Miles of Mom - For Bard's Hall Contest

My mom and I are separated by nearly two thousand miles of rolling hills, flat plains, rugged mountains, scorched deserts and endless farm fields.  I know each hill, plain, mountain, desert and field like I would know an old friend and I am comforted by them when I am on my way - on my way to see Mom. 

When I was growing up my mom had a touch of gypsy blood flowing through her veins.  For years she roamed around with my brother and me, never really finding a permanent home of her own. She was always thinking things would look better just around the bend.  So we wandered around with her like that, with our miles of blacktop, the Eagles and a beat up Thermos of steaming black coffee.  Our guides were the yellow lines, the green signs and a worn out Rand McNally. 

I loved hitting the road each time.  My heart thrilled at the thought of what might be ahead of us.  Would we live by the ocean again?  Would we head back North to Oregon this time?  Or would we travel unknown paths to some new place that I had never seen?  I was sad to leave friends and familiar sights, but I guess that ol' gypsy blood was in me, too, and dulled the pain I felt while I was waving goodbye.  As long as I had my mom and the radio and a suitcase full of my favorite things I knew everything would be all right.  And it was.

We moved so much, I honestly cannot count the number of homes we lived in.  In each new house, apartment, or trailer she had a way of making it feel like we had always lived there.  My mother could nest like no other person I have met.  In less than a week we would be tucked into our new abode, all comfy and settled.  Tomatoes would be ripening on the kitchen windowsill.  Familiar pictures would be hung on the walls.  Lamps would cast soft yellow glows and beds would be made up with our own beloved blankets and stuffed animals.  Each empty house, apartment, or trailer was magically transformed into a home.

Inevitably the wanderlust would stir up, though, and we would be off again in search of that perfect patch of ground to temporarily plant ourselves…

I am married now and have been for quite a long time.  I have two wonderful children of my own; a boy and a girl.  I feel an abundance of joy when I look at my home, the one that we own and have no intention of ever leaving.  I excitedly look forward to growing old with my husband, my best friend, right there.  In that very house.  On that porch and in those rooms where I have placed lamps that radiate warmth in pale yellow hues. 

Like in my mother's many kitchens, tomatoes will always be turning a deeper shade of red on my windowsill; unlike her, I am secure in the knowledge that we will never move from that spot. We are permanently planted. We are stuck there by choice.

No matter how much I love my home and have no intention of uprooting from it, I will forever be drawn to roads. I love highways, town streets and gravel covered lanes.  I love the bustling city ones and the slow country ones. But I truly delight in the vast stretches of interstate that pulse with past adventures and memories of freedom. My mom’s blood surges through me still and those roads, oh…how they call to me. 

I love the miles that separate my mom and me, too. I don’t feel the distance is an enemy, or a barrier between us; keeping us from hugs, or morning chats over coffee.  Each mile I travel on my way to see her is a blessing.  The miles are my history; my past.  Like an old photo album gives me flashes of memories, these two thousand miles give me glimpses of my childhood and those days with my mom and my brother.  They remind me of our laughter and our tears; our hellos and our goodbyes.  The vast expanse of land between her and I reminds me of my mom. 

I think maybe I am actually seeing her when I look through my dusty windshield and see the beauty that extends all around me.  She is each hill, plain, mountain, desert and field.  She is each yellow line.  She beckons me from these green signs before me.  I can feel her arms reach out from the highway to cradle and comfort me as I drive.

I am witnessing miles and miles and miles of Mom.