Back East - The Ohio Years

Because we knew we’d only be in Ohio for a few years, my parents were wise enough to do a lot of travel on the East coast, knowing we might never have the chance again. I completely fell in love with New England in the Fall. The brilliant tangerine, burgundy, rust and lemon-colored leaves of Vermont, every inch of land not cleared for a building was covered in trees upon trees, stretching over the hills and flowing from one town to the next. Every town had a prominent white wooden church looming above the vegetation, usually framed in a jet black, spiked wrought iron fence. We traveled through NYC, not stopping for the sights but seeing the skyscrapers and Statue of Liberty from afar. We were stuck in traffic for hours. My sensitive soul was devasted at every blare of a horn directed at us – and there were many. We got so bored crossing all the toll bridges (it seemed there were more rivers than land) that Dad came up with an entertaining plan. He started paying for each toll with coins stuck in a toy shark head on a stick. He placed the coins in its mouth, extended the stick, and pulled the trigger to drop it into the tollbooth attendant’s hand. We found it hilarious, but they found it less amusing. And Maine – my new favorite state – lined with the seemingly endless Atlantic Ocean. Bitter cold saltwater spraying my face as I walked the long stone pier to a wooden, stately lighthouse resting importantly on the edge of the rocky shore. Soft gray and pale blue pebbles lined the beach instead of the sand I was used to in Southern California. I didn’t care that I couldn’t swim in it, because I could BE in it, immersed in the smell of seaweed and salt, foghorn blaring over my head, muffled by the howling of wind, gusts that bit my face so furiously that I had to pull my collar up over my face. I don’t remember any place so vivid and serene, colorful and sensory than New England in the Fall.