Dirt roads soothe my soul

When getting ready to live abroad preparation is required.  Planning for things like paying bills, packing what you think you might need, spending time with family & friends, dental work, shots, passport...the list goes on & on.  But, I am the daughter of an Eagle Scout, so I felt fairly confident that I would be successful getting into the right head space for being so far away from all that is familiar.  I also had the luxury of knowing that I would be arriving to the bright, smiling faces of my Long Way Home family & their welcoming arms would ease any anxiety I might face.  My first night here, all my worries calmed & I was excited by the adventure that lay ahead of me.

Week 3 began with news that rocked me to my core.  An early morning phone call from my mama presented me with a challenge that I had not prepared for.  My beloved Uncle, who helped raise me, had entered "that dreamless sleep" (Lord Byron) and I was here...not there.

My cousin Cici hitchin' a ride...
a pleasure we all enjoyed as munchkins

After I got off of the phone with my Grannie, aunt, dad, etc....the only think I could think of was, "If I were at home, I'd get in my truck & drive" because that is what comforts me, it helps me clear my head, get my shit together, & prepare for the challenges that inevitably follow.  However, in my current location, that option was not looking good.  I have no truck here, I walk just about everywhere.  There is the occasional tuc-tuc ride, but I was not about to pay some dude to drive me around town while listing to Guns & Roses at obscene levels.

Then, my beloved Uncle sent some grace my way.  One of my co-workers was planning on spending that particular Saturday doing a tire run (going to neighboring towns picking up used tires for our construction)....so I hitched a ride.

My Uncle Keith & his wife Maxie...tending to the Longhorns

Keith Chumley was a cowboy, through & through; that he became a quadriplegic in Vietnam didn't make a lick of difference.  Growing up, I spent summers with my mama's family...on the farm.  There was cattle that needed to be fed & my Uncle would load us kids up in his specially retro-fitted van & haul us out into the pastures to throw feed out the back while he drove.  He was a lover of Texas (& family) history...which translated into riding around...on dirt roads...with him telling us stories about our roots.

It turned out to be the best possible way to spend the day.  Riding shotgun in a big red pick-up, down bumpy dirt roads in the Guatemalan countryside.  It was different, but familiar....it was cathartic...it was the perfect way to think about him, remember all the wonderful times we shared.  I never knew my Uncle as a walking person, he was injured long before I was born but I never thought of him as being limited, because he was always so present in his life.  Never bitter or angry about the reality of his life, but rather he embraced it, loved life.

So, on a dirt road in the Guatemalan highlands I closed my eyes to the setting sun, smiled & connected with my Uncle.  I felt him there with me, reminding me how important it is to take chances, to be adventurous & most importantly....it is possible have challenges & still live fearlessly.

Every flag in town was flying at half mast