It was my parents who put every mile and then some between me and the Piney Woods on purpose. They left Mississippi in 1961 fed up with the Civil Rights movement's halting progress and everything that went with that. A photo taken before they drove away from Hattiesburg shows dad sitting on the hood of their new used car, mom resting against the car and him, cradled between his long legs, both clearly high on the plan they made and the coming adventure. Mom talks about craving oranges on that trip, me in her belly. Dad later complained the car was a dud and he'd been cheated.
They had picked the Washington town near the Canadian border for the very reason that it was as far from Mississippi as they could get. They'd given themselves a choice between Bellingham, Washington and someplace in northern Maine and had applied to teaching jobs in both places. The jobs in Bellingham came through. Their trip and mine now are two sides of a coin, both accomplishments earned by the mile.
I figure I can make Fort Stockton, Texas today (never heard of it). San Antonio or Austin are too ambitious.
Just back from our trip to Tehachapi, and I am reading your latest entry, from Winslow, AZ. I'll look it up tomorrow, when I'm not so tired. I was concerned about your 2 in the morning arrival, but you seemed to have survived it well. I've never been to Winslow, but I imagine it caked and unforgiving, as only desert towns can be. I wonder if you made it to Fort Stockton. Can't wait to read your next blog. Mom
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