When someone mentions Summer, there are a handful of things that come to my mind; vine ripened tomatoes, fingers sticky from s’mores, Saturday morning’s wandering the Farmer’s Market and picnic dinners with friends. But there are few things as quintessentially ‘Summer’ than a good old fashioned road trip. And even fewer that bring me as much joy.
It’s been almost 15 years since we lived in our 1985 Volkswagen vanagon, we’ve had two little girls and countless adventures since that time. And while traveling in an old van certainly has its perks, getting anywhere fast just isn’t one of them. There’s always something that needs fixing and going the speed limit is rarely an option.
Despite the drawbacks, these slow road trips are one of the things I look forward to most every year.
A few weeks ago, we were on our way to a family reunion in Idaho when the menacing red light on the dashboard blinked on and our already slow road trip got even slower. Before I even had a chance to start worrying, a white pickup truck with a bed overfilled with firewood stopped and a man yelled from inside the cab “y’all need some help?”
Mark yelled back that he thought the water pump had a leak but let him know that we had some water so should be just fine. “How much water ya got?” The stranger yelled. “A few gallons,” Mark replied. “I’ll get ya a few more,” the stranger responded. And then he disappeared down the road.
Less than 10 minutes later the truck reappeared. The kind stranger and his 3 young boys spilled out of the truck with an orange 5 gallon jug of water in tow. They carefully climbed over the barbed wire fence that separated them from the highway and immediately started helping Mark dig into the engine.
Their faces were covered in dust and mud and the youngest boy told me they were on their way home from logging. Which explained all the firewood.
The boys were endlessly curious about the van. “Where do you sleep?” “Is there a toilet in there?” “What grade are you in?” That one was directed towards my girls, not me.
The kids played while the dads worked, determined to find out the source of all this trouble. I just stood there. Observing, and feeling overwhelmed with gratitude for the kindness of strangers.
I’ve thought about it at least a hundred times since then.
About how they didn’t have to stop. And how when Mark responded that we should be fine, they could’ve just continued on their way. Most people probably would have. I likely would have. But they didn’t.
And I thought about how many times we’ve been on the receiving end of kindness. And how earlier that morning at a gas station, as I walked back to the van I saw Mark sharing some apples and cheese with a man that was sitting on the curb, “how long’s it been since you had a snack?” I overheard him ask. “It’s been awhile” was his reply.
Eventually we piled back into the van and got back on the road when Juniper, sighed and said, “well this is a moment.” It’s a phrase she’s heard her dad say many times over the years. A reminder to pause and stay present with whatever it is that’s happening in the moment. A kind of mental photograph to look back on later.
There are so many things to be upset about these days. Things that break your heart into a million pieces and things that make you blind with rage. Things that are confusing and frustrating.
But in the midst of all of it, there are still small kindnesses; smiles from strangers, people who linger a little longer to hold open a door, kindhearted people who help you remember that the world is still a good place.
The Summer sun was finally setting when we finally pulled into our campsite outside of Lava Hot Springs. And I thought about the places we go and the people we meet along the way and how all of it shapes us into who we are and who we are becoming.
Staring up at the sliver of a moon through the towering pines I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for all of it. The people, the places, the small kindnesses we give and the ones we receive.
And I thought of Ross Gay’s book Inciting Joy. Mostly the part where he mentions that the objective in his writing classes is often “to just create beautiful shit together.''
And how the longer I'm alive and the more places I travel, the more I’m convinced that maybe that’s the point of life too? To carry each other through the good, and the hard. To rest in joy and delight in gratitude. And to just create beautiful shit together.