Post by david on Sept 16, 2008 17:03:20 GMT -8
The farm lands spread, the town lands grew;
But Daniel Boone was ill at ease
when he saw the smoke in his forest trees.
"There'll be no game in the country soon.
Elbow room!" cried Daniel Boone.
I guess I have a serious case of “the grass is always greener on the other side of the hill.”
Several years ago, I adopted lyrics from a song called “Wandrin’ Star” as my mantra:
Do you want to know where Hell is?
Hell is in hello.
Heaven is goodbye forever;
it’s time for me to go
It all may have started three months after my birth when my parents packed my 2-year-old sister and me into their tiny Crosley and headed east through December blizzards for a Christmas visit to family back in Ohio.
I lived in four cities before I was five and have always had a thing for traveling.
Wheels are made for rollin'
mules are made to pack.
I've never seen a sight
that didn't look better looking back.
When our family did settle down – if only for a few years – my wanderlust was only heightened by reading, television and by school.
Early influences included the aforementioned Daniel Boone, Johnny Appleseed, Pecos Bill and – most of all – my all-time childhood hero: Davy Crockett. Each of these individuals, mythical or legendary, covered a lot of territory.
Still later, as books continued to open my horizons, I grew to admire pioneers in general, mountain men and explorers in particular. I thrilled at Jack London’s adventures in Alaska; and I loved stories of young boys who went to sea and enjoyed all sorts of grand exploits.
After just one more move – to San Diego and Middlesex Drive – my parents became stick-in-the-muds and never moved again. But we did take several great family vacation trips – north, south and east. Destinations varied and were universally rewarding; but the sensation of motion, of going somewhere, was as pleasing to me as was getting there.
Home is made for comin' from,
for dreams of goin' to,
which with any luck
will never come true.
After eight years on Middlesex Drive – time enough to finish high school and a year of college – I finally moved again, triggering a stop-and-go lifestyle that landed me, for a while, in five states and 15 or more towns and cities.
Last year I took the trip of trips – 18 thousand miles over 51 weeks, including 35 states and six Canadian provinces. One would think that at the end of such a trek, a person would be road-weary. Not I.
The clause that prompted this writing is, “I would like to do that again.”
Less than halfway through what I initially had labeled my “trip of a lifetime,” I began making plans for its encore. Though I’ve temporarily settled down – even bought a house – I’m becoming more and more inclined to begin a second “trip of a lifetime” about 30 months from now.
My inspiration for this future adventure came when I crossed into Canada for the second time last year. Residents of the Prairie Provinces (Alberta, Saskatchewan and Manitoba) were incredibly welcoming. I fell in love with Canadians; and I was eager for more as I crossed into eastern Ontario after skirting along the south side of Lakes Michigan and Erie.
At my first stop, though, I was given a shock during a dinner conversation. A tablemate casually mentioned the fact that the United States had once invaded Canada.
He was, of course, referring to the War of 1812. I had never before considered the Canadian perspective on that conflict. I had always viewed it as a contest between the U.S. and Britain; after all, Canada was not an independent nation at the time.
But Canadians trace their roots back to their own colonial times and, just as we view the French and Indian Wars, which predated our revolution, as “our” war against French and American Indian adversaries, so do modern Canadians consider the War of 1812 as a fight between Canadians and the United States.
This realization was rather devastating to me. I had always prized the relationship between our countries. I had believed that, despite our sharing the world’s longest border – more than 5,000 miles -- we’ve lived side-by-side in peace and relative harmony and have considered ourselves to be friends. I had thought, friends always and forever.
But the Canadians actually have statues and monuments that commemorate the war. They have national heroes who defeated our armies. And, there’s no way to deny it, they do consider that war to have been – at least in part – a war between our two countries.
Since learning this painful lesson, I’ve been somewhat obsessed by the War of 1812 – particularly in terms of how Americans and Canadians view the conflict. This matter of perspective is interesting to me and I’m motivated to explore it further.
What better excuse for another long trip of many thousands of miles?
As of now, I’m planning an expedition to the northeast in 2012 – the anniversary, obviously, of the war in question.
The war began in August of 1812 when our invasion of Canada was defeated in Ontario and the British captured Detroit. Much of the fighting was on water – which was a critical line of supply, particularly for the British.
The countries agreed to a treaty in 1814, but word didn’t reach the combatants in time to avoid a final battle in New Orleans. Led by future President Andrew Jackson, the Americans managed to hold off the British advance.
Canadians view the war as a victory against would-be conquerors; and an amazing number of Canadians believe the U.S. still hopes to bring Canada into the Union. One told me he was certain there is a current plan of invasion in the Pentagon – one that is updated annually.
It would be interesting to be in Ontario in August of 2012 and in New Orleans in January of 2015. If uninterrupted, that would require a road trip lasting about 30 months. Definitely a new trip of a lifetime.
During the same interval, there should be many sesquicentennial celebrations and reenactments of Civil War battles and events. I might even be able to attend festivities in Gettysburg on July 1st through July 4th of 2003 – the 150th anniversary of the great battle fought there. I imagine a record number of re-enactors will be in present and the pageantry will be phenomenal.
Oh, yes! Travel is in my blood and I may very well decide to do it again, and again, and again.
But Daniel Boone was ill at ease
when he saw the smoke in his forest trees.
"There'll be no game in the country soon.
Elbow room!" cried Daniel Boone.
I guess I have a serious case of “the grass is always greener on the other side of the hill.”
Several years ago, I adopted lyrics from a song called “Wandrin’ Star” as my mantra:
Do you want to know where Hell is?
Hell is in hello.
Heaven is goodbye forever;
it’s time for me to go
It all may have started three months after my birth when my parents packed my 2-year-old sister and me into their tiny Crosley and headed east through December blizzards for a Christmas visit to family back in Ohio.
I lived in four cities before I was five and have always had a thing for traveling.
Wheels are made for rollin'
mules are made to pack.
I've never seen a sight
that didn't look better looking back.
When our family did settle down – if only for a few years – my wanderlust was only heightened by reading, television and by school.
Early influences included the aforementioned Daniel Boone, Johnny Appleseed, Pecos Bill and – most of all – my all-time childhood hero: Davy Crockett. Each of these individuals, mythical or legendary, covered a lot of territory.
Still later, as books continued to open my horizons, I grew to admire pioneers in general, mountain men and explorers in particular. I thrilled at Jack London’s adventures in Alaska; and I loved stories of young boys who went to sea and enjoyed all sorts of grand exploits.
After just one more move – to San Diego and Middlesex Drive – my parents became stick-in-the-muds and never moved again. But we did take several great family vacation trips – north, south and east. Destinations varied and were universally rewarding; but the sensation of motion, of going somewhere, was as pleasing to me as was getting there.
Home is made for comin' from,
for dreams of goin' to,
which with any luck
will never come true.
After eight years on Middlesex Drive – time enough to finish high school and a year of college – I finally moved again, triggering a stop-and-go lifestyle that landed me, for a while, in five states and 15 or more towns and cities.
Last year I took the trip of trips – 18 thousand miles over 51 weeks, including 35 states and six Canadian provinces. One would think that at the end of such a trek, a person would be road-weary. Not I.
The clause that prompted this writing is, “I would like to do that again.”
Less than halfway through what I initially had labeled my “trip of a lifetime,” I began making plans for its encore. Though I’ve temporarily settled down – even bought a house – I’m becoming more and more inclined to begin a second “trip of a lifetime” about 30 months from now.
My inspiration for this future adventure came when I crossed into Canada for the second time last year. Residents of the Prairie Provinces (Alberta, Saskatchewan and Manitoba) were incredibly welcoming. I fell in love with Canadians; and I was eager for more as I crossed into eastern Ontario after skirting along the south side of Lakes Michigan and Erie.
At my first stop, though, I was given a shock during a dinner conversation. A tablemate casually mentioned the fact that the United States had once invaded Canada.
He was, of course, referring to the War of 1812. I had never before considered the Canadian perspective on that conflict. I had always viewed it as a contest between the U.S. and Britain; after all, Canada was not an independent nation at the time.
But Canadians trace their roots back to their own colonial times and, just as we view the French and Indian Wars, which predated our revolution, as “our” war against French and American Indian adversaries, so do modern Canadians consider the War of 1812 as a fight between Canadians and the United States.
This realization was rather devastating to me. I had always prized the relationship between our countries. I had believed that, despite our sharing the world’s longest border – more than 5,000 miles -- we’ve lived side-by-side in peace and relative harmony and have considered ourselves to be friends. I had thought, friends always and forever.
But the Canadians actually have statues and monuments that commemorate the war. They have national heroes who defeated our armies. And, there’s no way to deny it, they do consider that war to have been – at least in part – a war between our two countries.
Since learning this painful lesson, I’ve been somewhat obsessed by the War of 1812 – particularly in terms of how Americans and Canadians view the conflict. This matter of perspective is interesting to me and I’m motivated to explore it further.
What better excuse for another long trip of many thousands of miles?
As of now, I’m planning an expedition to the northeast in 2012 – the anniversary, obviously, of the war in question.
The war began in August of 1812 when our invasion of Canada was defeated in Ontario and the British captured Detroit. Much of the fighting was on water – which was a critical line of supply, particularly for the British.
The countries agreed to a treaty in 1814, but word didn’t reach the combatants in time to avoid a final battle in New Orleans. Led by future President Andrew Jackson, the Americans managed to hold off the British advance.
Canadians view the war as a victory against would-be conquerors; and an amazing number of Canadians believe the U.S. still hopes to bring Canada into the Union. One told me he was certain there is a current plan of invasion in the Pentagon – one that is updated annually.
It would be interesting to be in Ontario in August of 2012 and in New Orleans in January of 2015. If uninterrupted, that would require a road trip lasting about 30 months. Definitely a new trip of a lifetime.
During the same interval, there should be many sesquicentennial celebrations and reenactments of Civil War battles and events. I might even be able to attend festivities in Gettysburg on July 1st through July 4th of 2003 – the 150th anniversary of the great battle fought there. I imagine a record number of re-enactors will be in present and the pageantry will be phenomenal.
Oh, yes! Travel is in my blood and I may very well decide to do it again, and again, and again.