girlonahalfshill

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.” – Mark Twain, The Innocents Abroad

As I am snuggled into our tent, listening to the patter of rain, the boys on either side of me, our travel for the day finished, there is something very cosy about our night’s accommodations.
Last night we enjoyed a solid night of sleep at my cousin’s lovely home in Fairfield, Connecticut and today we toured Mark Twain’s home in Hartford before wandering north through poorly paved back roads in Massachusetts to find our campsite. I made most of these travel arrangements so long ago that I have no recollection of my selection process for each place. How I stumbled across Fernwood Forest Campground in the minuscule town of Hinsdale, Massachusetts, I have no idea, although Twain could think up something, I’m sure.

It’s always a surprise to see what the boys connect with during our travels: the Titanic tour in Pigeon Falls, Tennessee, which I had imagined might be a waste of time and money turned out to engage all three of us, my uncle’s suggestion of the Natural History Museum in Raleigh was greatly appreciated, the tour of my cousin’s farm in Oklahoma has been remembered and I have tried my best to preserve the wheat and rye that Spencer received through every stop’s loading and unloading of the car.

And, again, as we wind through country roads, weaving alongside streams and passing meadows of wildflowers, I am struck by how exceptionally beautiful this country is. Perhaps it’s not specific to the United States. It seems that anytime we are away from development, the views have been magnificent, whether we’ve been in Alabama, Nevada, Colorado or Massachusetts. I’ve also found cities that have surprised me – Hartford’s capital building looked like a gothic castle, New Brunswick, New Jersey was so much bigger than I expected and felt shiny and new, with Rutgers University holding a starring role, Houston was more expansive than I could have ever imagined and, on the other hand, New Orleans was all that I had hoped it would be and I left highly aware that I had barely scratched the surface.

And this is the portion of the trip that people have questioned more often than anything else about our summer’s venture: we are headed back to California. In explanation, I had no desire to haul our worldly possessions behind us on a ten thousand mile trip. Our little Honda hybrid has averaged between 40 and 51 mpg and only complained when I lost focus and plowed it into a curb in Oklahoma City, popping the tires on the passenger side of the car. (Those who know me will find this pathetically typical.) But, we had destinations and people to see, both north and south. It made sense to sweep through the South first and return through the northern states. At the end of all of this travel, it is necessary to move the contents of our storage unit to Pennsylvania, at which point the boys will be spared the bulk of the relocation by staying in California and flying out when our possessions are hopefully safely sequestered in our new home.

And while our car is traveling west now, I continue to glance over my shoulder, hoping for a soft landing in August, trying to wrap my head around the new geography and keep on top of communications with the college and potential landlords.

It’s dark now and the rain has slowed, but there are strange birds making wheezy sounds nearby. I’ve never heard anything quite like them before. Meanwhile, my eldest is telling me about his plans for the story that he’s composing. The familiar and unfamiliar, mingling by lamplight.