The scurrying began weeks before the moving truck made its way to the driveway. A multitude of decisions were made to keep or to toss. Children’s progress was found in names scratched in crayons, numbers changing from single digits to mathematical Greek letters, and multi-page essays double-spaced. Maps, books, and well-used paddling guides each found their way into the keep, donate, give-to-a-friend, or take along piles.Moving was even more tangible when the truck pulled up, at the ready to bring all of our stuff to Oregon, our new community of Sisters.
Our Kayak 50 quest has taken an interesting turn. Peter and son, Parker, are working on land we purchased last year. They are building the first outbuilding to house the water, electric, shower, and septic hook-up, and facilitating the process that that entails.
I’m continuing to kayak solo for now, having packed up from my six decades of life as a New Yorker and heading west. My parents came to the United States from northern Italy in the post-war years west about 4,000 miles across the ocean and now I going west yet again about 3,000 miles of continent. My parents came for similar reasons that motivate me: to be productive, contribute, look for opportunity.First, I go south, to paddle the deep southern states, and continue to add to my own personal Kayak 50. Time for reflection and solitude pulls at me from deep, inter realms.