All aboard the wagon train

My mother always says that if things had been up to her, the West would never have been discovered, let alone won. She would not have been the wife willing to pack up all her children and sit in a covered wagon for months crossing the US in order to find a better land. My mom knows her limits and the intense discomfort this adventure promised would not be for her. She prefers air conditioning, hotels and dessert. I have got to say that I can’t judge her for this.

My husband on the other hand? While the rest of us pseudo-adventurers are sitting around the camp fire swapping ghost stories and eating smores, he is the Scout riding solo ahead. Ahead of the wagon train he would ride, in order to learn the land, the friends, the enemies, and the possible danger. Of course, all at his own pace and on his own terms.

Flash forward to 2008 and our new adventure. Granted, Michael has been in our new neighborhood more than I have, but not by a significant margin. That said, HE HAS MET EVERY NEIGHBOR…AT LEAST TWICE. I have not. I can be there for an entire day and meet no one. (Ok, I did meet the mailman.) Michael can be there for 5 minutes and is welcomed by the block party captain and a parade. Every time he goes down to the house to take out trash bins, grab the mail or do a little work, he comes back with a new piece of information. He now knows who lives in which house, the renters versus owners, who likes who, where the best restaurants are, who has jumper cables, and which neighbor can help pick out antiques. He is the Scout on the horse riding ahead, while I am sitting back on the wagon and eagerly awaiting the news from the new land.

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