As most of you already know, I have upped and moved to Pennsylvania.

I made the drive across country solo – much to my parent’s dismay. My Mom was adamant that my Dad go with me – she didn’t think it was safe – it was along way to drive alone – all the usual worries – and my Dad seemed quite disappointed when I strong-headedly insisted that he remain on the opposite coast. I think he had really been looking forward to the trip. But somehow it just seemed like something I should do alone. My first steps out into the unknown.

About three hours out of Ogden, I was having second thoughts. Would the whole continent be so bleak, and tedious a drive? I’d never make it. I’d fall asleep at the wheel. Suddenly, I remembered, that while they’ve stopped selling my favorite ice cream in Utah – it is still sold in the East. Raspberry Cow Tracks – here I come. The gas pedal received a little extra nudge. I persevered through Wyoming and part of Nebraska – I’d hoped to make it to Lincoln – but that was some poor planning on my part. I ended up staying in this dirty little hotel with beer cans on the floor. My Mom had made me promise not to camp or sleep in my car – but I’m thinking either of those would have been better options. I curled up on one corner of the bed, and hoped I wouldn’t wake up with lice.


Day two I hit the road hard. I hadn’t left home with any sort of well formatted route or time schedule, but I needed to be in Lancaster before Sunday so I could meet up with some friends. I had a goal to see Nauvoo (I don’t know when this idea got into my head, but it was lodged in tight). Once I got to Lincoln I veered through the city, stopped at Russ’ Market for some grub and a chat with the locals, and then headed into Iowa along meandering one lane roads of farm trucks and buggies. Now, I have this little problem when I travel – I tend to wonder off the beaten path, get lost, find a place to swim, hike, etc. It took all of my will power not to turn off at every little point of interest, and not to stop and meander through the streets of every old quirky mid-western town I passed through.

At one point I saw a driverless horse-drawn carriage. I realize that this isn’t quite as alarming as a car that has no driver, but still… Do those horses really know what they’re doing?

Another favorite site was an old farm house full of cows. They were actually peering out the windows curiously as I drove past.

The Mississippi is wide and deep, with an unfortunate amount of industry cluttering its banks - but is beautiful and still manages to sing a tune of simpler days and happy summers. Driving north along its shore was similar to driving up the Sechelt Peninsula – lots of houses, some big, others tiny and run-down, looking out over the water. I’d like a house looking out over the Mississippi, or the ocean – I’d like a house.

I pulled into Nauvoo at 4pm – I was confused, and it took me way too long to find the visitor’s centre, but the sister missionary there was very helpful and set me on my way. I ran from house to house to try and see everything. This is not how you should tour church history sites. It loses meaning. But I did enjoy a quite moment looking out over the river.

I decided that I would not take the time to drive to Carthage. I would head for Chicago instead. It was getting late, and I was tired. But about 30 minutes north of Nauvoo I ran across a sign pointing to Carthage. Shoot. Maybe I should go. I pulled off the road – should I turn right or keep going straight. I decided to keep going. I didn’t need to go to Carthage – And then five minutes later I made a U-turn, and headed for the jail anyway. I’m so glad I did. It was by far the best part of my day. The feeling in the jail house was very unexpected – even opposite of what I had anticipated. Peaceful.

I spent the night in my car – nestled on top of all the luggage in my backseat – parked neatly in a row of large semi-trucks. Don’t tell my Mom.

Day three was very, very long. I drove across Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, and Pennsylvania. I spent a lot of money on toll roads. For some reason – and it might be that I dished out a lot of cash - I expected the toll roads to be fast moving with very little traffic. Sadly, I was disappointed – they have rush hour like any other highway, and the limit was only 65. I’ve always hated Oregon because the speed limit is 65. Now, I can also hate all of the mid-western states. At least they let me pump my own gas.

I spent the afternoon in Kirtland. I enjoyed it a lot more than Nauvoo. It was more personal. I now have a desire to read books about church history – especially Joseph Smith – Does anyone have any recommendations? And if you say the “Work and the Glory” series, I’ll punch you.

Now, I should have probably given up at this point, and finished my trip off the following day – but I couldn’t take it any longer, I was so very sick of driving, and my poor car was too. I had to make it home.

Pennsylvania is beautiful. At least the part I saw in the daylight. Trees everywhere. And long bridges spanning river carved chasms. It feels old and secretive.

My neighborhood has a lot less trees than northern Pennsylvania, and a lot more farms – but is still very beautiful. Lancaster’s streets are narrow, and generally one-way, lined with brick townhouses, laundry, and people in deck chairs. I live on the outskirts of the city next to a corn field and large red silo. So far I feel very at home – very happy.


** I would have taken more pictures along the way, but my camera battery was dead so I had to keep trying to recharge it in gas stations, restrooms, etc.