Every Road Leads Somewhere

When I was about seven or eight (still living in southern California) my mom and I loaded up the car with a couple suitcases, a stash of blankets and pillows, a big cooler full of goodies, and the Chihuahua and started out in the wee hours of the morning on our first trip back to the place that in a few years we would once again call home. It was a road trip of over one thousand miles of mind numbing freeway and I had control of the map. Not too much of a challenge given just how far I-5 can take you.

I had the back seat to myself, given my age and the fact that the dog had apparently called shotgun before I even had a chance. I slept until daylight and woke up in a different world.

Stimulated less the thoroughly by coloring books (never a good idea in a moving vehicle) and travel games (that are always less fun as an only child) I found myself staring out the window at the passing world. Fields and fields, miles and miles of one crop after another. Pasture after pasture of grazing cows.

I slept a lot, how could I not with so many miles passing below our tires. When the mountains neared, it was easy to see the road disappear into them. It was daunting and exciting at the same time as the green and tan pastures were left behind for rock and shadows.

With my mom in control of the radio, the vocals of Michael Bolton and Phil Collins became etched into my brain. Headphones and Raffi on tape were not enough to drown out a not so favorable rendition of "When A Man Loves a Woman.

As the higher peaks of road fell behind, I finally saw that first glimpse of true green that my mom spoke so fondly of. The palm trees were left far behind for evergreens with lakes and creeks running wild instead of so carefully controlled by the confines of cement that I was so used to. The grass was green, untorched by the summer sun. Flowers were everywhere, not just in well plotted boxes down the center of the street.

Oregon was much different the California I knew. (I was very sheltered, very.) There was a moment of realization when we crossed state lines. I remembered the maps from school and I had all but memorized the road map in my hands. We were a long way from home.

We stopped every so often, if nothing else then for a happy meal and a bathroom break. I was antsy of course, it's a long time for any child to be cooped up let alone a Chihuahua. The air smelled different the further north we went, cleaner maybe. I was ready to be there, my mom was ready to be done driving, but we still had a ways to go.

The day started to fall away for the early signs of dusk and my mom told me to check the map, we would need to start looking for our exit. My duties as navigator finally kicked in. She had taken me through the route before, I knew what to look for and my excitement could hardly be contained by that little SUV when I saw it. The sun fell behind the hills as we pulled off the freeway into this town that looked so completely different from the place I knew as home. Every house had a yard, some even with horses. Trees, real full green trees lined nearly every road and sidewalks fell away to rural paths. Everything was older here. Every tree, every house, every car.

We pulled into a gravel driveway (another novelty) belonging to a long time friend of my mom's and after seventeen hours on the road she turned the key and the car finally came to rest.

We were there. Back in the very town I was born in and spent the first few months of my life in. I didn't remember it of course, but my born and bred Californian mom was oddly enough home again.

"You can see the seasons here."

I was convinced.