There’s nothing like being on the road. Green hills beside you, flat black pavement stretched out in front of you. Around that bend is a farm stand, selling the first ripe strawberries of the season. Maybe there’s a Beatles cd playing, or you’re listening to Kate Winslet read Roald Dahl’s Matilda. The kid’s quiet in the back seat, staring out the window at the world going by, taking it all in. And you realize with a jolt that you are no longer the kid in the back seat but the mom, the one dispensing snacks and answering the inevitable question: are we there yet?
Not yet, my love. Not yet. We’re almost to Madera.