Some days it is no farther than from the back yard to see the moon, to the front to see the sunset. Somedays, it is in the truck. I really like to go by plane...... a bus is okay, if it is my only choice, I will go. I will go on foot and now, of course, I have the bike. I do not travel real well by train or boat, but no problem, I will still go.
I always have maps of different places hidden among our books and journals, and I am always secretly planning our next trip, even if it is to the market.
Currently I am planning a big Mexico trip for us around January. But I can't divulge anything because I have not told Senor we are even going.
I just like to go. My mother told me my grandmother was like that. She would get on the city bus in Hot Springs just to go somewhere.
My parents are like that as well. When we kids were growing up, my parents introduced us to long, lazy days of summer travel.
They were both teachers and back then, summer vacations could go from May to September. We would spend days loading the VW bus with food, clothes, and most importantly, as many guitars as we could fit in among ourselves, and then, in the dark of the morning, the six of us would load in and go.
Favorite destinations for my siblings and I were Galveston, Destin, Myrtle Beach, the ocean and the beach scene. Each campsite we blazed a fire regardless of the weather, pulled out the guitars and sang into the night.
As we got older, our father, being a history professor, set his sights on every battlefield we could find in a summer, every historical point on the highway needed to be read, and while we traveled he would have us learn the names of all the presidents, in order, and would give us 'question boxes' to answer about what we had seen that day.
Then, came the monumental sights of Pennsylvania and the east. Eventually, we included the exciting scenes of New York City, climbing the Empire State Building, walking through the musical sounds of Greenwich Village.
And then, one summer we began to explore the mountainous terrain of Colorado, camping in Durango, Cripple Creek, Silverton, Colorado Springs......
You know, I cannot begin to tell you what fantastic, rewarding and exciting summers my sister and two brothers and I had. They were dream vacations and our family was, and still is, very close. When there are six of you traveling in a VW bus (not the pop up model) for up to four months, well, you have no choice but to be close. You just can't get mad at your little brother who wants to string up the hammock and sway in it, over your head, while you are laying on the vinyl covered pull out bed trying to read a magazine. We went with the flow.
These adventures just made us even closer.
But see, this caused me to be on the go. I absolutely love to be on the go. Senor likes to remind me that once on the beautiful island of St. Croix, I began telling him where we were going to go next. I deny that. I don't remember it, but ahh, he is probably telling the truth.
Around thirty years ago, my parents sold their home and set off across the country in an old airstream trailer. They went everywhere and often, wherever any of the four of us grown children lived might be included in the traveling at some point.
They have since given up the airstream and settled again in a home in their favorite state of Texas. But, they still go.
They continue to travel, to load the car, leave as early as possible and if the road looks good to the right, that's where they go. If it looks good to the left, they might go there. They still set up the tent and still light the fire. I imagine my dad still might have his old KAY guitar, or maybe a different one now.
I grew up listening to my dad singing the old tunes of Guthrie, Seeger, and Cash, Waylon and Willie, Patsy and Loretta. I also grew up listening to my mother's hands flying across the piano keys, her favorites being Bach and Beethoven.
My father is also a very talented wood carver. And my mother, a very accomplished watercolorist. They are both very talented musicians and artists.
As I write this, my parents are traveling to Minnesota and Wisconsin, where my mother will sketch and paint and my father will sell over eight-hundred of his hand carved cedar loons.
Each year, for about ten years, they have been making this trip north. He carves throughout the winter and in the summer they add the loons to the rest of the gear in the car and travel north and sell them. Sometimes he has orders for them, other times he doesn't.
He will almost always sell them all.
But if you happen to be in a campground somewhere between Texas and the north woods of Minnesota, look for the man selling the hand carved cedar loons. He will probably just give you one that he will be carrying in his pocket.