“Girls, let’s go!” Dad called, grunting as he lifted the red and white cooler holding our sandwiches and Cokes and headed out to the car.
Down the hall in my room, I grabbed one more book to stuff into my over-stuffed bag of summer reads. “Mama, did you pack my flip flops?”
“Yes, I did,” Mom answered from the kitchen as she finished cleaning up from breakfast. “Wear your sneakers instead. Remember? We’re stopping at the botanical gardens along the way.”
I heard Dad come back inside and up the stairs. Mom asked him, “Honey, did you turn off the air conditioner?”
“Yes,” he said, his reply just a little bit clipped. “Hurry up, girls!”
After he walked back outside with the suitcases, Mom sighed audibly. “Come on, girls. Your father’s in a hurry.”
“I’m ready!” my sister said, trotting out the door with her books in hand. She had no problem whatsoever reading in the car, but just thinking about it made my stomach feel squishy.
Flopping on the living room floor, I tied my sneakers—the scuffed-up pink ones—and skipped down the steps, jumping over the last one as always.
It was summer break, and we were going on vacation!
But, sadly, we weren’t going to the beach like my friends’ families were. Nope, we were going up to the northeast to, according to my parents, See the Sites and Learn Some History. It would probably be boring, but at least we were going somewhere.
By the time we finally pulled out of the driveway, both parents were annoyed, my sister had read ten pages (she told me so), and I was dreading long hours with nothing to do but sing ‘70s tunes along with the radio.
Ah. Family road trips. We took a lot of them and, yes, they were indeed boring at times. But somewhere along the way, my parents planted in me a love of history and beauty (and breakfast on the road) that bloomed later in life.
And now I enjoy a road trip or two, like our epic trip last year.
Last week, we hit the road to one of our favorite places of all. Savannah, just a few hours away, provides us with history and beauty and breakfasts galore.
We always stay at “our place”—a roomy, antiques- and character-filled condo on the terrace level of a historic building. The condo’s charm includes a window in the main bedroom that opens into the hallway, three brick fireplaces that don’t work, a hill in the hallway that’s fun to roll the suitcases down, and exposed brick in several places, including the floor in the dining room.
We don’t actually own our place, but we pretend we do. When we leave, we’re sad to say goodbye but happy that we don’t have to have the mortgage payment and maintenance costs.
While we’re here, though, we feel like locals going to our favorite shops and restaurants, walking up and down the streets and squares, enjoying tea and muffins at the hip hangout across the street, and indulging in our love of Leopolds, the best ice cream we’ve ever tasted.
Most every trip we take an early morning walk to Forsyth Park, a grassy, shady sigh of a place with a bright-white diamond in its center.
The park got its start in the 1840s and ten years later, in 1858, its famous fountain was installed.
The orange and yellow lights lampposts will soon give way to the daylight.
Forsyth Park, the biggest and oldest park in Savannah, draws residents, art school students, and tourists alike all day long. But it’s quiet and still in the mornings, except for a few runners and dogs with their owners. We linger for a bit, taking more photos to add to our collection and enjoying the stillness.
Gray-blue Spanish moss hangs on most every tree, including magnolias—a beautiful organic partnership of two famous Southern icons.
Although we stayed in Savannah for several days, we wanted to stay at least one more, but that’s how we always feel there. Before I even started packing my suitcase to go home, I’m thinking about when we can get back.
And as long as a road trip sometimes seems to me, I’ve found that what’s on the other end is worth it.
What is your favorite memory of a road trip? Where is your favorite place to go?
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Photo of cooler in car trunk by CA Creative on Unsplash
Photo of stack of children’s books by Annie Spratt on Unsplash