Sunday Drives

Mary

When I was a child my father would take my mother I on Sunday drives. I would sit in the back of his burgundy Ford LTD and feel like I was on a ship being taken to strange and unknown places. One of the things I liked most about these trips was the stories he used to tell me about when he was growing up. He told us that I 96 didn’t exist, Grand River was a dirt road, and going from Detroit to Brighton Lake was a major event that took over three hours. It’s less than one hour now. His summer cottage growing up was a one room shack on a pristine Michigan lake. When I was small and sailing in my daddy’s car the world was safe and good and simple. There were still a lot of dirt roads and a Sunday drive was still considered fun.

My father and I as a baby.

The attraction to Blue Roads started then. I have a curiosity about places I have not been. I still feel wonder and joy at seeing an oddity that I didn’t know existed. I am likely to ask a stream of questions when there is something new or different. That part of me has never changed. Taking time out to meet and care about the people I meet is another joy. I feel as though I need to thank them for being a part of my life, even if it is for a short time. Every person that crosses my path is another experience that I would not have had if I had not traveled the blue roads.