(I will let your feedback help me assign a title for this one… perhaps it is fitting that I completed this on Mother’s Day!)
Have you ever planned something that suddenly… somehow… takes on a life of its own?
After a change in my March travel plans, I found myself with the opportunity to attend a writing retreat on the Greek isle of Syros. Whether due to school holidays or the war in the East, flights from Vancouver to Athens had become scrambled. Rerouting through other destinations would significantly increase the cost, and mean missing the first day.
Once notified, the organiser invited me to attend a planned Zoom workshop with one of the authors. Lol, because of the time zone, fully awake and strangely creative, I participated in a writing class through the wee hours of the morning. What a buzz that was! Even better, I entered the meeting five minutes early and was able to chat with the author beforehand. As fate would have it, she too was fascinated by stories surrounding historical events!
For all of this to transpire, a series of unexpected and unlikely events had to unfold… because to be clear, the plans needed to run amok. I call these: Oh no… here we go again! moments.
Many years ago, one of my sons wanted to visit someone special he had met during his previous year at university over a summer weekend. Small detail: we lived 20 hours away, and flying was not a last minute option.
As luck would have it, that same weekend was my high school reunion at a location along the route. I had not planned on attending, but suddenly the trip ‘had some resemblance of sense’.
Even so, my first response was an emphatic NO… too far, too rushed and absolutely ridiculous. From experience, this is usually when ‘ignition’ takes place. To make matters worse, we could not leave until late Friday afternoon, and he had to be back for work early Monday morning!
Whether it was the persuasive talents of an 18 year old, my excitement at seeing old classmates, or my passion for chasing horizons and tail lights, I eventually caved.
The following afternoon, we pulled out by 5:30 with a full tank of gas and enough snacks to get us through the night. As I rolled down our long driveway, I heard a little voice in my head say, ‘Girl, we can always turn back.’
What? Hell no, why would I want to do that?
Later, I would wonder which passed-on relative was trying to get my attention…
Before we knew it, Montreal’s summer ‘construction zone traffic jams’ were behind us. After a fill-up and coffee, Jay’s 6 ‘4’’ frame crawled into the back seat and promptly fell asleep.
Surprisingly, the Trans Canada felt almost deserted that night. Not empty exactly, but dominated by transport trucks, giant rigs and motor homes scattered across the dark sea of asphalt. I stayed in the fast lane, enjoying the quiet of the night and relieved that Jay was finally getting some rest after a long day landscaping in the heat. In a few hours, he would take over the driving.
I had barely relaxed, when suddenly, the car ahead swerved.
There, in the middle of the highway, sat what looked like a large raccoon. Oh no, poor thing! Every instinct told me to swerve. Thankfully, another instinct, self-preservation perhaps, stopped me cold as a massive tractor trailer blasted past on my right.
Without any time to think of those consequences… that ‘raccoon’ was now right before me, when suddenly, it moved.
Large deer legs unfolded upward.
I had no choice. My low riding car drove directly over it. The cracking sounds beneath me instantly brought to mind breaking twigs… until I realized they were bones.
Then from the back seat:
”Mom… OMG… what did you hit?”
By then, a smell had already begun creeping through the car vents. It was not exactly the fragrance of twilight pastoral flora but rather…
Later, two mildly traumatised humans would give it the only fitting name possible: deer jerky.
Within 5 km, an overnight truck stop appeared like a beacon in the night. We pulled in to assess the condition of my vehicle. The vehicles that had struck the animal before us showed substantial front end damage. My little Dodge Avenger was hoisted, inspected and thoroughly hosed down.
No damage.
Considering the sound effects from earlier, this felt nothing short of miraculous.
An hour later, we were on our way to NB, where I would visit with family while my son would continue the drive to Fredericton.
By then, the adrenaline was still flowing through both of us. Jay took over the wheel while I scanned the roadside like a hawk, reacting to anything that moved. Neither of us said much. I was also contemplating the ‘what could have been’, and somehow, I suspected my fellow almost adult passenger was doing the same.
Then near Riviere-du-Loup, everything changed.
As we crested a hill, the St. Lawrence River and the first light of dawn appeared over the horizon. The seascape exploded into hues of orange, peach and gold, wrapping us almost instantly in a profound sense of peace.
The warm air drifted through those same vents carrying the scents of river water, salt, seaweed, freshly turned fallows, and the unmistakable fragrance of manure rising from the dewy cantons below. This announced the dawn of a brand new day!
At that moment, my love for the driver beside me, the gratitude for life, and the breathtaking beauty before us became the real purpose of the trip. It was no longer about the class reunion, old friends, or even the overnight road adventure.
And perhaps that is why still today, when a wild proposition presents itself, I already know the answer.
I’m all in.
“Oh no… here we go again!”
So very close to the real event… taken from a Stock image
