I drove the Interstates early on. But then I realized I really didn’t like them and took a parallel route for an hour, until my destination required that I get back on. So sometime, while I was enjoying the company of the people I had come to see, I decided I would take secondary roads all the way home. Furthermore, to make a game of it, I would go the whole 400 miles without once looking at a map. I would rely on my compass and hunches alone.
I did let myself look at the map once. (All rules should be a bit flexible.) To my surprise, the roadside sign told me I was approaching a town I had passed through several times on my travels over the years. It was smack dab in the middle of nowhere, and I remembered that five separate highways converged there. One of them, I recalled, appeared to go east when it hung a right turn and headed south. I didn’t want that one.
I also remembered that town because just outside the village limits, on its east side, in a very broad, flat, open field stood a lone, magnificent oak tree. And now I was going to get to see it again. I was thrilled. I’m like that about a few special places. Some things stand out in my mind and make me feel big and spacious and light inside.
The oak, by the way, was still there, and as beautiful as I remembered it.
Earlier in the day, my compass led me to a place where the asphalt ended and the road turned to packed red sand, pocked with good-sized holes. But it didn’t look very long, and I thought I saw water and a sign up ahead. I decided to explore, and I ended up at the mouth of a river with an unpronounceable Native American name. It was still morning, and the air was fresh and cool. I took a few photographs then turned to walk the hundred yards or so back to where I had parked my car.
Suddenly a loud clamor came from the sky, riding the morning’s stiff wind. I looked up to see a large V of Canadian geese flying over, heading north. I grabbed a few shots as I headed toward my car. The first V was followed by another even larger one, and I could see over the distant treetops that more were coming. I was nearly to my car, watching through my camera’s lens, ready to get more pictures, when my camera’s batteries died. I raced to change them, and got one fine photo of a flock overhead. It made my morning.
You see some amazing things when you get off the main highway. You pretty much have the road to yourself, and you get close-up views of things you would never imagine if you were stampeding past in some herd. It’s not all beautiful. Parts of it are rough and demand some skilled driving. Some patches can be scary. Especially if you get caught in a storm. But whatever happens, it’s always a worthwhile adventure.
Traveling with trust in your compass and intuition is an interesting way to travel through life-in-general, I think. Get off the main highways. Take some uncharted roads. Keep your faith, and consider it all a grand adventure . . . and a priceless gift.
Warmly,
Susan