It’s that time of year when I come down with a case of wanderlust that keeps me dreaming of places to visit even though I have only recently returned from a lovely sojourn in Maine. I never wanted to move to foreign realms like my father did, but I like the idea of spending the summer in places that I have yet to see before I grow so old that traveling is no longer an option. I see the clock ticking and I want to pack my bag and go tarry for awhile in a new locale.

I have not yet seen all fifty states in my home country. Alaska and Hawaii are calling my name but even places like Oregon or Idaho tickle my curiosity. I’d even settle for a few days in a wooded area somewhere with hours to just sit and enjoy the scenery. Somehow summers are meant for exploring in my mind and I feel a distant call to go forth. 

The vacations that I enjoyed the most were the ones that took me to remote places where I slept on the floor of a tent and cooked my food on a propane stove under the light of a lantern that attracted all of the bugs in the area. I would hike all day and then gaze at the stars at night. When I became weary I climbed into a warm sleeping bag and listened to sounds that I never heard at home. 

I did those kind of trips when I was young and strong and sturdy with my husband and my two daughters. We climbed to the tops of mountains and trekked across streams. We told stories in the evening while munching on camp food that always tasted better than anything that we had at home. We watched a moose walk across our campsite ignoring us as though we did not exist. We heard the calls of wolves and coyotes and never feared that they might come harm us. We were more part of the world around us than at any other time. We were not Americans or members of certain groups. We were just humans surviving in the rough in tandem with nature. We would whisper as if talking out loud would somehow imbalance the humming of the universe. 

I’ve enjoyed my stays in famous cities of the world. I do like the inventiveness of humankind that is on display in such places. I feel the pulse of history all around me and somehow sense a oneness with all of the people who have come before me. I like the anonymity that such places provide me. I am just a fly on the wall observing the past and the present all at once. It is almost like play acting in an exciting roll when I dress up and experience the hospitality and customs of different towns and cities. I get to observe people and see how much we are in reality so much alike in spite of those who warn us that we are so different. 

Traveling is a glorious gift that I have been fortunate to enjoy. I think of my grandparents coming all the way from Slovakia and then settling into a tiny house in Houston, Texas and never going anywhere else again. It seems strange to have enough courage to leave as they did only to lose that sense of adventure later in life. Perhaps they simply appreciated the continuity of each day without frightening surprises like happened in the place from whence they had come. The joy of feeling safe and secure seemed to have been enough for them. 

I watch as people that I know become sidelined by illnesses or losses that bind them to the borders of their homes. When I think of them my wanderlust overwhelms me. I find myself planning the next trip even if it is only a ride to Galveston just to walk along the seawall and enjoy some of the local food. 

My mother told me over and over that I was a colicky baby. The only way that she could soothe me was to take me for a drive. She and my father began a routine of finding quiet unlit roads to calm my crying and lull me into a delightful sleep. There are still nights when I think I need someone to chauffeur me around in the dark of night until I begin to yawn and my eyelids become heavy. Somehow I never once have had insomnia on a trip. No matter where I am when I finally lay down my head I sleep like that baby in the backseat of my parent’s car.

Where shall I next go, I wonder. The mountains are calling me so perhaps I must go. I find myself thinking of the wildness of New Mexico or Utah or perhaps the serenity of an Amish town. Canada sounds quite inviting and I have never seen Quebec. Perhaps that will be my next adventure. Wherever I go, no matter how simple it may seem to be, I know that I will be overjoyed just experiencing a new place and roads that lead me to places that I have never before seen. 

Time to take out a map and put a pin in it. Wherever it lands will be wonderful.