No?
I hardly do either. But trust me--that used to be a thing. Before we lived in Colorado, we'd make the two-day trip, Jesse armed with gameboys and tapes of Star Trek (yeah, we had a portable TV in that van, NBD), and me loaded down with books and, well, books. I was kind of a nerd. Whatever.
I hardly do either. But trust me--that used to be a thing. Before we lived in Colorado, we'd make the two-day trip, Jesse armed with gameboys and tapes of Star Trek (yeah, we had a portable TV in that van, NBD), and me loaded down with books and, well, books. I was kind of a nerd. Whatever.
Well here's the thing. I liked my books. And Jesse liked his games and movies. We were happy and quiet and not really inclined to fight over a finger across the midline or whose turn it was to pick the next restaurant. There was only one restaurant, anyway. And by restaurant, I mean truck stop that also sold fried food and pies. The Mitten Cafe (although I think we added the Cafe part to class it up).
Point being, we were not hard to road trip with. We were actually pretty delightful, by any reasonable standard. And yet, my parents often saw fit to interrupt the preternatural peace with this inexplicable command: Guys. Put your [book/gameboy] down and look at this scenery!
This scenery.
Between Western Kansas and Eastern Colorado.
Folks, I firmly believe that if there is a hell, it's actually located in between these two states. That stretch of land is the most uninspiring, scenery-barren, plain old boring place I've ever been. And I've been a lot of places.
And yet, my parents found it so fascinating that year after year after year, they pulled Jesse and I from our pleasant solitude to enjoy the sprinklers, bales of hay, and big birds in dead trees. They really love the big birds in the dead trees, and have been known to pull over, turn around, or just stop in the middle of a million mile stretch of straight highway to, you know, look at the bird in the dead tree. Maybe take a picture to add to the 489 other pictures of birds in dead trees.
If you think I'm kidding, exaggerating, or remembering things incorrectly, you're wrong. This is the 100% truth, and I know it because I just relived it with my two-year-old yesterday.
For those of you who don't know, Ayana and I are temporarily living in our house in Pitkin. Although I generally prefer teaching online, I took the opportunity to do some on-campus classes at WSCU because I just couldn't say no to a fall in Pitkin.
Well...no one in my family can say no to a fall in Pitkin, so it's going to be a fun semester. No time to get lonely! Although my parents stay pretty busy photographing big birds and marveling at the piles of rock and stretches of water between here and Timbuktu, they were able to come our way this weekend for a visit.
Now me personally? I think we've got plenty of good scenery right here in town. Matter of fact, I can sit on our front porch and enjoy the panorama of snow-ribboned, craggy peaks, leaves in greens and golds and auburns, friendly faces and waving hands, and all manner of critter from a tiny hummingbird to a lumbering bear. That's about as much as I really need to be entertained.
But that's old news for mom and dad. They found an article in their Sunset Magazine (I think you get a free subscription with Medicare) about the wine country of Colorado, and set their sights on a day trip to Paonia. So on their first day of a two day visit, rather than stay in Pitkin, they loaded up me and the baby for a drive to the vineyards!
Now, I'm not going to bore you with the details of our eight hours on the road. Lord knows you don't need to go through what Ayana and I did. But can I please tell you the highlight of my day? The thing that made the entire trip worth it? Of course I can. This is my blog and you opened it. Far as I'm concerned, your boredom is on you.
So there we were, driving down a dirt road that took us in the opposite direction of Paonia, "Just to see what's down here." Eventually, the trailers and dead animals on the side of the road ceased to amaze my parents, so my dad began to look for a place to turn around.
He passed up driveways, roads, and turn outs, mile after mile. Then, we crested a rise and a flag came into view. In actual unison, both mom and dad said, "There's a flag!" And dad beelined for it as if a flag in your yard is the universal symbol for "Turn Around Here!"
All those roads and turnarounds and driveways, and they were looking for a flag. Naturally. Such are the thought processes of those who revel in the rolling wheat fields of the plains and prairies. And wear matching shirts from the town they are in.
In fairness, we had a fun lunch, sampled and bought wine at a very charming vineyard, and topped off the afternoon with delicious ice cream in gluten free waffle cones. The day was great, the company was first rate, and my daughter was arguably better dispositioned about the whole thing than I was.
Just as Pitkin was always a destination quite worth putting down our books to suffer the scenery, Paonia was worth the hours of "look at that fence" and "isn't that an interesting color of dirt?" But while I'm loathe to claim I'll never do things my parents have done, I feel pretty comfortable saying I'm never going to tell Ayana to turn off the Lion King to look at that fascinating shrubbery.
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