After we moved from the dairy farm, when I was thirteen, to a town thirteen miles away, I wondered if this country girl would ever adapt to not being able to run free and climb trees. Then I discovered the Carnegie Library, just six blocks from our house. The world opened up to me in a way I never dreamed of, and a desire to go to exotic places began to form as I read one book after another. I am convinced that becoming a bookworm in those early years, eventually led to my love of writing.
There are only a few states I have not visited, and I have enjoyed all those travels, and that includes Alaska and Hawaii. In November 2020, my daughter, sister, and I went on a 5200-mile Western USA road trip. While Covid was beginning to curtail activities, we still got to see things and go place I had never been before.
My sister lives in Canada, so I have been there several times. That was the first “foreign” country I traveled to, not that it feels that foreign, but it still has its own personality, eh?
There is a list of foreign places I always had a desire to visit. I have been to several of the countries on my list, but that list had to be modified and expanded when I got to go places, I hadn’t expected to go. The list is a work in progress..
I have been to La Paz, Baja, Mexico and surrounding area, one of the highlights of my life and I would go there again in a heartbeat.
When my sister asked me if I wanted to meet her and her husband in Sydney, Australia, I was at first excited, then terrified at the long airplane ride, by myself. But I got that squared away and climbed in the plane for a sixteen-hour flight. We spent some time around Sydney, then took a train to Brisbane. We went to Steve Irwin’s Australia Zoo, and stopped at roadside stands for pineapple along the way. The farther north we went into Queensland, the more exotic was the landscape and animals, including kangaroo and kookabura (and itchy midgee bites). Then we flew to Auckland, New Zealand where we traveled some on both North and South Island, including a ferry ride between the two.
In New Zeland, I got to be in proximity to filming locations of Lord of the Rings. But something I never expected to happen, was to be near one of the settings in my favorite story of all times, A Town Like Alice, by Nevil Shute, and that was when we were in Queensland, Australia.
Speaking of A Town Like Alice, my world travel has now taken me to another one of the locations for that epic tale of bravery and survival: Malaysia. The main character is detained by the invading army who marches women and children from one place to another on the Malay Peninsula, month after month. Jean is an ordinary woman in the beginning, but her experiences hone her into a strong woman, bent on her survival and the survival of fellow prisoners. I will never forget her courage and tenacity. When I was in Kula Lumpur, I had an unexpected conversation about A Town Like Alice with a cab driver. It was amazing to me that I just happened to get in the very cab with someone who knew as much about the story as I did. He even took me to a book store where I happily bought a local copy of the book.
To complete my travels to the three main locations in A Town Like Alice, I hope to go to England, where it all began. Being optimistic for travel to open again after a global pandemic, I have a far distant ticket to go to Israel, which was on my list, but not near the top. Opportunity unexpectedly knocked.
People don’t always get the saying right, as is shown in the photo, but the sentiment is still there, ‘Not All Who Wander Are Lost’. I have never been to Africa, as the animals in the photo might indicate, but it is on my list. Those items were gifts from other family members who are also world travelers.
Of all the lines in the poem, this one tugged at my heartstrings. Loss can be painful, but in planting a seed, memories live on.
“All That is Gold Does Not Glitter” is a poem written by J. R. R. Tolkien for his fantasy novel The Lord of the Rings. It alludes to an integral part of the plot. The poem reads:
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
I will share all my five-hundred-word responses to each line of the poem in future posts.
Not all those who wander are lost, J.R.R. Tolkien
“I don’t mean to be rude, but are you nuts? You are a woman. And not a young one, at that.”
I am focused on the map spread between us, finger tracing a serpentine line.
“Adeline, are you listening?”
“Yes, Carlton.”
Carlton moved in next door a year ago. From what others told me, we are both grieving souls, spending isolated hours alone in our respective backyards; a tall wooden fence between us. I hear him mowing his lawn with a rotary mower, watering by hand, occasionally talking to himself, or a squirrel, or sparrow. Like clockwork, he backs out of his garage Friday noon, soon returning with bags from the local grocery store. Otherwise, he spends long hours in his garden. I try to imagine him in the previously tangled yard of tottering Mrs. Jones. The fence, her idea. Deer.
On an ordinary day of picking vegetables, the hair on my neck stood up as if someone was watching me. Then a whisper comes through a small knothole in the fence.
“Hello. I am Carlton.”
A peeping tom, but I am relieved he made the first neighborly move. Widower. Retired Air Force. Cups of coffee later and tours of each other’s garden (his, an orderly Better Homes and Garden design, mine, a wild meadow).
“My sanity is intact; I am woman, hear me roar; I am well-seasoned, not decrepit.”
“Sorry, but you know what I mean. Five hundred miles is a long hike. Alone.”
Reaching across first to lightly touch his calloused hands, I quickly fold the map with finality.
“One step at a time, Carlton.”
Ten days later, he drives me to the trailhead. I have a backpack, bedroll, sunscreen, bug spray, water bottle, power bars, fruit, safari hat, satellite phone, flashlight, walking stick, map, trowel, and a large bag of forget-me-not seeds. Blue.
Carlton checks everything, twice. With my house keys now in his possession, he plants a kiss on top of my head as I turn to go.
“I’ll text every day. See you in a month.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Then I step out on my first forget-me-not journey, over hills and down valleys, sleeping beside streams, beneath trees ― through wind, rain, and sunshine; conversing little, remembering much; pulling weeds here, and planting flower seeds there. My own tears watering them with hope for blooming.
I text, OK, once a day. Carlton responds with, OK, but nothing more, which speaks volumes.
One month to the day, the final step brings me to a gravestone in a cemetery on a grassy wind-swept knoll. There are no flowers. Kneeling, my fingers trace the carved name of my beloved identical twin sister, Opalene; beneath her name, two cherubs entwined by garlands. With dry eyes, I trowel fresh soil at the base of the stone, planting the last of Opalene’s heirloom forget-me-not seeds.
I hear footsteps. A strong hand comes on my shoulder. Carlton.
“Same time next year, Johnny Appleseed?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
