Going Off Map

“It should be built by a mountain stream that flows to the Pacific…and nothing should obstruct our view of the beautiful, snow-capped mountains.”
            — Phoebe Goodell Judson


In preparation for my cross-country trek, I added Navigator to my cell phone plan. As I played around with it this week, I thought, “I need to name this voice that is going to navigate the country with me.” Immediately, Phoebe came to my mind.

In 1853, 99 years before my birth, one of my ancestors in a branch of my paternal grandmother’s lineage, Phoebe Goodell Judson, crossed the country by wagon from Ohio to Washington Territory. She was 21, married, and had an infant daughter, Annie. Her parents and nine of her ten siblings, including her twin sister, had gone two years before (her brother followed Phoebe later). Unbelievably, her parents and siblings (except her twin who went to the Oregon Territory) settled in an area now called Grand Mound, Washington, between what would be Olympia and Centralia, my childhood homes following the migration of my parents from Michigan and Tennessee more than 90 years later. Shortly before her death at the age of 94, she published her memoir of her insight on life as a pioneer woman, called A Pioneer’s Search for an Ideal Home. The book drew from her journals, begun the day they left Ohio.

My copy of the book is in a box, now in a mini-storage unit in Centralia﹣ and my memory of reading it years ago is faded﹣so I turned to the internet for facts. The book is available on Amazon, and she has a lengthy Wikipedia entry! She was quite an amazing navigator of her times. During the five weeks she and her husband spent in a hotel in Missouri while building their wagon, she argued with the landlady on the use of slaves in the establishment, believing it to be very wrong. During the Indian Wars in the Washington Territory, the family holed up in the fort in Claquato (Claquato is now the site of the historic cemetery where my father is buried). After the wars, Phoebe overcame her fear of the Indians, who had massacred many of her friends and neighbors, learned the Chinook language fluently, and won their friendship. She and her husband adopted an orphaned Chehalis Indian boy and went on to foster-parent several other children. Not finding the scenery up to the criteria of her ideal home in the area where her family settled, and unwilling to settle for less, Phoebe and Hudson eventually left her parents and siblings and moved north, almost to the Canadian border, and founded the town they named Lynden.

Adding to the serendipity, Phoebe and Holden were married on June 20, my birthdate 103 years later. Their second child was born on June 26, my sister’s birthday. As I, too, go off my familiar map, I think Phoebe is a fitting navigator and companion for the journey. I have crossed the country by car several times, and have long said I had another time in me. I didn't know it would be by myself (save for Smudge and Phoebe and a host of thoughts and prayers), and I didn't know it would be one-way. I am going off map. I think that is what true adventure is.

I read this quote in a novel a week or so ago, “When the ferry rounded the bend, Seattle was in front of them, a steel and gemstone tiara set above Elliott Bay. The sky on this early morning was rose-colored, tinged in aqua blue at the horizon. Mt. Rainier rose elegantly above the city, deigning on this day to be visible.” I don't know if Phoebe's ideal home criteria was purely visual (fertile soil was certainly important, but they found that in their move from Grand Mound to Claquato and it wasn't enough); but this sentence made my heart leap up. Am I going in search of the ideal home, or am I just going home? Is the ideal visceral, rather than physical? Is our first home our ideal, regardless of where it is? I don't think so for everyone. Not for Phoebe, obviously.

And the big question, the one that has been languishing on the page of my blog notes and on my mind for months, "Will I be at home, or will I be a fish out of water?" Or am I some sort of evolved fish that secretly likes living out of the familiar, off the map? Will Washington be too familiar? Will I be an unfamiliar me in a familiar place? I do know that every time I have visited during the last three and a half decades, it was wrenching to leave. More than a year ago, daughter Emma sent me a card of encouragement﹣not wanting me, I guess, to back down from making this move. It said, "Sometimes right back where you started from is right where you should be." I kept it on my refrigerator until I left my house three weeks ago.

I may be going back where I started from, but I am not the person I was then. I expect that from the vantage point of the me with all of my experiences these 35 years away, it will all be enough unfamiliar to fulfill my need for change and adventure; but with that deep-rooted recognition of home. In Gods of Noonday, Elaine Neil Orr wrote, "My bones were made in Africa...I have learned...that the future is behind us." My bones were made in the Pacific Northwest. I have always hoped that the ashes of my bones, at least, would return someday. I am glad to be going intact.

On Mother's Day, my mother shared with me that my sister had sent her flowers. They were gifted from northern Virginia, shipped from California, and arrived in Washington packed with a vase; no water. The buds were closed tight, with instructions for helping them open after they arrived at their destination. As I am cut from this garden, separated by time and distance from my family of dear friends, I anticipate arriving at my new home with my buds closed tight. I look forward to finding what I need for nourishment and receiving that which will open me back up.

Last night, after a beautiful send-off from my family of friends, I dreamed of introducing visitors to Mt. Rainier. I leave this morning with Smudge and Phoebe. First stop: meeting my new grandson.

Namaste.

Postscript: Follow me across the country on Facebook. I will change my cover picture daily. Several of you have asked about my route. Phoebe took a northern route; mine will be south and will be dotted with connections with dear people from many parts of my life. Three nights in Asheville with son Nicholas and his family and dinner with former Pullen co-worker Ben. I will take a day trip into the Smoky Mt. Nat'l Park, where over my life I have camped with my family of origin, with former husband Ed, with Ed and children, with just children, with former partner Patsy, and by myself. Next stop, a night in Dickson, TN, west of Nashville via Byway 26/70, with  niece Lori. Then however long it takes to get to Albuquerque (two nights?) via 26/70 until I decide to hop on I-40 for the duration. Two nights with Raleigh friend Dori, then a right hand turn to Denver. Two nights with Apex friend Charly and a visit with Raleigh friend Porter. A night (?) on the road, then a night in Boise with my sister's college roommate Vicki. Next stop Centralia, where I be welcomed by my mom, Rebecca, Emma, and Wynne. And where I will hang up my keys.

Thank you to Laura and Abbie for sharing their home for the past three weeks. Thank you to Pam for getting my car in top shape and to Dr. Barbour for caring so well for Smudge and her glucose ups and downs this month. Thank you to Grace, Santi, and Vee for throwing me a fabulous party in Grace's beautiful tree home. Thank you for the time, and the meals, with so many friends over these weeks. Thank you to those who came to my sendoff and for memories, goodies, and gas cards! Thank you to those who are coming to Cafe Carolina in a few minutes to see me off. And to all of you who are reading this, thank you for your love and prayers that will accompany me on the Venture. All signs point west.