Wildflower Writes

Photo by  Rohit Tandon  on  Unsplash I have a painting on my wall. My son created it to accompany his Bob Ross costume last Halloween. And yes, it has happy trees. And mountains framing a waterfall. When I look at it, there’s something I’ve heard described as homesickness for places one has never been. The German word for it is “fernweh.” I’ve lived in three midwestern states. There’s always been woods to explore, but no mountains. Every time I’ve been on a trip through mountains, there’s a sense of wonder and mystery and curiosity. When I traveled to Colorado on a school trip, I climbed every rock I could. Every time I got to a peak, there was a higher peak to climb. It should have been discouraging, to never reach the top. At the time, it was amazing. I thought I had seen the whole picture, but it was just the beginning, just a limited view of the larger landscape. I used to think the goal was to “have it all together.” I believed once I had reached certain mile...

I dragged myself out of bed this morning, with a checklist in mind: fold last load of clothes, check the weather, finalize directions, get reservation confirmation, pack snacks… I’m not good with frustration, especially when I know exactly how I want something done. This morning seemed to be one frustration after another. I did figure out that if I take some meclizine before I travel, I can read in the car and not get car sick. This was a great first for me, allowing me to pore over Malcolm Gladwell’s “The Tipping Point” while my husband drove and my kids alternated between being hungry, thirsty, and bored. As I read, I had this vague notion of missing out on the landscape and landmarks we drove by, but was too engrossed in the rise and fall of Sesame Street to care. It was around Decatur, Indiana, that I had to finally put my book down. There was a restaurant that resembled a railway car. An insurance business was housed in a large white castle. An auto repair shop was painted a brill...