On the Trail Again

Growing up, I loved driving from our home in Mississippi out to visit family in southern Utah. Landscapes were embedded in my mind at an early age—from wide open flat spaces where the sky was one massive expanse of blue to “purple mountain majesties” as we approached and crossed the glorious Rockies. Everything seemed so big and open out on the range compared to the world I knew in Mississippi where tall pines, broad oaks and waxy, green magnolias filled the sky and blocked out the sun.

Crossing the Great Plains, I loved to recall the stories of Laura Ingalls Wilder that had captivated my imagination at a very young age. Riding in the back of our family van, I would picture Laura in the big covered wagon with her family as they crossed the Midwestern frontier in search of a new home. Her colorful tales of everyday life and pioneer adventure made what I’m sure was an incredibly hard and sometimes harsh existence seem wonderfully intriguing to me as a child.

On our long family road trips, I also made up stories in my mind of cowboys as they sat around the campfire, drinking strong coffee and singing softly to the cattle under the stars. Their lives seemed so carefree, so exciting, and following the interstate west gave me the sense of being with them out on the trail. The sensation never gets old!