Who is your favorite writer? For me the list is long and for some reason a lot of them are women named Anne…Tyler, Lamott, Quindlen (okay, she is an Anna, but you get my point). My dad was more interested in science, exploration and travel. The only author we had in common was travel writer Peter Jenkins. We bonded over his wonderful stories of people he had met along his journeys in “Walk Across America” and “The Walk West”, books I eventually shared with my son Jeremy.
Fast forward 30 years and Dad is dead and life has gone on. Then Peter Jenkins walked into our lives in person! He was recreating his original journey, driving a ’57 Chevy station wagon named Mary Elizabeth across America, visiting some of the people he met the first time around as well as meeting new people. Two of those new friends are my aunt Bonnie and uncle Jim, who welcomed this traveling stranger into their beautiful home on the McKenzie River in Springfield, Oregon in the autumn of 2010. Jim and Peter spent the next few weeks bonding over morning coffee on the deck overlooking the river, swapping stories and engaging in mostly respectful debate. Jim talked about my dad who had recently passed, telling of Dad’s love of travel too. Jim showed Peter some of the glass stones I made with Dad’s ashes in them and Peter was taken with the idea. Eventually, with Jim’s permission, he took about 10 of Dad’s rocks with him when he headed east, back to Tennessee to complete his adventure.
Last week I laughed and cried as Peter told me about some of his experiences with Dad’s rocks. He described Dad sliding along the dashboard, bouncing around in the glove box and hiding under the seat as they drove across the country together. He told hilarious stories about people who admired the stones and then were shocked to find what they contained. It delights me to know that Dad’s travels continue, long after he has died.Last week I laughed and cried as Peter told me about some of his experiences with Dad’s rocks. He described Dad sliding along the dashboard, bouncing around in the glove box and hiding under the seat as they drove across the country together. He told hilarious stories about people who admired the stones and then were shocked to find what they contained. It delights me to know that Dad’s travels continue, long after he has died. Peter is writing a book about this trip, and I am so excited to read about Dad’s adventure, riding shotgun with his favorite writer in the afterlife!