On the days between either loading or delivering boats, when we are just meandering down the road, it feels like we are on an adventure. Like when you were five years old and got it into your head that you would runaway. Determined, you take off from the safe boundary of your fenced backyard and come to your first intersection. You know you're not allowed to cross the street alone, so you regretfully retrace your steps back to the safety of your yard. Or, spending all day out in a vacant field behind your house, building a fort into the dirt, where with your friends, you played Batman and Robin until your Mother called you home for dinner. My days are much like that, sitting in my passenger seat. My mind is free to imagine we are on adventures of our own, without the voices in my head or my Mother calling me back home.
The Columbia River at sunrise, I'm exploring the region with Lewis and Clark. The foothills of South Dakota, I imagine I'm in a covered wagon as I look for a place to homestead and call my own. Past the open fields of the Midwest, where I ride a big John Deere tractor tending to my crop. Even though we might have traveled these very roads weeks before, my views change as I let my mind and imagination take me wherever they want to go. The open road is my empty canvas and I can paint it anyway I choose. Yet, it feels as if I run away from home everyday. I've realized, that these days, home is wherever I lay my head at night, and waking up every morning, is always a new adventure.
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