I left cool but rainy Summit County this August to join our president, George W. Bush, at his ranch in the hot, humid 105 degree weather down in Crawford, Texas.

The thought crossed my mind as it did last year while roasting in the Texas heat - who in their sane mind would head to Crawford, Texas, for vacation in August, other than the fire ants and chiggers who have voted August their favorite month to vacation and feast as much as they can in Crawford.

So off I went from the beautiful mountains of Colorado. I spent my first night camping next to a ditch off a farm road to get myself acclimated and ready for the Western White House ditch that I assumed I would be sleeping in. The president is sometimes not very excited to see his guests even if they have traveled for days to meet and greet him.

But the people who owned the ditch-side property that I slept in did meet, greet and invite me in for breakfast and a shower. It turned out that they were excited about my journey to meet G.W. and supported my beliefs on what I wanted to discuss with the president.

They filled my water bottles with fresh well water (a non-toxic treat in today's world) and sent me off with some pears, which are still not ripe as of this date.

Finally I arrived in the fresh muggy Texas heat. I camped this pilgrimage night at a campground by a red Texas mud colored lake. That morning (really, afternoon) when I awoke, the caretakers of the campground refused to let me pay for the campsite and convinced me that I would not be attacked if I went swimming in the red murky lake. (I have been scared of being attacked by snakes ever since I heard a story of a guy water skiing in Texas and hitting a bush full of anacondas. He immediately died. I do not know if the story is true, but it scared me nonetheless.) I suppose a pilgrimage should be filled with challenges.

Finally I arrived in the even hotter Crawford, Texas. Apparently, no one had told the president of my visit because he was not there. The poor man had cut his five-week vacation to only ten days. You see I was not the only person to make this trip and I guess we scared him off. Other pilgrims, disappointed that they had missed the president decided to go and visit Karl Rove (Bush's brain) to see other greatness or felons, depending on how you see it. While on their side trip, they asked that Karl Rove be able to have his day in court to - at the very least - have the opportunity to clear his soiled name or be found guilty, but instead one of the requesters was arrested. Mistakes always happen and anyway I missed this field trip.

The ditch that I camped in on the last year's pilgrimage was no longer a place where anyone could gather, due to a new county ordinance making it illegal to park, stand or stop a car and also illegal to pitch a tent in a ditch anywhere in the county. People have decided to contest that ordinance as unconstitutional. So instead of a ditch, I camped at Camp Casey 3. This is a five-acre property that Cindy Sheehan purchased in Crawford. As I pulled into the camp, in front of me were hundreds of white, beige and black crosses. There were around 50 black crosses to represent the soldiers who had died while Bush was on vacation.

The next thing that I saw was a heart-shaped garden of roses and other pink flowers. In front of the garden lay a pile of little baby, toddler and children's shoes. A sign placed over the shoes at a later date read, "These shoes represent just a few of the thousands of children killed in Iraq."

Past the garden, a large tent (shaped like a small Denver International Airport main terminal) was set up for people to meet under, providing shelter from the hot sun. At the front of the tent, was a stage decorated with pictures of people's children who had died while fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan. The area behind the tent was filled with smaller tents that people pitched to sleep in. (Getting in the tent before 11 p.m. was nearly unbearable, due to the heat and humidity that collecting inside the tent during the day.)

That night I listened to a few stories of how the war had personally touched people's lives.

The next day, after a refreshingly hot night's sleep, I met Carlos and his wife - their son had been killed in Iraq. Carlos, when he learned of his son's death, was so devastated that when the military who had informed him that his son was dead refused to leave his house, he set the military van - and accidentally, himself - on fire. Now, he's dedicated his life to sharing his son's story. He travels around the country with a flag-draped coffin and inside of the coffin he keeps his son's stuffed animals to show the human-ness and innocence of his son. (This administration has forbidden the media from showing any flag-draped coffins or wounded soldiers returning from Iraq, so he travels with his own.) He has brought his coffin to both the Senate and the House to show the price of this war. And in spite of his personal loss, the military is still trying to actively recruit his only other child, Brian. Brian has been torn up by the loss of his brother and is becoming more and more distant.

Then, a few days later, I met Juan, whose son was killed in Afghanistan. Just a few days before he was killed, he called his father saying that he was scared because he had learned things that deeply disturbed him. A few days later he was shot in the shower by "friendly fire."

I attended a workshop at Camp Casey called "Listening to Soldiers." But what touched me the most was when Jeff, who was leading the workshop, told this story. He started by saying, "I hate when people say, 'Thank you for your service'." He was in the airport in his military uniform, having just returned from Iraq and this lady anxiously ran up to him. "Thank you for everything that you have done," she said. Jeff thought to himself, "But I have just killed so many innocent women and children. That is what I have done. She has no idea."

I then saw Cindy Sheehan, who has still received no answer to the question, "What is the noble cause that my son died for?"

I wanted to stand up against all of the injustice and immorality of this war, so a group of us went to the road outside of Bush's ranch holding Burma-Shave type signs. "The war is wrong, that's for certain, all for the love, of Halliburton, Bush-Behave." The Secret Service got to view the signs; the president, being absent, did not.

A few days later we decided to do another action, deciding that maybe we should try on Bush's and his friend's shoes for size we became the Billionaires for Bush. (Billionaires for Bush started as "Billionaires for Bush or Gore" during the 2000 election to highlight that both Bush and Gore had been both received major corporate donations. Frequently, the same companies donated large amounts to both parties.) So with all of the money we pretended to have access to, we also tried to buy some legislation. After all, everybody else does, so we thought we should as well. We lobbied for a made up house bill H.R. 666. This bill would allow us billionaires along with CEOs of the bigger corporations to be exempt from ever being prosecuted for any illegal action, ever. This is because it would make any illegal action we could possibly perform, legal. But no matter how much we tried to buy people with our fake money, no one would pass our bill. Probably because we only had access to pay off the other people gathered in Camp Casey, who played billionaires for Bush protestors. We even made them signs that they could hold up to protest us. (The thought did cross my mind after that that maybe we should make and give the actual pro-war protestors their signs that they will hold up to protest us as our act of peace.) We also did this in front of Bush's ranch and, once again, most of the Secret Service seemed to enjoy our antics, but Bush was nowhere to be found.

The next day, Mark Wilkerson, who had been absent without leave from the military for nineteen months, came to Camp Casey to speak with the press before turning himself in to Fort Hood. He had already served one tour in Iraq and after being there, he felt that he could not be a part of the war in good conscience, so he applied for a conscientious objector status, but it was denied. He wanted to appeal the decision but was told that the appeal would not be considered until after he returned from his second tour. So believing that this was an immoral and illegal war, he went AWOL rather than returning to Iraq, rather than being part of something he believed to be so terribly wrong.

The last night of Camp Casey, everyone gathered to hear the stories of Iraqi veterans, Gold Star Families Against the War (meaning that someone in their family was killed in the war) and Military Families Speak Out, and how the war has personally affected them.

The story that I remember most, was told by this one veteran. He was in Fallujah and they were taking tons of enemy fire. There was one apartment complex whose entrance was also under fire, so he gave the order to blow a hole into the wall so that his men could move in. When he entered the building he saw a women soaked in tears with her children lying dead beside her. He realized that his orders had killed her children. He broke down crying and as his troops moved into the building, a corpsman stayed behind to help him get it together. He could not stop crying, realizing what he had just done. The mother, whose children had just been killed walked over to him and put her hand on his cheek and said in Arabic "(It is) God's will." He said that we have to understand that the people over there are so very deeply religious, so she really felt that it was God's will. But he knew that it was not God's will, it was because of his orders that her children were now dead.

Another vet said that although he had gone over to Iraq to help bring freedom to the Iraqi people, after being there it seemed more like he was part of a genocide of the Iraqi people.

The night came to a close and soon it was time for me to return to the cool, crisp, fresh mountain air. Although the president never did met with me, I will always be grateful for the amazing people that I did meet. And maybe someday, I will get to meet the president and tell him their stories. Though the possibility of me meeting with the president is probably pretty slim.



Amy Marschak is a free lance journalist who works part time as a Keystone Ski School instructor.