is the kind of place you don’t expect—and that’s exactly why it works for slow travel. Once a thriving copper mining town, it has quietly reinvented itself as a small but growing arts and culture community in the heart of the Sonoran Desert.

It’s also a gateway to vast, less-traveled landscapes including nearby Organ Pipe Cactus country. But unlike busier desert destinations, Ajo still feels undiscovered. There’s space here—both physically and mentally—to settle in and stay awhile.

The feel of the place

At the center of Ajo is a wide, palm-lined plaza anchored by Spanish Colonial–style architecture. It feels almost out of place in the surrounding desert—and that contrast is part of its charm.

The pace is slow, even by small-town standards. Mornings are quiet and bright, afternoons stretch under the desert sun, and evenings cool into a calm stillness. Artists, winter visitors, and locals all mix into a community that feels unhurried and welcoming without trying too hard.

RV reality check

Ajo sits well off the interstate, so getting here requires a bit of intention—but the drive is easy with long, open roads and minimal elevation changes that suit most RVs. Services are limited but adequate with fuel, groceries, and basic supplies available in town though selection is modest. For overnight stays, options like Ajo Heights RV Park and Shadow Ridge RV Resort offer convenient setups including longer-term stays popular with winter travelers.

Ajo Plaza, anchored by distinctive Spanish Colonial–style architecture, forms the heart of the town. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

What to do (without rushing)

Spend time around the town plaza including the historic Ajo Plaza and Immaculate Conception Church
Explore local galleries and studios that reflect Ajo’s growing arts scene
Take a scenic drive through Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument for a quieter desert experience
Visit the nearby Cabeza Prieta National Wildlife Refuge for remote, rugged landscapes (plan ahead)
Slow down enough to appreciate the desert itself—the light, the silence, and the scale

Best time to stay

Late fall through early spring is ideal with mild temperatures perfect for exploring. Summers are extremely hot and best avoided for extended stays. Winter brings the most activity but Ajo rarely feels crowded.

From the quiet openness of the desert, the road begins to soften. The emptiness gives way to greener pockets along the river valley, and the pace subtly changes. Here, Arizona trades wide solitude for something more cultivated—where history and creativity shape the rhythm of daily life.

Art, craftsmanship, and creativity are woven into the character of this historic village. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

4. Tubac

Tucked along the banks of the Santa Cruz River, Tubac is a walkable arts village where history and creativity shape a slower, more deliberate pace.

Why it’s worth parking the RV

Tubac offers something rare in Arizona—a true blend of history, art, and quiet livability. Established in 1752 as a Spanish presidio along the Santa Cruz River, it’s one of the oldest European settlements in the state. But what defines Tubac today isn’t just its past—it’s its creative present.

This is a town built around the arts. Galleries, studios, and cultural events shape daily life here, creating a place that feels intentional rather than tourist-driven. It’s not trying to be busy—it’s designed to be experienced slowly.

The feel of the place

Tubac moves at an easy, almost deliberate pace. With just a few main streets, it’s highly walkable, and that simplicity is part of its appeal. You can spend hours drifting between galleries, small shops, and shaded courtyards without ever feeling rushed.

Mornings are especially peaceful with soft desert light and quiet paths along the river. By afternoon, visitors arrive, but the energy never feels overwhelming. Even at its busiest, Tubac holds onto a calm, grounded atmosphere.

RV reality check

Located just off I-19, Tubac is easy to reach for RV travelers with no significant grades or tricky approaches. Overnight parking in the village itself is limited but nearby options—especially toward Green Valley and Sahuarita—make it easy to base yourself close by. De Anza Trails RV Resort is a standout choice offering a comfortable and convenient setup within a short drive of town.

Once you’re settled, Tubac is best explored on foot. Roads are manageable, though parking in the central village can be tight during peak times. Cell service is generally reliable.

Arizona history comes alive at the site of the state’s first Spanish presidio. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

What to do (without rushing)

Wander the galleries and studios that define Tubac’s identity—this is a place made for slow browsing rather than rushing
Visit Tubac Presidio State Historic Park to explore the area’s layered history then walk a section of the Juan Bautista de Anza National Historic Trail for a blend of scenery and heritage. Just a short drive away
Tumacácori National Historical Park offers beautifully preserved mission ruins set along the Santa Cruz River, adding another dimension to the region’s story
When it’s time to slow down even further, enjoy an unhurried meal at Elvira’s Restaurant or settle onto the patio at Soto’s PK Outpost

Best time to stay

Fall through spring offers the best conditions with mild temperatures ideal for walking and outdoor exploring. Summer is much hotter and quieter while winter brings peak activity with seasonal visitors.

Southwestern art and river valley calm eventually give way to a deeper kind of quiet. The roads stretch longer, the landscape becomes more vast, and the sense of distance grows. This is where Arizona stops feeling like a collection of towns and starts feeling like something far older—shaped not just by settlement, but by time itself.

A community shaped by Diné culture, tradition, and the enduring landscape of northeastern Arizona. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

5. Chinle

Set within the Navajo Nation, Chinle is the gateway to a landscape where culture, history, and the towering walls of Canyon de Chelly converge.

Why it’s worth parking the RV

Chinle is more than a gateway—it’s a place where landscape, culture, and history are inseparable. Located within the Navajo Nation, it serves as the primary access point to Canyon de Chelly National Monument but reducing it to a stop along the way misses the point. People have lived in and around this canyon for thousands of years, and for the Diné, it remains a sacred, living landscape where stories are not just remembered but продолжаed through family, tradition, and daily life.

For RV travelers, camping is available at Cottonwood Campground where sites are first-come, first-served and registration is handled at the visitor center. The campground is open year-round, but facilities are minimal—no hookups and no showers—so it’s best suited for self-contained rigs prepared for a more basic, grounded stay.

The feel of the place

Chinle moves at a quieter, more grounded pace than most destinations in Arizona. There’s no curated main street or tourist-centered downtown. Instead, the rhythm is tied to community, land, and tradition.

Time feels different here. Early mornings carry a stillness, and the vastness of the canyon creates a sense of scale that naturally slows you down. This isn’t a place to rush through—it’s a place to approach with patience and respect.

RV reality check

Reaching Chinle requires a bit more intention than other towns on this list. Located off the main interstate routes, the drive is part of the experience with wide-open landscapes and long stretches between services.

Thunderbird Lodge serving as the primary in-town option for lodging, dining, and tours. Fuel up before arrival and expect cell service to be inconsistent depending on your carrier.

Towering canyon walls and centuries of human history create a landscape that rewards slowing down. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

What to do (without rushing)

Take in the overlooks along Canyon de Chelly National Monument—the changing light alone makes multiple visits worthwhile
Walk the White House Trail for a deeper connection to the canyon (one of the few self-guided routes)
Join a guided tour with a local Navajo guide to access the canyon floor and learn from those who call it home
Visit Hubbell Trading Post National Historic Site to experience a living tradition of Navajo craftsmanship
Slow down enough to simply observe—the landscape and its meaning unfold over time

Best time to stay

Spring and fall offer the most comfortable weather for exploring. Summers can be hot but manageable with early starts while winter brings colder temperatures and fewer visitors.

Where the road slows down

Arizona doesn’t reveal itself all at once. It unfolds in fragments—through roadside nostalgia, frontier legends, desert stillness, creative enclaves, and landscapes that feel older than memory. Taken together, these small towns are less a checklist of destinations and more a reminder that travel doesn’t always need to be about distance covered.

In places like Seligman and Tombstone, history is performed in the open, where the past is kept alive in storefronts, stories, and daily rituals. Further on, the rhythm begins to change. In Ajo and Tubac, the pace softens into something more reflective—shaped by desert light, creative expression, and the quiet reward of staying put.

And then there are places like Chinle where the idea of “destination” fades entirely. Here, the landscape carries stories that stretch far beyond tourism, and slowing down becomes less of a choice and more of a responsibility—to listen, observe, and understand before moving on.

For RV travelers, these towns offer something the highway never quite does on its own: permission to pause. Not every stop needs to be efficient. Some are meant to be lived in, even briefly. And in those pauses, Arizona becomes something fuller—not just a route across the map, but a collection of places that ask you to stay a little longer than planned.

Enjoyed this article?

Share it with friends, fellow RVers, or your social network to inspire their next adventure.

Editor’s note

Learning to Speak Bird: What Woodpeckers Teach Us

Woodpeckers are more than birds that tap on trees. Discover what five remarkable species can teach us about focus, adaptation, preparation, cooperation, and paying attention to the natural world.

“I love woodpeckers—they’re so specialized and focused on their work.”

My daughter Sandy’s observation captures something I have always found fascinating about birds. They are teachers in plain sight, quietly showing us lessons about the natural world and, sometimes, about ourselves.

Few birds demonstrate that idea better than woodpeckers.

With their powerful bills, sharp claws, and ability to transform a simple tree trunk into a source of food and shelter, woodpeckers are perfectly adapted for the work they do. They remind us that success does not always come from being the biggest or fastest. Sometimes it comes from understanding your purpose and using the abilities you have been given.

Across North America, woodpeckers have found ways to thrive in forests, deserts, and open landscapes. Some cling to towering trees while others search for insects among dry washes or carve homes into giant saguaro cacti.

The more closely we watch them, the more we discover that these birds are not simply tapping on trees. They are solving problems, communicating, adapting, and creating a place for themselves in the world.

This is another lesson in learning to speak bird: every bird has a story if we slow down long enough to listen.

A Ladder-backed Woodpecker clings to a tree trunk, its distinctive black-and-white markings blending into the South Texas landscape. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

What makes a woodpecker remarkable

Built for a life of purpose

Woodpeckers are easy to recognize but easy to underestimate.

The tapping sound coming from a tree may seem simple but behind that familiar rhythm is one of the most specialized groups of birds in North America. Everything about a woodpecker is designed for the work it does.

Their strong, chisel-shaped bills allow them to excavate wood in search of insects and create nesting cavities. Their specialized skull structure helps protect them from the repeated impact of striking trees. Their long tongues reach deep into crevices while their feet and stiff tail feathers help them cling securely to vertical surfaces.

A woodpecker is not simply hitting a tree. It is using a remarkable collection of adaptations that allow it to thrive in a very specific way.

Even their drumming tells a story. What sounds like random tapping to us is actually communication—a way to announce territory, attract a mate, and make their presence known. The forest is filled with conversations if we slow down enough to listen.

Woodpeckers also leave something behind. The cavities they create become homes for other birds and wildlife, making them important contributors to the ecosystems they inhabit.

Perhaps the greatest lesson woodpeckers teach us is the value of focus. They do not try to be everything. They have specialized tools, a clear purpose, and the ability to adapt to the landscapes around them.

The more closely we watch them, the more we discover that every tap has a story.

A striking Red-headed Woodpecker pauses on a tree trunk, its brilliant red head standing out against the forest. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Red-headed Woodpecker: A flash of red in the forest

The bird that refuses to be overlooked

I heard the drumming before I saw the bird.

Following the sound through a forest in central Alberta, I finally spotted a flash of brilliant red moving among the trees. Clinging to the trunk was a Red-headed Woodpecker, one of North America’s most striking and memorable birds.

Some birds disappear into their surroundings. This one does the opposite. With its crimson head, crisp white body, and bold black-and-white wings, the Red-headed Woodpecker seems almost impossible to miss.

But there is much more to this bird than its appearance.

Found in open woodlands, forest edges, and agricultural areas, the Red-headed Woodpecker is an active and adaptable hunter. It searches for insects, seeds, and nuts, and unlike many woodpeckers, it often catches insects in flight.

It is also a planner. When food is plentiful, these woodpeckers may cache acorns, beechnuts, and other food sources to use later. Behind the brilliant colors is a bird that understands preparation and survival.

Once one of the more common woodpeckers across North America, the Red-headed Woodpecker has declined in many areas and is now a less frequent sight. That makes moments like this one even more memorable.

The lesson from this woodpecker is simple: the things that catch our eye often have the deepest stories waiting to be discovered. A flash of red may get our attention but slowing down allows us to see the remarkable life behind it.

A Ladder-backed Woodpecker works its way along a tree trunk in the thornscrub of South Texas. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Ladder-backed Woodpecker: The quiet specialist of thornscrub

Finding opportunity in a challenging landscape

In the thornscrub of the Rio Grande Valley, life can appear hidden at first glance. The landscape is dry, dense, and filled with plants adapted to conserve every drop of moisture. But look a little closer and there is movement everywhere.

That is where I spotted a Ladder-backed Woodpecker, working its way along a tree trunk.

Unlike some of its larger relatives that depend on towering trees or giant cacti for nesting sites, the Ladder-backed Woodpecker has adapted to a different world. This small woodpecker makes a living among dry washes and scrubby vegetation, finding insects in places that other woodpeckers may overlook.

Its black-and-white pattern gives it a name that seems perfectly suited to the bird. The markings along its back resemble the rungs of a ladder, helping distinguish it from similar species such as the Nuttall’s Woodpecker.

The Ladder-backed Woodpecker is a reminder that thriving does not always require abundance. Sometimes survival comes from knowing how to use the opportunities available, even in places that may seem challenging to us.

In the thornscrub of southern Texas, this small woodpecker quietly goes about its work—proof that even the harshest landscapes are full of life for those willing to look closely.

A Golden-fronted Woodpecker adds a splash of gold and red to the thornscrub of South Texas. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Golden-fronted Woodpecker: A splash of gold in the thornscrub

The bird that always had something to say

The Golden-fronted Woodpecker rarely arrives quietly.

While exploring the dry brushlands and shady bosques near the Rio Grande in south Texas, I often heard these woodpeckers before spotting them. Their loud calls frequently announced their presence long before I caught sight of the flashes of gold and red moving through the trees.

They are handsome birds. Females wear a rich golden-yellow nape and lower belly while males add a golden forehead and brilliant red crown, making them among the most colorful woodpeckers in the region.

Like many birds of the borderlands, the Golden-fronted Woodpecker is adaptable. Rather than relying almost entirely on insects, it also feeds heavily on fruit and nuts, taking advantage of whatever the season provides. That flexibility has helped it thrive across the dry woodlands and river corridors of southern Texas and into Mexico.

Watching these birds, I was struck by more than their colors. They seemed full of confidence, calling frequently as they moved from tree to tree, as if making sure every bird nearby knew exactly where they were.

The Golden-fronted Woodpecker reminds us that nature rewards adaptability. Sometimes the key to thriving is not doing one thing perfectly but learning to make the most of every opportunity the landscape provides.

A Gilded Flicker in Arizona’s Sonoran Desert, perfectly adapted to life among the giant saguaros. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Gilded Flicker: The woodpecker of the saguaro forest

Finding a home where few trees exist

The Sonoran Desert does not look like a place built for woodpeckers.

At first glance, the Gilded Flicker may look familiar, resembling the more widespread Northern Flicker. But this desert specialist has its own story. Slightly smaller than its northern relative, it lacks the red patch found on the back of the Northern Flicker’s head and its golden underwings seem to glow when it takes flight.

What makes this bird especially remarkable is where it chooses to live. Rather than relying on traditional tree cavities, Gilded Flickers often carve nesting holes into giant saguaro cacti. In a landscape where large trees are scarce, the cactus becomes both shelter and home.

Like other flickers, the Gilded Flicker spends much of its time searching the ground for food, especially ants and other insects. It is a reminder that not every woodpecker spends its life hammering away at tree trunks.

The Gilded Flicker teaches us that adaptation is not always about surviving in spite of a landscape. Sometimes it is about discovering opportunities that others overlook.

In the Sonoran Desert where many visitors see only heat, rocks, and cactus, this remarkable woodpecker reveals a different story—one of creativity, resilience, and finding a place to belong.

An Acorn Woodpecker pauses among the trees, one of nature’s remarkable collectors and a master of storing food for later. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Acorn Woodpecker: The forest’s great collector

The bird that turns trees into treasure chests

The first time I encountered an Acorn Woodpecker, I had to stop and wonder what I was seeing.

While camping in the Sierra Nevada, not far from Yosemite, I came across a bird unlike any woodpecker I had known. It was not simply searching for food—it was storing it.

The more I learned about the Acorn Woodpecker, the more fascinating it became.

This is a bird with a remarkable strategy for survival.

Each year, Acorn Woodpeckers collect thousands of acorns and carefully store them in specially created holes drilled into trees, fence posts, wooden structures, and almost any other suitable surface. These storage sites, known as granary trees, can contain thousands of individual holes and may be used by generations of woodpeckers.

At first glance, their behavior can almost seem like hoarding. But what appears unusual is actually a carefully planned system for surviving times when food is less available.

Years later, I encountered Acorn Woodpeckers again near Ramsey Canyon in southern Arizona, an area better known for its remarkable diversity of hummingbirds. Once again, these fascinating birds reminded me that every habitat has stories beyond the ones we expect to find.

Acorn Woodpeckers are also unusual because they live in family groups. Several adults may work together to raise young, sharing responsibilities that many birds handle alone.

Perhaps that is what makes this woodpecker so memorable. It teaches us that survival is not always about independence. Sometimes it is about preparation, cooperation, and understanding the value of working together.

The Acorn Woodpecker does not simply live in the forest—it transforms the forest around it, leaving behind a story written in thousands of tiny holes.

A Ladder-backed Woodpecker searches for food among the trees and thornscrub of South Texas. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

What woodpeckers teach us

Listening for the lessons hidden in the trees

The more time we spend watching woodpeckers, the more we realize they are much more than birds that tap on trees.

The Red-headed Woodpecker reminds us to notice what stands out. Its brilliant colors may capture our attention, but a closer look reveals a bird that is resourceful, adaptable, and constantly working to survive.

The Ladder-backed Woodpecker shows us that life can thrive in challenging places. Among the thornscrub of south Texas, this small woodpecker has found opportunities where others might see only a harsh landscape.

The Golden-fronted Woodpecker demonstrates the value of flexibility, making use of whatever the seasons provide.

The Gilded Flicker challenges our assumptions, proving that even a woodpecker can find a home in the unlikely setting of a giant saguaro.

And the Acorn Woodpecker may offer the greatest lesson of all. Its granary trees and cooperative family groups remind us that preparation and community have always been powerful tools for survival.

Perhaps that is why woodpeckers are such remarkable teachers. They do not rush. They know their purpose. They use the abilities they have been given and adapt to the world around them.

Learning to speak bird is not about memorizing every species or recognizing every sound. It is about becoming more aware of the stories unfolding around us.

The next time you hear a woodpecker drumming in the distance, take a moment to listen. That tapping is not just a sound. It is a conversation—a reminder that the natural world is always teaching us if we slow down enough to pay attention.

Enjoyed this article?

Share it with friends, fellow RVers, or your social network to inspire their next adventure.

Editor’s note

This article was originally published in August 2026. Information reflects what was accurate at the time of writing. Conditions, access, and amenities may change over time, so please verify current details before planning your trip.

Versailles, Kentucky: More Than Bourbon and Bluegrass

Versailles, Kentucky, is more than bourbon and Bluegrass. Discover its historic courthouse, scenic railroad, horse farms, bourbon heritage, and the rolling countryside of Woodford County.

Versailles is one of those Kentucky towns that can be easy to pass by if you are focused on getting somewhere else.

We weren’t looking for a major attraction when we arrived. After exploring nearby Midway, we continued on to Versailles and began exploring the town and surrounding countryside. What we found was a place that offered something more than the bourbon and horse farms for which Woodford County is known.

There was a historic downtown, an impressive courthouse, a church steeple rising above the buildings, and a railroad that offered a different way to experience the countryside. Beyond town, the landscape opened into the rolling hills of Kentucky’s Bluegrass region where horse farms and bourbon distilleries seemed to fit naturally into the scenery.

Versailles turned out to be less about checking off attractions and more about seeing how the pieces of Kentucky fit together.

Historic downtown Versailles, Kentucky, where the courthouse, church steeple, and historic buildings reflect the town’s deep Bluegrass heritage. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

The heart of Versailles

The story begins in town

The first thing that caught my attention was Versailles itself. And if you are wondering, Versailles, Kentucky, is pronounced ver-SALES, a little different from the French city most of us know.

The historic downtown has the comfortable character of an old Kentucky county seat with the courthouse providing a natural focal point and a tall church spire rising above the rooftops. Older buildings line the streets, reminding visitors that this is a community with a history rather than simply a stop on the way to somewhere else.

Established in 1792 and incorporated in 1837, Versailles is one of the older communities in this part of Kentucky. Yet what I noticed most wasn’t the age of the buildings but the way the town has retained its character while remaining very much a working community.

There was no need to hurry. A walk or slow drive through downtown was enough to appreciate the architecture, the streets and the details that can easily be missed when we’re focused on reaching the next attraction.

Sometimes discovering a place begins simply by stopping long enough to see it.

Woodford County Courthouse anchors historic downtown Versailles, Kentucky, continuing a tradition of public life that dates back more than two centuries. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

A town with deep Kentucky roots

The courthouse tells part of the story

The Woodford County Courthouse is hard to miss when exploring downtown Versailles. It also provides a good place to begin understanding the town’s history.

Woodford County was established in 1788, before Kentucky became a state and Versailles was selected as its county seat. The first court met in 1789 in the home of Caleb Wallace, a local judge and Presbyterian minister. As the community grew, it soon needed a courthouse of its own.

The first was about as simple as a frontier courthouse could be—a log building constructed by Jesse Graddy in 1790 at a cost of just $22.50. It was followed by a stone courthouse in the 1790s and then a brick courthouse built in 1812–13. That courthouse served the county for more than 150 years before fire destroyed it in 1965. The present courthouse was completed in 1970.

Looking at the courthouse, it is easy to see it simply as another government building. But its story says something more. For more than two centuries, this square has remained at the center of government and public life in Woodford County.

Around it, Versailles grew from a frontier community into the county seat of one of Kentucky’s most productive agricultural counties.

That connection between town and countryside remains evident today.

The Bluegrass Scenic Railroad and Museum offers a leisurely journey through the rolling hills and historic countryside of Kentucky’s Bluegrass region. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Riding the rails through Bluegrass Country

An old railroad offers a different view of Kentucky

One of the best ways to see the countryside around Versailles is from the railroad.

The Bluegrass Scenic Railroad and Museum operates from nearby Woodford County Park with excursions through the rolling landscape of Central Kentucky. The train crosses a rebuilt wooden trestle and continues toward Young’s High Bridge, built in 1889 over the Kentucky River.

For me, the appeal wasn’t simply reaching a destination. It was seeing Kentucky from a different perspective.

From the train, the rolling hills, wooded stretches and open farmland became part of the journey rather than scenery passing by the windshield. The slower pace made it easier to appreciate the landscape that defines this part of Kentucky.

Railroads once connected communities like Versailles with the wider world. Today, riding these same tracks offers something different—a chance to slow down and experience the countryside.

Sometimes, that’s reason enough to take the train.

A winding country road through Kentucky’s Bluegrass region, lined with white fences and rolling horse-farm pastures. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Into the Bluegrass

Where the countryside becomes part of the story

Leaving Versailles, the character of the landscape changes quickly. The streets and buildings give way to rolling hills, open fields, and winding country roads.

This is horse country and the farms are impossible to miss. Fences follow the contours of the land, barns sit back from the road, and horses graze in carefully maintained pastures. Many are large Thoroughbred operations, some associated with Kentucky’s horse industry for generations.

What makes the landscape so appealing is its sense of order without looking manufactured. Fences, stone walls, barns and farmhouses seem to belong naturally to the rolling terrain. The roads rise and fall through the hills, revealing another pasture or farm around the next bend.

The Bluegrass isn’t simply green grass. Its underlying limestone soils have long supported productive agriculture and helped make this region especially well suited to raising horses. That same limestone geology contributes to the water and conditions that helped make Kentucky famous for bourbon.

The horses and bourbon aren’t separate stories. Both are products of the same landscape.

Driving through Woodford County helped me appreciate that the countryside isn’t simply a backdrop to Versailles.

It is part of the story.

Woodford Reserve Distillery, where more than two centuries of Kentucky bourbon-making history meet the rolling hills of Woodford County. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

The history in the bottle

Two centuries of Kentucky bourbon history

The story of Woodford Reserve begins long before the name appeared on a bottle.

In 1812, Elijah Pepper established a distillery on the property outside Versailles. His son, Oscar, later expanded the operation and in the 1830s Dr. James C. Crow became associated with the distillery. Crow’s methods and attention to consistency helped shape practices that became important to modern bourbon.

Over the years, the property changed hands and names, eventually becoming known as Labrot & Graham. After periods of operation and closure, the historic distillery was restored and eventually became the home of Woodford Reserve.

Walking through the property today, it is easy to look beyond the modern brand and see the connection to a distilling tradition more than two centuries old.

The bourbon may bring people to Woodford Reserve but its history is what makes the place memorable.

Two bottles of Woodford Reserve bourbon, a reminder of Kentucky’s long tradition of craftsmanship and distilling. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

My first bottle of bourbon

Buying my first bourbon without tasting it

I have toured Woodford Reserve twice but my first visit came when Woodford was still a dry county.

That created an unusual situation for someone touring a bourbon distillery. I could see where bourbon was made, learn its history, and tour the facilities but I couldn’t taste the product.

I bought a bottle anyway.

It wasn’t just my first bottle of Woodford Reserve. It was my first bottle of bourbon. Buying it without ever tasting bourbon seemed like a gamble but fortunately it turned out to be a pretty good one.

When I returned for a second tour, I appreciated the experience differently. I already knew what was in the bottle but I also had a better appreciation for the historic property and its setting among the rolling hills of Woodford County.

Those two visits gave me more than an introduction to bourbon. They gave me another way to appreciate the place where Kentucky history, bourbon, and the Bluegrass landscape come together.

Historic downtown Versailles, Kentucky, where 19th-century architecture and the courthouse square remain at the heart of the community. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

More than bourbon and Bluegrass

Sometimes the best destinations are the ones that make you slow down

Exploring Versailles, I found that the town is about much more than the bourbon and Bluegrass for which this part of Kentucky is known.

It’s the historic downtown, the courthouse and church spire, the railroad that carries you into the countryside, and the rolling hills where horses graze and bourbon has been made for generations.

It’s also about what lies between those places—the roads, farms and quiet stretches of Kentucky countryside that invite you to slow down and look around.

That’s what stayed with me about Versailles. Not a destination that demands your attention but a place that rewards it.

Sometimes the places we remember longest aren’t the ones with the most attractions. They’re the ones that give us a reason to slow down, look around, and appreciate where we are.

Enjoyed this article?

Share it with friends, fellow RVers, or your social network to inspire their next adventure.

Editor’s note