Road Trip: Cruising to Carolina

Growing up, I don't recall our family taking what some would consider a vacation. We rarely went to the beach or to some far-off city for a week away. That did not mean we stayed home all the time. Being the youngest child, and a bit younger than my siblings, our vacation was visiting family who had moved away.

When she was barely out of high school, my sister fell in love with a local boy who had already graduated college and started his own career. Even though he was local, his career took him into the pencil-thin tall pines of upstate South Carolina. When they married, my sister moved with him there, two hundred miles away. That four-hour trip by car soon became our several-time-a-year weekend trip away from home.

Through the years, my sister's family grew. First, a son, the first grandchild for my parents, then, a feisty daughter. My brother-in-law had dreams of his own. He wanted his own cattle farm. They bought land, built a brick house there and began putting up a fence to keep the cows from wandering too far away. These things alone were enough reason for my parents to want to visit there often. They could see their grandchildren, they could help on the house and farm, and, of course they could see their oldest child.

I do not recall how early in the week the planning was made for our journeys to South Carolina. I usually was clued in about it on Thursday sometime, a day ahead of when we would leave. For some reason now, years removed from then, whenever I hear the theme to the TV show, The Waltons, I think of going to visit my sister's family in South Carolina. I think that is because that show came on at 8 PM on Thursdays for years. It is probably around that time of day when my Mom told me to get whatever I planned to take with me on the trip together. Otherwise, she understood if she didn't give me some fair warning I would probably get home from school on Friday and just get in the car for the trip.

Most days, my Dad could be home from his job by 4 PM on a Friday. My Mom would have everything as ready as possible so that we could leave as soon as Dad got home. If we timed everything well enough, we could arrive at my sister's house by 8 PM on Friday evening.

Sometimes, my brother-in-law’s mother made the trip with us. She was like a third grandmother to me. She was a petite woman with a warm smile and infectious laugh. Despite her small size, everyone called her ‘Big Mama’. Her late husband, who had been a tall man, had been known as ‘Big Papa’. Often on these trips, Big Mama brought along an incredible stacked apple pie as desert. It had soft crust and the sweetest apple filling. It ranks as one of my favorite deserts ever. When I was old enough to go out on my own, Big Mama gifted me with a set of green dishes. One or two pieces of that set remain and I think of her every time I see them.

Once we were on our way, we traveled the same route for many years. Two lane roads across the mountains of north Georgia into the mountains of South Carolina. Most of the towns we drove through were just like our hometown. A few red lights here and there and a few places where the speed limit was reduced. The ride was amazing in autumn when the colors of the season were reflected in the trees. We kept plugging away. We rarely stopped for anything. We had a goal in mind and my Dad was determined to get us there safely but also as quickly as possible. It got us off the road but it also gave us precious time with family.

Once in South Carolina, we traveled through a few more towns and communities. Finally, we had to get on Interstate 75 for a time. A few miles down the road on the big freeway was a rest area. Nearly every trip I made with my parents we stopped at this rest area. It was bathroom break time but it was also time to eat. My mother, who was probably responsible for gathering together 98% of what we packed into our car had taken time to make egg salad sandwiches and to pack away a few "co-colas". This was supper. Then we loaded into the car and drove on for about another hour.

Soon we were pulling into the town that became home to my sister and her family. We looked for familiar guideposts along the way. We drove through town out to the farm. In the summer we got there before dark. We piled into their house where the air conditioning, a treat we did not have back home, sunk into our pores. It just always seemed hotter there than back home. In the winter, we might make the trip during the holidays. Between their visits back home and our visits there, we likely saw each other six or eight times during a year. We had to make the most of the time we shared.

After arriving, we visited for a time and made plans for Saturday. It could be any adventure the next day, riding motorcycles, chasing cows, deer hunting, going fishing, playing with my nephew and niece or riding to the nearby towns for shopping. We sometimes visited their neighbors, the sweet older couple down the road who adopted my sister's family as if they were their own or maybe the slightly cantankerous older lady across the road who was more soft around her edges than she often let others know.

As the day moved on, we usually had some sort of giant meal for supper. It could be steaks or chicken with fresh vegetables out of the garden. It was almost always topped off with a birthday cake if someone celebrated one around that time or watermelon or homemade ice cream or some other dessert my sister created or maybe some of Big Mama's apple pie.

As the day drew to a close, a slight feeling of the inevitable began creeping in. The next day was Sunday and that meant another road trip, this one from South Carolina back to our Georgia home.

Road Trip: Cruising to Carolina playlist:

Theme to The Waltons

Brett Shady "Waltz For A Girl In South Carolina"

Dionne Warwick "As Long As There's An Apple Tree"

Marshall Tucker Band "Heard It In A Love Song"

The Outlaws "South Carolina"

Goose Creek Symphony "Higher On The Mountain"

Reverend Gary Davis "I'll Fly Away"

Hootie and The Blowfish "Hold My Hand"

The Sandpipers "Come Saturday Morning"

John Fogerty "Almost Saturday Night"

Elf "Carolina County Ball"

James Taylor "Carolina In My Mind"

Pocketbook Full Of Blessings

I have heard them called a purse, a pocketbook, a hand bag. I know certain ones come along with a name of a celebrated designer and can cost more than some dental work I have endured. They can be colorful and be meant to match a handful of outfits. They can be practical and meant to be a ready place to keep things needed for the carrier or the carrier's group.

My Mom always carried one. It held car keys, a checkbook, four or five pens, chewing gum, cough drops and usually some type of other over-sized wallet that held cash, photos, cards, change and other things. I recall the days when she wore one with a shoulder strap. I remember other ones that she just carried on her arm or in her hand.

My wife's purses are another matter. They have much of the same functionality from another time. Still, now, sometimes hers has her phone. It often has things that our daughter needs, a comb or hairbrush, a tablet to draw or write in, hair bows and sometimes a small stuffed animal.

Our daughter has a purse or two of her own. As I write this I am looking at one of them. It is slightly bigger than a paperback book. It has various colors in some pattern I cannot quite explain, blue, green, purple and pink. It has a tan-colored strap. I discovered the other night how it can hold a lot of different things.

After she had taken a bath, Hannah was ready for bed. She often comes to me for a hug before heading off to sleep. A few nights ago, she followed this ritual this time while carrying her purse. She then proceeded to open each compartment to show me what each one held.

I have long been curious about the things she holds on to, tiny treasures to her that capture a bit of her personality to us. When she was younger, we often had to stop while she searched out a rock to carry home with her. When I would clean out my car, I ran across rocks, feathers, loose change and various small toys or knick-knacks she for some reason considered worthy enough to retain.

On this particular night, she began emptying each compartment. Here were some coins. Here was a tiny plastic toy. Here was a shiny, slick rock. Here was some chapstick. There were other items I can't recall at the moment. I just remember marveling at the things she values and being grateful she cared enough to share the moment, and a bit of who she is, and who she is becoming, with me.