I packed the car again this morning, ready to head to our next destination: Kentucky. I had to go through the back seats and gather all the small toys that had mysteriously, or by six tiny hands, spilled from the bags onto the floor. I swept out peanuts and raisins abandoned in small bowls, hoping that the squirrels would gather them up, only to be chomped down a short while later by Luna. I went through and picked up fast food bags and cups, emptied our little trash into Nanny and Pappy’s giant container. I filled everyone’s water bottle and crammed the blankets from the tent under the seats. I stuffed a few miscellaneous items–sand dollars, Isabella’s crocs, a pair of goggles–that we’ve picked up along the way, back behind the stroller that we shouldn’t have brought.
We’re all ready. But we can go when we please. We don’t have to make everything fit into carry on bags, we don’t have to itemize our toiletries in a 3-1-1 system or take out our laptops for the convenience of TSA. We are free to stop along the way if we happen to drive by Laura Ingalls Wilder’s last home (which we did), or take the scenic two-lane road through the Ozarks, or add twenty miles to our trip to finally say we’ve all been to Oklahoma. We can drive all night or stop at a rest area in the darkness, listening to the cicadas lull us to sleep. We can stop in Nashville for lunch along the Cumberland River, or watch the sun rise over the Kansas plains.
It is glorious, truly glorious, to enjoy the freedom that entails a summer road trip. I don’t even mind making my list, cramming small items into every possible place in the car, piling up pillows and blankets, pulling our ice packs out of the freezer and packing along our endless supply of snacks for our starving little monsters. The girls don’t complain about waiting in long airport lines. They look out the window and spot horses, cows, mountains, and rivers. They play I-spy and take intermittent naps. They don’t whine when we tell them we won’t be there for another hour and a half–they cheer that 15 hours are behind us.
The summer road trip, to me, is truly the American dream. We use it to visit family every year, but more than that, we use it to make memories for our young family, our next generation of dreamers. We take different routes, go different places, but in our hearts, it is always the same–the same freedom that unites us, that guides our way, that takes us everywhere we ever wanted to go.
