Go on, Go

We are in Sugarcreek, Ohio, population 2,200. We are pretty much in the middle of a cornfield. Well, there are rows of corn on three sides of the road that winds into the tiny campground where are parked. The closest structure I can see is two towering grain silos on the horizon. Very few power poles dot the landscape as we are in Amish country. Sugarcreek is called the little Switzerland of Ohio, but names on farms and storefronts hint there are quite a few Deutschlanders here, too

We made the 14-hour drive across three states to attend a rally of teardrop camper trailers. These modern versions of the vintage style are made by Nucamp, a company down the road, past the silos. The campground is fence to fence with these small t@bs and t@gs, all part of the tiny trailer family. Our “Joshua” was constructed here. This camp is for the “newbies” that want to learn how to operate their homes for the open road. There are all ages here and from all walks of life. 

I’ve learned so much more than how to get my trailer level or how to store the black water hose. Here’s a few of the wise words that have been passed my way. 

Sharon from Tennessee planned on taking to the road with her husband. They made three trips and the big “C” took him. Her children said “Go mom.” And she is. She is checking off her list and making it happen. She is surrounded by like minded people who help and share ideas.

There is an interesting couple that are from Dearborn, Michigan where the Henry Ford museum is located. He commented that he had a friend come to town and was delighted to visit the Ford landmarks. My new friend said, “Wanna guess how many times I’ve been? Zero, ‘cuz it’s there, and I could go any time.” I think we all are guilty of that. 

I met the nice couple who slowly rolled into trailer camping. Trip one was in their garage. Trip two was in a state park 10 miles from their house. His face lit up when he bragged how nice the park was! Sure, they made a few runs home for forgotten items. Sure, they were close enough to hit a few of their favorite restaurants for meals. But they discovered something new by looking at their area through a tourist’s eyes. 

A cute couple from Wisconsin said when they drove in with their small camper their three teenage sons wondered what the plan was, as in, what about us? They laughed and hinted that was kinda the idea. They were looking forward to some escapes without the whole family in tow. She said sometimes she gets in her trailer at home and her boys roll their eyes and say “Mom’s in the trailer!” There is a reason the “She Sheds” are popular, because sometimes moms need to hide. Sometimes hideouts are in the backyard, sometimes they are a tanning bed or a salon appointment. Ours is teardrop shaped. 

An 80-year-old retired engineer gave up sleeping on the ground in a tent and pulls his trailer with a vintage Lincoln Town Car. He is crossing the country, wondering if he should sell his house or sell his camper. He is headed south after the rally with his t@g. I think his house is north.

Our neighbor lady is traveling with her large dog because her husband doesn’t want to go. Her tiny abode is decorated for her tastes and she remarks that many of her friends are content to never see more of the world. We both sigh. 

These confessions of fellow travelers, of fellow adventurers are good reminders about making things happen. There is a big world out there, if you want to see more of it, go.  It doesn’t always have to be far or costly to be fun and interesting.

You’ve just got to do it. Go.

Making a Contact

Do you ever get a random text message that you don’t recognize the number or understand the message? I usually reply, “You may have the wrong number,” and hope they connect with whomever. Yesterday, this message showed up to me. “We are having a service at 2 pm graveside at Woodlawn cemetery, this Friday.” I considered the number and sent my ‘who is this, wrong number response’. The reply came, “Do you know Terry Flick? You were in his contacts.”

If you could only see the contacts I have in my mobile phone. I have more bus driver’s and skycap’s phone numbers than relatives in there. Being in the group travel business for nearly 25 years, I’ve met a lot of wonderful folks in the industry, and I love being able to call them personally and ask for their service. Such was the case with Terry Flick. Terry worked at the Tulsa Airport for Latico® as a skycap. He was one of the first people you would see. He worked outside at the curb checking folks and their luggage onto their flights. When he saw our motorcoach arriving, he quickly grabbed a luggage cart to help us get our bags into the counter. He always remembered my name. 

He was kind and professional and always had a nice smile as he wished us a great trip. He would take care of all the baggage and say goodbye. I always kept his number in my phone and even when he wasn’t going to be at work, Terry would arrange for someone to help us. I would give him my business card with our return flight and he would stick it in his pocket so I would have help.  I could count on Terry.

The Tulsa airport allowed a second company to come in to assist travelers. I put more names in my contacts and it seemed that I was adding and deleting on a regular basis. But Terry stayed in there and he could advise me on whom I needed to contact as things changed as the airport grew.

A couple of years ago, I learned that Terry was going to retire. I hugged him at curbside, wished him well and I selfishly thought, “Oh, no, I’ll never get another one trained! Who will help us now?!” I really did miss him and how professional he was.

 It wasn’t too long ago, I was cleaning up my contacts and I deleted his phone number from my phone. I wondered what he might be doing. I had no idea if he had a wife or family, and I quickly talked myself out of the call to avoid any awkward situations

I wish I had called. The person going through Terry’s contacts was a hospice worker that had been with him in his final days as he lost the battle with cancer. He had no wife or children. Maybe he had tons of other family and friends, but I was still in his contact list.  I wish I had called just to say hello and that he’d made my job easier for many years. I could count on Terry.

I missed the chance to say goodbye as he prepared for his journey

There’s Pride in Every American Heart

While northeastern Oklahoma was firing up for the July fourth festivities, the Good to Go gang was headed west. We have been looking forward to cruising the Columbia and Snake Rivers aboard the American Empress paddle wheeler for about a year. Our flights set us down in Boise, Idaho before our final destination of Spokane, Washington.  We had a lovely overnight stay at The Historic Davenport Hotel. The ballroom was dripping in elegance of mirrors and molded plaster designs. The public areas bubbled with fountains and offered overstuffed furniture for sipping something that called for a tiny glass.  Our rooms were furnished with heavy carved oak furniture from times before TV’s were nailed down and cups were in plastic sleeves. A stroll around the city gave us a glimpse into the lives of the residents with hiking trails and public art appearing to be priorities. 
 

We joined our boat in Clarkston, Idaho which shares the river with Lewiston, Washington. We traveled by motor coach for about two hours through some of the most beautiful farm land I have ever seen. Remember that I’m a farmer’s daughter, and I take pride that I “know split beans from coffee” (one of my mother’s favorite expressions). I associated the state of Washington with apples and cherries, but a little Googling told me that Washington ranks up there in the production of wheat, potatoes, and blueberries. These farms spread over acres and acres of rolling hills planted in wheat and grain crops, not at all like the flat farms of Kansas and the heartland that we are accustomed to seeing. While an occasional stand of trees tipped us off there was a farmhouse in the shade, we drove miles without seeing fences. Growing crops on hilly ground means working the soil with the contours of the field. Level ground gives the tractor the advantage of plowing straight rows and planting a giant, orderly garden.  Here, farmers made decisions on exactly where the fields were based on the curves and inclines of the earth.

Different crops were planted side by side but looked more like groomed golf courses. Plowed ground was prepared so perfectly, it reminded me of combed hair or a cake frosted with a serrated knife. Low gullies were left fallow, a contrast to the bright green winter wheat. But many times when I peeked out the window of our airplane and saw the patchwork of agriculture, those fields of green looked like a quilt. And the curvy, circular stands remind me of an artist’s paint, squirted out on a huge palette. Colors pool and puddle and share the same space without mixing. And the artist’s favorite hue is earth tones. 

The wind was blowing and that line from our state song came to mind, “....and the waving wheat can sure smell sweet, when the wind comes right behind the rain!” If you’ve ever been lucky enough to hear the rustle of nearly ripe wheat as the wind parts the foliage, and know the fragrance that isn’t like grass or corn or house plants, it’s wheat, you understand. The farms were immaculate. There was no trash along the roads, no rusting machinery, no outdated campaign signs, just “art” that will feed folks. It was beautiful. It was so much more than seeds in the ground.

Pride. That’s what I saw.

Quoting that line from the great patriotic Lee Greenwood song “There’s pride in every American heart.” Hope you all had a great and safe Independence Day celebration!