The Journey

Bouncing along in the cab of a 26 foot U-Haul somewhere in Ohio, I wonder, not for the first time, if we’ll ever get there.  We are accustomed to quick and easy. This journey is neither, relatively speaking.  Just when you think you’re coming to the end of Illinois, there’s more Illinois.  When you can’t bear to see another corn field, there is a slight (very slight) variation (World’s Largest Wind Chimes) followed by more cornfields.

But then I think of the early travelers to Oklahoma and I feel a rush of gratitude for this bouncing cab and air-conditioned comfort.

The first of many land runs to Oklahoma was in 1889 when thousands hoped to stake a claim on a little piece of this earth. But long before that people were crossing the country looking for something different, something better, something good. They came to stay or to pass through, but those early pioneers made a commitment when they set out in their covered wagons.

These were not built for comfort.  No engineers studied the design and extrapolated weight times length of journey divided by conditions of the road.  Purely utilitarian, they were the RVs of their day, carrying the food, medicine and clothing they would need for the journey, while providing dubious shelter from all kinds of weather extremes.

People mostly walked along beside these covered wagons because of the said comfort level.  There were no hotels to check into at night when they were exhausted; no restaurants where they could order a scrumptious hot meal; no protection from the dangers of the road other than their own quick wits, quick draw or God’s mercy. Those dangers could include wild animals, accidents, breakdowns, illness, other people, weather, and losses that led to starvation and death. 

None of these things really cross my mind as we set out from Maine with all the food, medicine and clothing we need for our journey, and to set up housekeeping in a new and different place. I have no fear of attacks from wild animals or wild people. I doubt  we’ll have an accident, and if we suffer a breakdown we ‘re covered.  Protected from the weather, with our box packed with bread, peanut butter and Doritos it is doubtful we will starve.

But as we are making our way across New England, to Niagara Falls, then down along Lake Erie, through Ohio, Illinois, Indiana, Missouri, reality is getting closer and more…well, real.  Like those who came for a little bit of something to call their own, we are here with a settled purpose.  In this economy, in dire circumstances, you do things you never thought you’d do.  I’m not talking about a life spiraling down into prostitution, or exchanging secrets with foreign governments (although I might have to tell the Governor of Maine about fried pie) but we have pulled up roots again to make a new life in a place far,far away called Oklahoma. Will we be okay?

Nearing the end of our journey, I realize something. Every town, every home - whether on the banks of a swiftly moving river, or perched on the edge of a mountain; whether nestled in amongst the trees of a forest or standing alone in the middle of a vast prairie – is someone’s destination.  Someone can’t wait to get there, and there’s a reason for that.  Our destination is home to so many that love it. I wonder, double-minded person that I am, if I can too.

As we pull into the parking lot to empty our truck, under heat that might dissolve us Northerners, a crew of people meets us.  We are not alone in this daunting, sweaty, exhausting task.  And before we begin, one lady gives me a hug, calls me “Sweetie” and turns to heft my writing desk.  I swallow hard, blink back tears and think to myself, “We’ll be okay in OK.”