Josh and I were fortunate enough to travel home this past weekend to see out families. Once reaching Illinois we parted ways, he north and I south. Both enjoying a blissful time with relatives and home cooking. While driving between the airport and home I was hit with a deep sense of nostalgia and change. I have driven this particular route more times than I can count; parts of which I used to think had so many hills. Now I have seen real hills, I’ve driven through mountains. It got me thinking about how dramatically different I see the world now. I grew up in a very small farming community in Central Illinois, a very very flat and corn rich part of the country. Now I see that small town as something much different, not that I ever had much affection for it. I don’t harbor dreams of retiring there someday, I guess that being on the road for so long has gifted me with a true sense of what I find beautiful. I do still love a good cornfield but those “hills” in Illinois are nothing compared to the mountains I love in Wyoming.
Leaving my hometown after college was always a must but I had no idea I would have the privilege to experience all this.
*The shots included here are of my father and his amazing 64 Fairlane hot rod. I wrote the post before editing these shots. These mean a great deal to me; a fathers hands hold many stories. For those of you who know my dad I’m sure you can see it too.*
***This is part of a series of posts called “Travel Tuesday“, each covering topics unique to our lifestyle***
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