Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

I used to love to travel. I used to love to travel, despite the rolling memories of sun-soaked backseats across mile two-thousand of greater Americana, dusty U-Hauls, and new (and new...and new...) first days in unfamiliar places. Much of what I consider to be an inherent, essential, and indispensable part of my adult life has been a result of travel---an appreciation for lives and means of living very much outside my own, an intricate network of family (both real and made) scattered across the coasts, the deep South, and the Midwest, and, of course, Mama. Mama, who I met close to ten years ago, on a glowing, salt-tinged island country in the Eastern Mediterranean. Mama, who was (unknowingly) my last great adventure in travel, and who would ultimately become the final, lasting souvenir in my pursuit of home. Before we fell in love, before there were dogs to board, window boxes to tend, and, eventually, children to consider.

To be perfectly honest, the thought of traveling with Lili when she was an infant, especially via airplane, gave me emotional tremors. I remain in constant awe of families that give birth, hop a plane cross country within a few weeks time, complete with perfectly coiffed hair and pre-measured bottles of breast milk, all without inadvertently overdosing on anti-anxiety medication during Sun Country take-off. Growing up as an Army brat, cross-country moves were not accomplished via airplane, nor were military families typically flush enough to afford frequent travel. When necessary, Point A and Point B were traversed by car and, occasionally, train. At the ripe age of three, and through no fault of her own (other than by virtue of being her mother's daughter), Lili has yet to travel by air. During our most recent (car) journey to South Dakota, though, I felt a long dormant hankering for the travel. For Lili to see parts of the country that I love, parts of America that I recognize by their sweet scents and passing landscapes. The San Fransisco coastline. The shadowed mountains of the Ozarks. The gritty, never-ending horizon of the Texas panhandle.

For now, though, we start small. The Falls, courtesy of Sioux Falls, SD, our very welcoming neighbor to the (south)west.