Three days. Three states. Three traveling companions.
300 miles one way.
30+ relatives, ages 3 to 91 (plus 3 four-legged friends) in 2 dozen+ towns.
3 breweries. 2 pizza parlors. 1 steak sandwich shop. 1 Wawas. 2 best friends. Tons of traffic. Some snow. Lots of rain. Rare appearances of the sun. 6 to 8 foot swells.
A choppy ferry crossing. 2 cemeteries. 2 beaches. 2 public gardens. 1 open mic. 1 family yoga class. A handful of laser tag games. A sunset-walk around the lake.
Several car-ride karaokes. A handful of Turkish words, particularly the one for “junk food,” which despite countless repetition, I can’t remember, but definitely feel–in my belly.
2 recitations & one application of Frost’s, The Road Not Taken.
1 eventually successful attempt to locate the wooded 38-acre parcel on Long Neck Point that once belonged to my family and is almost unrecognizably (and thus, achingly) over-developed, but still bears the family name and looks out over the Indian River Bay which was my foundational experience of silence.