Not Without Our Village

It’s almost here. We are leaving in four days. 

Of course, in the past couple of weeks, quite a few people have asked me the same series of questions: “Are you ready?" "Are you packed?" "What does it even take to get ready for such a huge trip?” 

So, I sat down to write about the logistics of preparing to leave your known life behind for a year. 

To write about the details of things like finding someone to stay in our house (my mom, Mary) and to do our snow removal (our neighbor, Sam) and to mow our lawn (my sister, Chris). 

I was going to write about the laundry list of things we have to prep before we leave, like purging our pantry, clearing out our shoe closet, and trying to narrow down our ridiculous winter coat collection to just one or two (which is no small feat—we are Minnestons, after all). 

Our backyard oasis. We leave the care and keeping of this in the capable hands of our village.

I thought I would write about trying to get our truck tuned up and our RV tuned up and our bodies tuned up. Doctor appointments and dentist appointments for everyone! Yay! 

I’d write about figuring out how to fill prescriptions for a year when your insurance company isn’t having it. Figuring out how to order enough contact lenses for a year, about having to get new glasses because I lost mine right before we leave, and having to find new hiking shoes because mine are toast. And making sure the girls have sturdy shoes they can potentially wear for a whole year. You know, the absolutely riveting stuff.

But when I started writing all of those things, I found myself instead thinking a lot about our privilege. 

Listen, I daily think about the incredible amount of privilege we have to be able to travel. I sometimes even feel guilty about it. 

I have not always been in a space or position in my life to even be able to dream about such a journey, much less nourish it and watch it flourish into a reality.

During my first trip around the Motherhood Block, when raising my oldest daughter alone, I regularly scoured the couch cushions for change. That poor kid was raised on ramen noodles in styrofoam cups and pepperoni Hot Pockets. I managed to take her on adventures only because I worked multiple jobs and took out extra student loans—creative financing at its finest. Let’s be honest. I was a wreck. 

So now, some days, I have to pinch myself. And reassure myself that I deserve this. 

But what a freaking privilege. To be able to have saved enough money for this. To have jobs that allow Trav and I both to work from the road. What an absolute privilege we have to be able to buy all the things we need for this trip. Not only the huge ridiculous building on wheels we will be living in and a whole entire truck, but also the little tiny things–a new shoe rack that fits in a minuscule space, a storage rack for the closet, and a hundred other little doo-dads like that to make our lives easier. So yeah, the privilege of being a middle-class family. Of having money. 

But also the privilege of being a white, cis-gender heterosexual couple. Because let’s be honest. We are traveling during an election cycle. And in our current climate, I would be lying if I said I haven’t thought about how that might affect our safety in some areas.

But also, let’s be real. We aren’t in any real actual danger. We have friends who carefully consider where in this country, and even in this world, they can safely travel with their trans daughter. Because not all states are safe for trans folks. And the young same-sex couple who lives next door carefully considers which states and which countries are LGBTQ+ friendly before they travel. Because not all places are safe for queer folks. And I have friends who don’t venture into towns or businesses, even in our own state, because they don't feel safe because of the color of their skin.

Some folks never even have to stop to consider these things when they leave their house. Like us. We are relatively safe to travel anywhere as a white straight couple with twin cis girls. That’s privilege. Of skin color, gender identity, and sexual orientation. 

I started considering all of these privileges as I sat down to write. 

Yet, the one privilege that I most want to write about is the privilege of having a village. 

To be sure, Travis and I have worked hard as hell to make this happen. We have endured a lot of stress over the past few months to get our shit together. Because we are a bit chaotic. Well, I am a bit chaotic. And so the work has been hard. I am not dismissing our sweat and labor. But honestly, we would never have done this if we didn’t have a village. 

We have a huge support network. And I mean immense.

I have a fully grown daughter who is an angel walking this earth. She is constantly helping me out with logistics, even if it is just listening as I fall apart over Facetime. She swoops in and organizes stuff, puts me at ease, and helps me unravel my tangled mind. This poor kid has been doing this her whole life, and at this point, she does it with the most beautiful grace. I couldn’t get through this life without her.

A few of my people, including my daughter, Sarah, my granddaughter, Charlotte, my daughter Aela, and my sister Chris, playing corn bingo!

I have three grandkids who light up my world.

I have five sisters who answer my rambling non sequitur group chats even in the dead of night and show up to help whenever we need them to set up for a party at the last minute, move things, or watch our girls. 

We have our parents. Trav’s mom is nearby, and my dad and stepmom are, too. My mom is giving up a whole year of her life to come live in our house! Whaaat? 

We have our friends. So many friends. A ton of friends. Who check on us via text and messenger regularly. Who stop by with goofy gifts. Who know when to swoop in with bottles of wine or beer. We have neighbors who are willing to clear our snow. (And I am guessing this winter will be a doozy just simply because he agreed to do it. Poor Sam).

One of the many goofy gifts dropped off by a friend. Thanks, Dave! No hummingbirds yet.

I have a sister who patiently listened and made notes as I detailed every single aspect of lawn and garden care to her for more than an hour because she knows how much my garden means to me. And even if she tosses that whole list out and accidentally ends up letting the whole thing grow over with weeds, I will still appreciate her for the effort she is putting in because she knows how much it means to me. 

Even farther abroad, we have friends who live all over the country, offering us beds to sleep in when we tire of our RV or neighborhoods to Trick-or-Treat in or farms to explore, or tickets to theme parks. We have extended family who send us love and support through snail mail and texts.

I had some time the other day to go out and bike after a day of prepping for the trip, and I panicked a little. As I was biking along, I got to thinking, “I am going to miss my little garden. I'll miss the tiny, wee library across the street. And this restaurant down on the riverfront that I like to bike to when I have a few hours alone. I am going to miss hours alone! I may not get any hours alone for a year!” 

And then I immediately texted my people. And they immediately texted me back. Assurances. Kind words. Understanding. Support. Jokes. Humor. Love. And I realized I am not going to miss getting time alone as much as I am going to miss them--my people. 

In fact, we were being interviewed for a podcast last week. NPCA is putting together an episode about our adventures for The Secret Lives of Parks. The host, Jennifer, asked us what we will miss when we leave. Without even a second of hesitation, we both said our family and friends. Our village. I didn’t even have to think about it. I am going to miss them all. The other day in our group chat, I joked that I wish I could take them all in my pocket. 

My sister responded, “You will literally have us in your pocket. We’re always here in this space to listen to you and cheer you on.” 

I want to post a picture of our whole village. Instead, here is me in my favorite place by the river, City House, the day I texted my family, panicking about leaving them. Thanks for the love, fam.

And so I will miss them a ton for sure. But she’s right. I will take them with me. They will be there when I open my phone in my group chats. They will be there in my texts and in my messages. They will be here reading my blog. Following along. You, my readers, will be with me on my adventures. I will take all of you with me in my heart. 

People ask us all the time what it took to get ready for this trip. So I thought I was going to sit down to write a blog about that. I was going to write about the lists I made. About all of the packing we have been doing. About the moving of things from one side of the house to the other and back again. About the things we have bought and purged and donated and borrowed.

But here’s the truth. What does it take to get ready for a trip like this? 

It takes a village. 

We would never be able to do this without all of our people. 

What a beautiful, blessed privilege to be so loved. 

So yes, I’m ready.