Survey Says

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One Saturday morning, I arrived at the parking lot and saw a sign which read Traffic Survey Ahead. When I asked my coworker what was going on, he pointed to a man wearing an  fluorescent orange vest and a large straw hat. The man had set up a car counter across the entrance to the parking lot. He was supposed to survey people after they walked the trail. My coworker was unclear on who this guy was working for, but the man had assured my coworker that the results would go all the way to Congress.

Image result for three strikes family feud

Survey says Survey Guy gets three strikes! Image from http://markgoodson.wikia.com/wiki/File:Family-feud-3-strikes.jpg

Before the lot got busy Survey Guy tried to chat with me and my coworker. After all the hours he’d spent in the library working on his master’s degree in history, he was excited to have an outdoor job for the summer, he told us. I think he was trying to impress us, but he failed miserably. I just don’t think being in grad school necessarily means a person’s smart. This guy cam across as a big, bumbling loser. He was trying too hard, and he didn’t say anything witty or intelligent or thought-provoking.

Survey Guy thought he’d have an easy day surveying the few people who came through the parking lot, enjoy the cool mountain air. He seemed really surprised when we got slammed and the lot filled with cars and the cars kept coming. No way was this guy going to be able to interview all the trail visitors who parked in the lot.

I watched Survey Guy all day, even after my coworker went home for the day. I only saw Survey Guy talk to white folks. Maybe he’s talking to other people when I can’t see him, I thought, but I doubted it when I saw him walk right past a young Latino family without even asking if they had time to answer some questions.

The next day when my coworker and I rehashed Survey Guy’s visit, I said, He only talked to white people! My coworker said he’d noticed the same thing. We agreed that only surveying white people would not give an accurate representation of the variety of tourists who actually visit the trail. We also agreed we were glad Survey Guy was gone.

Of course, he came back a few weeks later. We figured he’d gotten hot at home and wanted to spend the day in the (relatively) cool mountain air. Also, My wife’s been acting really weird! he announced, then told us he’d figured out that the next day was her birthday, I gave my coworker a knowing look. In addition to the cool mountain air theory, I’d predicted his appearance at the parking lot was related to wanting to get away from his wife on a Saturday afternoon.

Survey Guy got his folding chair and put it in between my coworker’s perch on the metal trash can and the iron ranger where my coworker sets his clipboard. Every time a car pulled into the parking lot, my coworker had to reach over Survey Guy to get the clipboard holding his day passes.

When my coworker left for the day, I moved my chair into the shade next to the iron ranger. I moved Survey Guy’s chair as far from mine as possible, which put him right next to the trash can. I didn’t even feel bad.

I told myself I wasn’t going to engage with Survey Guy. I wasn’t going to speak to him, I wasn’t going to acknowledge him. I was going to do my job and let him do his, and there would be no interaction.

However, after seeing him interview another white family, I could no longer hold my tongue. When he plopped down in his chair, I asked him, Is this just a white people survey? Because I’ve noticed you’re only talking to white people.

He told me I didn’t realize how hard he’d been working. Since he didn’t speak Hispanic, he could only survey people who spoke English. He tried to listen to Asians and Hispanics talking before he approached them. If he didn’t hear folks he perceived as non-English speakers actually speaking English, he didn’t even try to talk to them. Apparently Survey Guy did not understand that some people are bilingual.

About that time, my boss drove into the parking lot, and I had to remove my attention from Survey Guy. However, during my conversation with my boss, I looked over and saw Survey Guy interviewing a Latino family. About time! They seemed to be communicating just fine.

My shift ended, and I left the parking lot before Survey Guy.

When I arrived for my shift on Sunday, the car counter was still stretched across the parking lot’s entrance and chained to the gate. My coworker and I wondered if Survey Guy had forgotten to take the car counter with him when he’d gone home the day before or if he’d left it on purpose to pad his results since he’d arrived so late the day before.

We’re not going to see him today, I told my coworker. It’s his wife’s birthday.

I was wrong. He showed up later in the morning. He’d served his wife breakfast in bed, which seemed to have been enough of a birthday present for her. (She probably had really low expectations.)

Survey Guy packed up the car-counting equipment, but before he left, he approached my co-worker.

I cost you about $20 yesterday, he said.

Oh? my coworker said.

 

I took this photo of the iron ranger labeled "Pay Here."

I took this photo of the iron ranger labeled “Pay Here.”

I didn’t think that thing worked anymore, he said, pointing to the iron ranger, which is clearly labeled “Pay Here.”

I thought it was broken, Survey Guy said.

(Why would a broken iron ranger be left in a fee area? Why would a broken iron ranger be labeled “Pay Here”? In what way could an iron ranger be broken?)

Some people wanted to pay me, Survey Guy said. I told them I didn’t work here. Then I told them the iron ranger was broken. I didn’t realize it wasn’t broken until the other woman [the camp host at the campground next door] came over and opened it. So I probably cost you about $20.

My coworker held out his hand. You can pay me now, he said.

Unfortunately, Survey Guy took it as a joke.

I can’t stand it when people get over-involved in something that isn’t their business. All Survey Guy had to say was, I don’t work here collecting money. From there, people would have either figured it our or not. He didn’t  have to tell people anything was broken.

Survey Guy left. We haven’t seen him again. I hope it stays that way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Diesel: A Cautionary Tale

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The family of four (Mom, Dad, and two tween boys) approached me at the front of the parking lot.

Where’s the closest gas station? the man asked me.

We get this question a lot in the parking lot, so I knew the answer.

The closest gas station is twenty-five miles that way, I said, pointing. If you’re going that way, I said, pointing in the opposite direction, the closest gas station is about thirty-five miles.

I’m not going to make it thirty-five miles, the man said.

Well, you’ll have to go that way, I said, pointing again. I explained where he’d have to turn and told him about the one pump behind the community’s general store.

So they have diesel? the man asked me.

Diesel? Who’d said anything about diesel?

I suppose when the man said gas station, he’d been envisioning a full-service, multi-pump establishment with a convenience store and restrooms, where, of course, diesel would be available. I was telling him about what was actually there: one gas pump behind a little store selling ice and a few food items.

I don’t think they have diesel, I said. I think they only have regular unleaded.

Should we call Triple A? the woman asked the man. Will they even come out here?

I think Triple A will go anywhere on pavement, I told them. The nearest pay phone is about eight miles away.

The woman lifted her cell phone and showed it to me while slightly smirking, as if I were an idiot.

Most people don’t get cell service out here, I said.

Do you have a signal? the man asked her hopefully.

The woman deflated like a balloon the morning after a birthday party. I don’t know, she said.

She determined she had no signal.

What should we do? they asked each other.

I had no more information to offer. I’d told them where the nearest gas was. (Unfortunately, they didn’t need gas.)  I’d told them where to find the nearest pay phone. There was nothing more I could do.

You’re already here, I told them. It’s early in the day. You might as well walk the trail.

A truck was approaching the parking lot’s exit. The driver of the truck spoke to the main in need of diesel. The man in need explained his predicament. He asked the driver of the truck if he had a full fuel tank. He told the driver he had a siphon. The driver agreed to let the man in need siphon some diesel from his tank.

Oh thank God! the woman exclaimed, but she sounded more like someone who wanted attention than like someone who was grateful for the blessing the Lord had sent.

The man in need walked back to his truck. The driver followed in the truck with the tank full of diesel.

The woman and the kids stayed up front near me.

He’s camped next to us, the woman told me. We don’t even know him.

The woman really wanted my attention.

It’s kind of him, I said flatly. I was tired and didn’t want to chitchat.

The woman and kids crossed the road to walk the trail.

The siphoning must have gone well, because later I saw the family drive away in their truck.

They must have been city people. City people are accustomed to finding a gas station every few blocks. It’s not like that in these mountains. People around here live in communities with no gas (and/or diesel) available for purchase. The nearest gas station may be twenty-five, thirty, forty miles away.

I once read a book aimed at solo women travelers. One suggestion the book gave was to never let the fuel in one’s vehicle to go below a quarter of a tank. It’s good advice that I take to heart. I also recommend folks not take off into remote areas without knowing how much fuel they have, how far that fuel can take them, and the distance to the next place where they can buy fuel. There’s not always going to be a Good Samaritan in the parking lot or a multi-pump gas station just down the road.

 

In Praise of Truck Stops

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When it comes to boondocking in the city, I vote for truck stops!

Workers at truck stops (or travel stops or travel centers, as most of the chains now refer to themselves) are accustomed to seeing vehicles parked in their lots at all hours of the day or night. From big rigs to delivery vans to motorhomes to U-Hauls to sports cars, people park their vehicles at truck stops while they get some rest, often overnight. Delivery drivers ahead of schedule can pass some time at truck stops. Folks on cross-country moves or vacations road trips can stretch their legs at truck stops. Of course, the businesses cater to truckers who need to refuel and/or take mandatory rest breaks.

In my early days of van travel, I’d always call ahead to make sure my van would be welcome overnight at a particular truck stop. Over the course of multiple trips across the U.S.A., I was only turned down a handful of times. The attitude of the person I talked to on the phone was usually Why are you asking me this? Of course you can park here overnight!

If anyone at a truck stop figures out a person is sleeping in her van, it’s unlikely to seem strange.

Another great thing about truck stops is that they’re open 24/7. Increasingly, I find Wal-Mart stores (even the supercenters) are closed for a few hours each night. A closed store makes a nighttime bathroom emergency problematic. Also, a vehicle parked overnight might stand out if customers aren’t coming and going at all hours. No such problems at a chain truck stop, since they’re always open.

What I love about truck stops is that everything I could want or need is right there. Fuel? Check! Restrooms? Yes. Showers? You bet. Hot coffee and most other beverages? Yep. Pizza at 2am? You know it! Video games? Well, yes (if that’s your thing). A selection of gadgets to make trucker life (and maybe van life too) easier? Yes. Snacks, maps, and souvenirs? Of course.

Some TA travel centers even have motels if you want to splurge on a night out of your rig. I’ve also encountered a couple Pilot travel centers with free internet access.

Different truck stops have different amenities. I try to stick to truck stop chains. Flying J is my favorite, followed in descending order of like by Pilot (which merged with Flying J some years ago), Love’s and TA. I’ve been in some dismal truck stops that weren’t part of chains. I’ve seen filthy showers, barely stocked coolers, and one place that I’m pretty sure had no fuel to sell. My experience with chains has been a lot better, although not every location is great. And while not every location really has pizza at 2am, the bigger the truck stop, the more amenities offered around the clock.

I’ve done laundry in truck stops, and it’s been hit or miss. Not every travel center has washers and dryers, and most that do have them only have a couple (maybe three) of each. Usually the cost is a little high, and on at least one occasion at a Flying J, I’m convinced my clothes were dirtier when I pulled them out of the washer. (Read about my adventure at that Flying J here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/07/12/another-adventure-in-cleanliness/.) However, if your clothes are dirty and you’re at a truck stop with laundry facilities anyway, it can be a great convenience to be about to wash, dry, and fold in the middle of the night.

In the past, truck stops have had a bad reputation as dangerous places. However, the corporations seemed to have tried to clean up their images in the last few years. I think that’s part of the reason for the shift from “truck stop” to “travel stop” and “travel center.” If Mom and Dad and Sis and Brother feel safe stopping at these businesses, the businesses can reap the benefit of making money off average travelers too.

I’ve never once been harassed, propositioned, or hassled in a truck stop or in a truck stop parking lot. No one’s ever tried to sell me drugs (or anything else) or buy sex on truck stop property. No one’s knocked on my van or tried the handles while I’ve been parked at a truck stop. I’m not saying such things couldn’t happen, but none of them have happened yet. (Knock wood.)

Of course, I keep my guard up wherever I’m spending the night. I’m polite (but bland) if someone speaks to me, but I don’t initiate conversations in truck stops. I don’t smile, wink, or bat my eyes at men. I don’t dress provocatively. (My typical style of long hippy skirts and loose shirts doesn’t tend to make men think I’m looking for sex–either for free or for a fee.) I walk with my head up, aware of my surroundings, but I’m not out and about in the parking lot at all hours of the night. When I’m inside the truck stop (waiting for a shower or for my laundry to wash and/or dry), I keep my nose in a book (or my notebook) or look busy on my phone so I don’t invite conversation.

I’d rather spend the night in a beautiful natural setting or with friends, but if I can’t get to either of those places, a truck stop will be my next choice.

 

 

Bribery and Garbage

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It was Sunday morning, and I guess the people in the two cars that pulled into the parking lot were on their way home.

Where can we dump this? the driver of the first car asked me.

Dump what? I asked, genuinely confused.

He gestured to his back seat. I peered in through the heavily tinted back windows and saw two large, black garbage bags taking up most of the small car’s back seat.

I told the man he should have left the garbage where he’d been camping. He shrugged. Either he’d been camping at the free campground where the Forest Service doesn’t provide trash cans because they don’t want to have to haul trash away, or he’d been staying at a cabin where the rental agreement stipulated all garbage had to be removed upon departure.

The three trash cans in the parking lot are metal and are stamped “32 gallon” on the lid. (Think about Oscar the Grouch, and that’s the size of our cans.) I told the man the cans in the parking lot aren’t intended as a depository for large bags containing a weekend’s worth of garbage.

Personally, I don’t mind if people fill the cans in the parking lot with all the trash from their weekend getaway. I’d rather people put their garbage in our cans than leave it on the side of the road. My boss, however, is adamant about not paying to have extra trash removed. He doesn’t want people who’ve camped elsewhere coming into to our campgrounds to dispose of their rubbish in our trash cans or dumpsters, and he doesn’t want people dumping a whole weekend’s worth of trash in the parking lot cans. I try to follow his orders—he is the boss, after all—even when I think he’s being silly.

So I told the driver of the car he’d have to take his two large bags of trash home with him.

What if I gave you and extra $10? he asked me.

My boss wouldn’t like that very much, I told him.

What if I did it when you weren’t looking? he asked me.

Well, then you probably should dump it right before you leave and be quick, I told him. I didn’t think I was giving him permission. I thought I was telling him how to avoid having me know what he was doing if he insisted upon doing what I had told him was not ok.

He handed me a $20 bill. He wanted to pay his own parking fee and for his buddy in the car behind him. I gave him his day pass and trail guide and said I was going to get his change. He said I should keep the change. At that point, I knew nothing I could do was going to stop him from leaving the garbage.

Sure enough, soon after he drove off into the parking lot, I heard the rattling of a trash can’s lid from near the restrooms. When I looked over, the man was shoving the big sacks of trash into a can.

The fellow who picks up our garbage came by not long after the man had deposited his trash. He emptied our cans and took it all away before my boss could see the overflowing receptacles. Good timing!

I kept the man’s money, but I didn’t put it in my pocket. Instead, I put the money in my accordion file where I keep the day’s receipts and wrote out two day passes. I told the drivers of the next two cars that pulled into the parking lot that an anonymous benefactor had paid their parking fees. The drivers were excited and grateful to park for free.

The man with the trash thought he’d bribed me, but instead I used his money to be kind to strangers.

Kids Are People Too

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Do you remember the 80s TV show Kids Are People Too?

Mostly I remember the name. Other details of the program are fuzzy to me, but this is what I recalled before doing a Google search:

This is Bob McAllister, the goofy blond guy with the bad haircut I remember from the TV show Kids Are People Too. Image from  http://eddystar.proboards.com/thread/720/wonderama-1955-1977

The show played on Saturdays after the cartoons. It was not animated. There were one or more adult hosts, one of which was goofy blond guy with a bad haircut. (I may be confusing the hosts of this program with the hosts of That’s Incredible!) The show consisted of segments featuring the achievements of children.

After a Google search, this is what I learned from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kids_Are_People_Too:

Kids Are People Too is an American television series that ran on Sunday mornings from 1978 to 1982 on ABC. The series was a variety/news magazine show oriented towards kids with the intention of recognizing them as people…[1]  The series included celebrity interviews, cartoons, music, and other information that appealed to kids…[2]

Every week it would have a celebrity guest who the host would interview, occasionally a psychologist would speak about the challenges of growing up, and there would be comedy or musical routines.

The series attracted guests such as Bill Cosby, Debbie Harry, Billy Dee Williams, Cheap Trick, Patti Smith and Brooke Shields.

I think about this show (or at least its title) often in my role as a camp host.

When filling out the camping permit, there’s a box where I write in the number of people staying on the site. Each site is only meant to hold six people, but I can allow seven or eight people on a site if necessary.

When folks have made reservations, my daily arrival sheet tells me how many people to expect in the party, but that number is often inaccurate. Plans change, as do the number of people who make it to the campground.

And of course, when a group without a reservation arrives, I have no idea how many people are in it. (I’m not psychic!)

Every time I fill out a camping permit, I ask, How many people on the site?

I’m surprised when the person with whom I’m speaking says, X adults and X children.

Sometimes I bust right out with kids are people too! but I usually sigh and just think it to myself.

I know what’s going on. I know people without reservations are hoping their children will qualify for some type of discount. Unfortunately for these hopeful types, no. The camping fee is $21, whether there’s one person or six (or eight) on the site. The camping fee is $21, whether there’s one child on site or seven. (Marauding bands of unsupervised children have thus far stayed out of my campground.)

I also know there’s something bigger going on than just the desire to save money. If it were only about discounts, the people with reservations (prepaid and long past any discount window) would never differentiate between adults and children.

What’s going on is our society’s view of children as other. Adults are people and children are something else, not quite people.

I call bullshit.

I don’t have kids, and I’m not someone who would say I love kids any more than I would say I love old people. Some kids I like; some kids are asshats. Some old people I like, and some old people are asshats. I could say the same of teenagers, young adults, and the middle aged. I like people individually, not as a group, so I’m not defending children because I just love kids. I’m defending kids because they deserve to be defended.

Kids are people too. They’re not in some other category.

If you don’t quiet understand what I mean, think about how weird it would sound if I said, How many people on the site? and the answer was Two adults and two senior citizens. (In my campground, senior citizens with the proper card do get a discount, so it’s actually worthwhile for a group to declare its elderly.)

If the question asked is How many adults and how many children? by all means give two numbers. But if the question is How many people? the answer requires only one number since kids are people too.

 

Safety

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As a woman who travels alone, safety is very important to me.

Of course, most women travel alone sometimes, even if it’s a walk to the corner store or a commute to work. Safety is important to all women, so I share my ideas in hopes they will help women who live in conventional housing, as well as those who live in vans, cars, RVs, etc.

(Yes, I know safety is important to men too. However, since I am a woman, that’s the perspective I’m going to write from.)

When I’m out and about in the world alone, I’m careful about what I wear. Yes, I believe women should be able to wear whatever we want without being harassed. Unfortunately, the reality of women’s lives is that some clothing we may be comfortable in allows some men to feel justified in making rude and lewd comments to us. While I tend to dress very colorfully, I usually wear clothes that cover my body. I wear long hippie-lady skirts and loose shirts that show no cleavage. If I’m wearing a tank top in the privacy of my van, I’ll usually throw on another shirt over it before I go outside. In public, among strangers, I don’t wear booty shorts, miniskirts, or sports bras as outerwear—nothing to give anyone a notion I might be out looking for sex with strangers.

I’m also aware of the how the clothes I’m wearing might help or hinder me if running or fighting in self-defense might be necessary. (My long skirts might not be the best choice in such situations.) I don’t typically wear flip flops unless I’m on my way to the shower. Flip flops or other shoes that could easily slip off my foot could be a hindrance when running from an assailant or kicking an attacker in the knee. I usually wear closed-toe shoes fastened securely to my foot. Since heels could also slow a gal down if she needed to run, I prefer flats.

As women, we are socialized to be “nice.” In a million ways, we’re taught we must smile at men and giggle at even their stupid jokes. We’re taught we need to respond to the overtures of chitchat from strangers. Sure, many men are just trying to be friendly, but too many men think a woman alone must be out looking for a man, and our every smile and giggle is encouragement that he might be the one. I do my best not to give strangers any sort of encouragement. I don’t instigate eye contact or  smile if I don’t feel pretty confident I’m in a safe place, and I’ve almost trained myself not to giggle at stupid jokes. (I love to laugh, but only when a joke is truly funny.) I try to present myself as bland, rather than hostile. I often pretend to think a joker is serious, and I respond seriously to a supposed-to-be-funny-but-not question or comment. In any case, unless I do actually want to spend time with someone, I try not to show any interest. Out in public, I mind my own business and try to appear boring so on one thinks I’m worth paying attention to.

I typically don’t party using alcohol or other drugs, either with strangers or on my own. I’ve very sensitive to alcohol and other drugs—after one drink, I find it difficult to make wise decisions. I might party a little if I were with trusted friends, but I usually feel as if I need to be at the top of my game—alert, aware—and I don’t necessarily feel that way if I’m chemically altered. Better to be boring than out of control.

Whenever I’m spending the night in my van in a place among strangers (Wal-Mart, truck stops, public land), I don’t go traipsing around outside in the middle of the night. Once I’m in the van with the curtains closed, I’m in for the night. I have my pee bucket and supplies for a defecation emergency, so I don’t have to go anywhere in the dark. I don’t know if nighttime is actually any more dangerous than daytime, but darkness feels scarier, so I plan to stay in during the wee hours.

Another precaution I take, whether I’m traveling or staying in one place for a time is checking in often with a trusted friend. I text this friend every day when I have cell service, even if just to say good morning. When I’m traveling, I let her know where I’m spending the night. If she doesn’t hear from me and can’t reach me the next day, she’ll have an idea of where to start looking for me.  If I know I’m going to be away from cell phone service for a while, I alert her so she won’t worry when she doesn’t hear from me.

Body language is important. Although my posture is terrible, I try to remember to not to walk like an easy mark. I do my best to stand and walk with confidence: head high, back straight, no slouching.

Sometimes making eye contact with a person invites further—unwanted—interaction. Years ago in a women’s group, I learned a way to avoid eye contact without looking weak. The woman leading the group told us that looking at the ground to avoid eye contact makes a person seem—and feel—passive. She suggested we keep our head and eyes up with avoiding meeting a stranger’s gaze. When I use this technique, I feel as if I’m sliding my eyes past the eyes I’m trying to avoid. I continue to feel confident while conveying that I’m not interested in a conversation.

“Situational awareness” is a phrase tossed around a lot these days. The concept is not new and has other names, such as “paying attention” and “getting your head out of your ass.” (The latter was a favorite of my father.) Situational awareness basically means knowing what’s going on around you and doing your best to avoid sketchy/scary/dangerous situations. In order to maintain situational awareness, I avoid walking around absorbed in my phone or wearing ear buds that block out the sounds of the world around me.

An informative article on situational awareness can be found at http://www.survivethewild.net/situational-awareness/. I recommend reading this article to learn more about staying alert in order to stay safe.

Our society tells women the world is a dangerous place and we should be scared all the time. While the world can be dangerous, it’s no fun (and probably not healthy) to focus constantly on being scared. Knowing I’m taking precautions to keep myself safe helps me overcome my fears and enjoy my opportunities to travel and visit new places.

What do you do to stay safe, either while traveling or while staying in a conventional dwelling? Everyone (of  any gender) who comments on this topic between today and the next time I’m able to look at this post (Monday, October 3) will be entered in a drawing to win something made with my own little hands. Comments must be made in the comments section of this blog (not on Facebook). You may leave more than one comment, but each person who comments will be entered in the drawing only once. I reserve the right to choose the prize.

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More Necklaces

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Today I am sharing with you more of the necklaces I’ve made with my own little hands. All of these necklaces are for sale. I did the hemp work, but I did not make the pendants unless otherwise noted.

The necklace on the left is made from natural hemp and wooden beads. It is 21 inches long. It costs $11, including shipping. The middle necklaces features a goldstone bear on pink and black hemp. It is 14 inches long, and costs $11, including shipping. The necklace on the right is made from black and natural hemp. The carved bone pendant features an ankh. It is 20 inches long and costs $11, including shipping costs.

The necklace on the left is made from natural hemp and wooden beads. It is 21 inches long. It costs $10, including shipping. The middle necklaces features a goldstone bear on pink and black hemp. It is 14 inches long, and costs $10, including shipping. The necklace on the right is made from black and natural hemp. The carved bone pendant features an ankh. It is 20 inches long and costs $10, including shipping costs.

 

The 16 inch necklace on the left is made from black and green hemp and has a simple pendent I made. The stone is serpentine, which is believed to help one feel more in control of one's spiritual life and the aid meditation. It costs $16, including postage. The necklace in the middle is 20 inches long and made from black and purple hemp. The stone is amethyst, which is believed to support sobriety; guard against panic attacks; and dispels anger, rage, fear, and anxiety. It costs $18, including postage. The necklace on the right is 20 inches long and made from brown and black hemp. The pendant and the accent stones are carnelian which is believed to stimulate creativity, calm anger, promote positive life choices and remove fear of death. This necklace costs $16, including postage costs.

The 16 inch necklace on the left is made from black and green hemp and has a simple pendent I made. The stone is serpentine, which is believed to help one feel more in control of one’s spiritual life and to aid meditation. The wire is copper. The necklace costs $16, including postage. The necklace in the middle is 20 inches long and made from black and purple hemp. The stone is amethyst, which is believed to support sobriety; guard against panic attacks; and dispel anger, rage, fear, and anxiety. It costs $18, including postage. The necklace on the right is 20 inches long and made from brown and black hemp. The pendant and the accent stones are carnelian which is believed to stimulate creativity, calm anger, promote positive life choices, and remove fear of death. I turned this stone into a pendant using copper wire. This necklace costs $16, including postage costs.

 

This necklace is made from natural hemp. The frog pendant and the accent stones are made from carved bone. It is 16 inches long and costs $11, including postage.

This necklace is made from natural hemp. The frog pendant and the accent stones are made from carved bone. It is 16 inches long and costs $10, including postage.

 

I made the pendant on the necklace on the left. The hemp is purple and black. The stone is a double quartz crystal. Quartz is believed to be a powerful healer and energy amplifier that unlocks memory. This necklace is 21 inches long and costs $18, including shipping. The middle necklaces features a skull pendant carved from smoked yak bone with hematite accent beads. Hematite is believed to dissolve negativity and enhance willpower. The pink and blue hemp portion is 17 inches long. The cost, including shipping is $18. The necklace on the right features a pendant I made. The stone is rose quartz from South Dakota. Rose quartz is the stone of unconditional love and infinite peace. It is believed to encourage self-forgiveness. This necklace is 20 inches long and features pink and black hemp. The cost is $15, including shipping.

I made the pendant on the necklace on the left using copper wire. The hemp is two shades of purple. The stone is a double quartz crystal. Quartz is believed to be a powerful healer and energy amplifier that unlocks memory. This necklace is 21 inches long and costs $18, including shipping. The middle necklaces features a skull pendant carved from smoked yak bone and an hematite accent bead. Hematite is believed to dissolve negativity and enhance willpower. The pink and blue hemp portion is 17 inches long. The wire is copper. The cost of the necklace, including shipping, is $18. The necklace on the right features a pendant I made using copper wire. The stone is rose quartz from South Dakota. Rose quartz is the stone of unconditional love and infinite peace. It is believed to encourage self-forgiveness. This necklace is 20 inches long and features pink and black hemp. The cost is $15, including shipping.

 

Both of these necklaces are made from natural hemp and feature pendants I made using copper wire and white onyx stones. (I did not carve the stones or drill the holes in them. I used stones that had already been shaped and drilled to make pendants.) White onyx is believed to aid in learning lessons. It's also believed to promote vigor and give strength. The necklace with the star pendant is 18 inches long. The necklace with the moon pendant is 15 inches long. The stones on both pendant are quite large. Each necklace costs $11, including shipping.

Both of these necklaces are made from natural hemp and feature pendants I made using copper wire and white onyx stones. (I did not carve the stones or drill the holes in them. I used stones that had already been shaped and drilled to make pendants.) White onyx is believed to aid in learning lessons. It’s also believed to promote vigor and give strength. The necklace with the star pendant is 18 inches long. The necklace with the moon pendant is 15 inches long. The stones on both pendant are quite large. Each necklace costs $11, including shipping.

 

These two necklaces feature dice I drilled. The necklaces made from black hemp is 15 inches long. The necklace made from natural hemp is 20 inches long and has black and white accent beads.

These two necklaces feature dice I drilled. The necklaces made from black hemp is 15 inches long. The necklace made from natural hemp is 20 inches long and has black and white accent beads. Each die has the number 5 front and center, but it may be possible to move the die to feature another number. Each of these necklaces cost $10, including shipping. I have other drilled dice, so I could possibly do a custom order of a necklace with a die on it.

 

I took all of the photos in this post.