Hmmm…my head is full of trivia about shelters and distances and water-sources. My mouth aches from grinding my teeth in my sleep. The gear closet is mostly emptied. And the chaotic mountain of hiking “stuff” has been organized and contained in two simple backpacks.
It Must Be TIME! Time to head back to the woods. Time to get one more extended-release dose of nature before winter hits. Time to explore another piece of the Appalachian Trail.
We looked over our gear list. We set aside warm-weather clothes. We gathered a variety of layers for staying at the right temperature as we hike. (Goal: put layers on and off as needed to limit sweaty clothes. This helps us stay warm when we stop for a break or for the night.) We put together a cozy outfit for cold nights in camp. (By now, it is approaching freezing temperatures at night in the mountains down south.)
We went on a shopping expedition to the grocery store to fill our packs with 6 days of food. We like the foods we have tested on previous trips, so the shopping is quick and easy. Grab this, snatch that, pay the bill, out the door. But then the big job begins… repackaging this big pile…
…into two food bags. (Daughter carries breakfast and dinner, I carry lunch and snacks.) Heavy bags right now, but lighter each day as we devour more and more of the supplies.
This will be a short trip—just 6 days of hiking. We are wimps who prefer to avoid cold, rainy days. We even pushed back our departure so we will be driving on this gray, wet day instead of backpacking in the pouring rain.
See you in a week! It IS time! We are headed to the woods!
In case you haven’t noticed, I am a Wanderer. Sometimes I can fake “normal” and stay in one place for months at a time. But then the compulsion hits and off I go. Even a houseful of kids never stopped me: traveling with a large family just meant more logistics for this queen-of-lists to organize.
Going on adventures has always been a guilty-pleasure. I love the planning and the going. I enjoy the coming home. It seems so reasonable…at least to me! But each return brings questions from family and friends: “When will you stay put?” “Did you get that out of your system this time?” “Why can’t you be stable and put down roots like everyone else?” I laugh about being a “free-spirit.” I joke that others need to look outside-the-box. But deep inside, these comments continued to erode my confidence. Obviously, there was something wrong with me. Surely I would “grow up” someday and be content where I was planted.
There were times I wondered if I harmed my kids by doing so much schooling on the road. (Others certainly thought so…) Sometimes I imagined how my husband’s life would have been different if he had married someone who was more consistent and bound by routines. (Time after time family questioned how I could leave him home alone while the kids and I traveled…) I tried. Really, I did! But then the next adventure called to me; the next location pulled my heartstrings. I had to go, wandering again and again.
This summer, in an attempt to continue being outdoors as much as possible, youngest Daughter and I lived in an RV at a campgrounds close to a small town. We fell in love with the people and the places around town. We were welcomed and invited to dive deeper into relationships. We began to put down tentative roots. It felt right, but there was a feeling of grief as well. What would these new friends say when they discovered my broken urge to wander?
In the past few weeks, I’ve had some aha!-moments. Hubby sent me a link to a song and affirmed that I really was born under a wanderin’ star (and implied that this was okay…) See video clip HERE
Last week, I commented to the pastor of the new church we are attending (in the small town we love) that it felt like we are putting down some roots. And maybe I would finally stop running. He firmly told me that there is nothing wrong with wandering. It is a gift and a privilege that so many never experience. A few days later, Daughter’s psychologist affirmed the same idea, telling Daughter that it is a privilege that she gets to wander with her mother. Every time I remembered these words, I cried. Maybe I wasn’t broken after all. Maybe this urge to wander IS “normal”…at least for me.
And then…while I was pondering how to celebrate my wandering spirit, an artist friend posted a painting for sale. I’ve wanted to buy something from this artist for quite a while, but couldn’t decide if I wanted a mountain scene, a view of red mesas from Navajoland, or a southwestern landscape. See Sharon Baker’s art HERE. When I saw the title of this particular painting, I just KNEW this was “my” painting. It is called “Wandering Star” and was painted many years ago in response to the same song my husband sent to me. I will hang this painting with great pride in my home, to remind me who I am…