Yet There is Method

My wife and I oftentimes say that the best part of any trip is coming home.  There’s just something about walking through the door after a trip–we love it.

I did just that a few hours ago, wrapping up a trip to visit my parents in Ohio.  It was a tough trip, as I drove through rain more than half of the 450 miles.  Yuck.

Sometimes I think about the differences between coming and going.

On the trip up, the car is packed neatly and everything has a place.  On the trip home, everything is in the car…somewhere.  (Except for coming back home after Christmas.  Um, Mom, how am I going to get that in the car?)

On the trip up, I’m fresh and ready for a road trip.  On the trip home, I’m tired from all of the interaction (as good as it is!) and a strange bed.  Although, I have to admit, my folks’ guest bed is extremely comfortable.  Unfortunately, it’s a double bed and I’m 6’4″ tall.  I sleep diagonally.

On the trip up, conversation is usually plentiful.  On the trip home, there’s a lot of music and thinking time.

Our (it won’t be tax season, so my wife the tax preparer can go) next trip should be in the early summer, and I can’t wait to see everyone again.

Maybe we could fly home.

Nature, sometimes, confuses me.  I don’t understand, but I guess that’s okay.

During my spring break travel time here in Ohio, I went shopping with my mom.  As we were out and about, we found ourselves in a strip mall shopping area.  Asphalt and concrete as far as the eye could see (which, honestly, wasn’t that far given the density of the buildings).

Right there in the parking lot, settled beneath a tree in the middle of 24 square feet of dirt that was once covered with mulch, sat a nesting Canada goose, with the mate standing guard just a few feet away, its feet standing on the curb.

Nature, sometimes, confuses me.  I don’t understand, but I guess that’s okay.

As I’m getting older, it seems like the only time I find myself in a bar, I’m with my mom.

Honestly, I’m not sure how she’s going to handle reading that line.

Perhaps I should clarify.  I’m currently up from Alabama visiting my family in Ohio.  It’s a trip I try to make around three or four times a year–usually my trips coincide with a school break.  When I’m here, either by myself or with my wife, we usually make at least one trip out to dinner at a favorite place in the small town where I was raised, Union.

Union, a suburb of a suburb of Dayton, is getting bigger; when I lived there the town didn’t have a single stop light.  If I’m not mistaken, it’s now up to two.  When I lived there, it didn’t have the Toll House Tavern, either.

The Toll House, situated near the historical location of a toll station on State Route 48, is now a fixture in this small town.  The Toll House can be a lot of things, depending on what you’re looking for.  We enjoy it as a restaurant with locally-famous broasted chicken, but if you’re looking for trivia on Wednesday nights, a place to meet with friends, or just a great place to tip a cold one (whatever your pleasure), it’s great for that, too.

It’s got the juke box, the neon signs that seem to have been there forever, the pine lap-joint paneling, and, of course, a long classic bar with an array of taps and bottles on display.  A dart board, and at least one framed malt beverage poster with puppies.  Dark wood beams and a few stained-glass windows round out the decor.  Depending on the night, it’s quiet (like this evening, a Monday) or it’s loud and boisterous.  If you’re a regular, you know the other regulars, and if you’re not, you feel comfortable as well.  Indeed, it could be that place where everyone knows your name.

I’ll be back in a few months, and I’m already looking forward to dinner with the family.  Maybe, just maybe, we’ll be back tomorrow night.

Walking, duffle bag in hand, across the rain-soaked driveway in the pre-dawn darkness, looking up surprised to see stars instead of clouds.

Stopping 15 minutes down the road because I didn’t have to go at home.

Crossing the Tennessee State Line enveloped in fog, the windshield wipers clearing the accumulating mist.

Driving past the Shady Lawn Rest Center, confused about, well, the lack of trees on the grass in the front of the building.

Feeling better about my own drive as I pass the guy with the Wisconsin license plates.

Smiling as I around the curve and see the Nashville Skyline. Even though my daughters are now in their late twenties, I still think of the most prominent building as the Bat Tower.

Crossing the Kentucky State Line, singing along with the Allman Brothers. “Ramblin Man.” What a coincidence.

Rolling the dice and deciding not to take the bypass around Louisville.  Good call! That’s not always the case.

Crossing the last state line for the day as the Ohio River rolls on below the bridge.

Hugs to end the trip!

 

This morning I led an environmental education program for a group of adults with intellectual disabilities.  I’m going to write a longer post about it later, but I wanted to share the outline today:

• Start with introducing the Land Trust property where the event was held
• Conduct an audience-participation bird song activity
• Teach about the geography of Alabama and how it affects the biodiversity of the land
• Talk about the mammals, marsupials, birds, reptiles, and amphibians of the area
• Discuss the importance of the Oxford comma.  Not really, but the last bullet necessitated the inclusion of this bullet
• Finish with a raptor presentation starring Sassy the red-tailed hawk

In a word, it was a blast.  More to follow!

My dog took me for a walk today.

Normally, in keeping with comic strip conventions, when I read a sentence like that I imagine a huge hound dragging a small person.  My dog, however, is a relatively small dog (sort of a minpin/dachshund mix kind of mutt), and I’m a relatively large person.

Now, by Friday afternoon, I’m usually ready to get home, grab a book or tablet, and sit in a chair for the 14 seconds it takes me to put said book or tablet down and take a nap.  Hey, it’s Friday, and I’m a teacher.  Tomorrow, though, I’m part of a team leading an educational outing at one of the Land Trust properties in my area.  I knew I needed to walk the property to avoid any surprises tomorrow morning.

But it’s Friday.

“I know the property,” I told myself.

“What if vandals stole the picnic tables?” I answered myself (I’ve got a deep pessimistic streak, sometimes).  “What if the pavilion is covered in mud from the recent rains?”  “What if one of the garbage cans overflowed and there’s trash everywhere?”  “What if…”

But it’s Friday.

Then, though, my dog told me I needed to.  Furthermore, I needed to take her.  Those eyes, darn it…

The walk was nice, despite a gentle drizzle (I’m hoping for good weather tomorrow), and the property looked great.  The Land Trust of North Alabama has a fantastic Land Steward (Brandon and team, you rock!) and it was clear that things had been recently spruced up.

Thanks, Maggie, I appreciate the encouragement.

Whatever you do, please don’t tell my wife what I found out today.

I was talking to a co-worker about buying a book I’d recently heard of, and she wondered if they might not have it at the library.

Did you know you don’t actually have to buy books to read them?  It’s not necessary to have stacks of books lying around your house, waiting for you to build a new book shelf?  Who knew that you could read them without needing an Amazon account or taking a trip to Barnes and Noble!?  

There’s this place called a…   “Library.”  Whoa.

Now that I think about it, though, maybe it’s okay if my wife knows.  Her book habit is as bad as mine!