The beginning stages.


Hi all you Internet friends. 

I have been thinking a lot about age: being young and being old. I feel old when I shop for Spanx (yes, that did happen), when I rent storage units, when I buy coffee at Shell stations so I can do fourteen-hour roadtrips, when I go to bed at ten-thirty, when I know what pro-rated rent is, when I can book plane tickets without a hitch. I feel young when I use the handle of a large cast iron skillet to pry open the hood of my car at the said Shell station, when I wear beaded moccasins without socks, when I listen to my grandpa's stories and realize most of his life happened before I was born,  when my bare face sunburns and I don't wash my hair for three days. Age is a funny thing; it is relative and it is existential and it is beyond me. I feel that I will always be young, that I am somehow innately youthful, that muscles will last, that hair won't thin, that my stories won't grow cold. But then I think about my grandparents; I will only always know them as old, see them through wrinkles and ailments and out-dated little sayings. Age is a funny funny thing. And this summer is a summer of being young, but it's also a summer of being old. I am going on a month-long road trip around the United States. Our route takes us through twenty-one states and seven national parks, and it's going to be crazy. I feel young when I think about the freedom and adventure and the newness of it all, and I feel old when I think about the independence and responsibility and money this will all take. 

To start my summer adventures, I left Macon Georgia mid-morning on a Friday, June 6th. It was cool but getting warmer and I was hot and sweaty by the time I had loaded all my things into my car. The tricky thing with leaving Macon is my stuff; in-between apartments, I needed a cheap resting place for my things and the answer: storage unit, 5X10 with climate control. Otherwise I left Macon with no regrets, ready to get gone. 

Leaving Macon Georgia.
(Sang this song for a good hundred miles.)
First stop was Chattanooga. Chattanooga is magic, mostly because of the people. It was a full wedding weekend for one of my best college friends, Jess. She's one of the kindest, friendliest people I know, and it was so much fun to see her marry Eric. (Sorry all the photos are just iPhone pics...money, friends. #thestruggleisreal)

Rehearsal

I acted as one of her hostesses (basically just helped set up and do any little things she needed), but it was WONDERFUL. Mostly because of these three lovely friends who I shared the responsibility with. We ate lots of chocolate cake, laughed hilariously at everything, caught up on life, and then danced our socks off. It was marvelous. I also got to stay with two friends, Catherine and Caroline, and they were such a good picture of warmth and hospitality: good food, laughter, and great life conversations. See why Chat-town is my favorite? 

Cath, Anne, and Emily.

After that lovely weekend, I left Chattanooga in the early morning hours of Sunday and trucked it  to Millersburg, Michigan. When I am getting some place, I have two very simple rules of the road: one stop per state and coffee. Because of my rules and Sunday traffic (nonexistent), I got home that same night, drove in as the sun was just beginning to set in the sky and got to walk around my parent's little farm in the remaining daylight. Being home is beautiful and refreshing and food for my soul. Besides of course my wonderful family, two of my favorite things: Michigan sunshine/fields/walking/outside and donuts. The evidence is below. 



On Monday my best friend, Anna Clare, is flying up and we'll begin our road trip, traveling through the Upper Penisula with our first stop at the Pictured Rocks. I'm planning to chronicle our trip here and hopefully share some of our adventures.

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