The Road Less Traveled

Christine Johnson here today to talk about roads. That might not sound terribly exciting, but roads (and paths) are an oft-used metaphor for life's journey. 

Long ago when I was in school, one of my favorite poems was Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken.” I loved the imagery of the fork in the road and the choice of which path to take—well-trodden or less traveled. How easy to take the interstate expressway, yet by doing so we miss the treasures found on narrow byways.

Sometimes the road or path might seem frightening. Here I am hiking high above the road in Glacier National Park…and thinking that the road might have been the better option!

Back in the 1920s, there were no expressways. Most roads were dirt or gravel and heavily rutted. Car tires blew out frequently. Carrying spares was a necessity. I can’t recall the last time I checked my spare, least of all used it. Lumber states, like Michigan in its early years, sometimes paved roads with slabs of wood so wagons and buggies wouldn’t get stuck in the mud. Some of those survived into the twentieth century. I can imagine the teeth-chattering washboard effect of driving on slab wood. The hero and heroine in my upcoming release, Suitor by Design, end up on one of those old roads under the worst of circumstances.

I still enjoy a scenic road. I love the possibilities around each bend or at each fork. During this summer’s trip to Mt. Rainier National Park, we found this wood suspension bridge at Longmire. My husband and I walked across the bridge, which was only wide enough for one car to cross at a time.

What interesting byways have you found in your travels? Do you have a favorite drive or bridge? Which fork in the road did you choose, and where did it lead you?

Christine Johnson

Suitor by Design (LIH, October 2014)

http://christineelizabethjohnson.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ChristineJohnsonAuthor

Twitter: @ChristineJWrite

Navigating the Way

Good day, Crafties! Christine Johnson here today to chat about the joys of getting lost. Recently I took a road trip to Detour Village in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, at the mouth of the St. Mary’s River.  That required a drive of several hours. Now, I’m old-school when it comes to navigation. No GPS for me. Maps? Love them, but I don’t want a computer telling me where to go. I especially love directions from people who’ve been there before. You know, the kind that say to turn left when you reach the giant plastic rooster.  For this trip, the “in the know” instructions said to turn a little past the park with the big buoys (yep, on land, not in the water). Simple, right? How many parks have huge buoys in them? I felt pretty confident that I could find the place.

Ah, over-confidence!  I saw the park but went zooming past my turn and had to backtrack. But that little detour (no pun, honestly) showed me things I might not have noticed had I turned exactly where a GPS voice told me to. I might have missed the old wrecked sidewheel steamer near shore. Hm, maybe that captain could have used better charts. Or the little museum with the ship-viewing station. 

Or this bunch of geese who’d commandeered the street and were in no hurry to go anywhere.

It got me to thinking that maybe the most direct route isn’t always the best. What do we miss in life when we’re so intent on following the quickest route? Are we just looking at the path ahead or do we notice what’s off to the side and who else is traveling with us? I’m far too guilty of the former, yet when I take the time to look around me, I’m always blessed. So, in this rush-rush world, I’m going to do my best to stop and look around. And maybe even take a detour or two.  How about you?  What fascinating things have you seen when you had to navigate off the direct route?