The story of this trip begins with an air conditioner issue. The first leg of the journey was through the pouring rain with issues with directions and an odd sound coming from under the hood.

It continues with a hot journey from Hagerstown, Maryland to Williamsburg, VA and a funny noise. The story continues with smoke billowing out one morning in North Carolina right before a ferry trip and the loss of power steering.

It goes on, still,  with a repair on an island. Where the mechanic came to us and only charged us $300 before we were up and running again.

Traveling can undoubtedly be stressful. There are many memories I have of tears, tension and the admission that, yes, I didn’t tell you the right place to turn.

But that’s all a part of the story. The good, the bad. The ugly. People said to me two years ago, when we would tell about some of the pitfalls of the trip,  “You didn’t post that story on the blog!” And indeed I didn’t. Some stories are only funny if you tell them in person and some are only really impactful if you know Michael or myself personally.

Stories are a part of my life everywhere I look. They are part of my job,  part of what I try to do in this blog. Stories play a large role in my marriage (often at my expense!) and are what I try carefully to curate as my children grow in the pictures I take, the travel journals I keep, the memory boxes I prepare from our adventures.

I write to tell stories. I travel to have stories to tell.

In reflecting, the story never has the luster of perfection, the shine of nostalgia,  the poignant details which make it funny until long after it’s over. There were times when I cried. There were times when I yelled. There were times when I thought that I should be or feel or act happier about the great opportunity we have each summer. But, for some reason, those things never make it into my stories. Like disappearing ink or a shooting star, the bad stuff fades quickly in order for the good stuff to squeeze up to the foreground. Nostalgia is tricky like that. Makes a blurry picture crisp. Vivid. Flawless.

I also happen to be a terrific sap and have a memory that I like to think is a vault. Each evening of the past three and a half weeks is locked tight. But it’s the good stuff that rises to the top. Only the cream memories remain.

I miss my bed. My friends. My home. But each time we go away, I bring something else back.

What I bring back with me this time is humility. Empathy. The ability to adapt. The person who came back from the 2015 trip was a little high on herself and all her traveling wisdom. The 2017 traveler knows never to count yourself skilled in anything too quickly. New experiences will show you pretty fast that: You’re not quite as prepared and clever as you thought you were.

I also bring back my family. Our stories. Our memories. And all of the ugly warts of our travels. But, with them, we have lots of cream. Lots and lots of cream.