Packing up the Wagon Train...

In the 5th grade my class completed a unit called Westward Ho. Together in groups of five we formed our own wagon trains. If you know me then you might know that I have had a lifelong obsession with two things: mystery stories involving female detectives and driving across the United States in a covered wagon. I blame three people for these obsessions, my Mom for taking me to the library too much, Nancy Drew and Laura Ingles Wilder. The third person whose biography I read a few years back which has made me since decide that she was definitely sassy. But I digress...

So when I found out that we were going to spend six weeks pretending to travel across the continent in a covered wagon, it was on. I was definitely stoked. As a group we had to make decisions about what trails to take, what to pack and what to leave home, how fast we would allow our horses travel each day and what we would do about food rations. After reading the Little House on the Prairie series multiple times, I was ready. I put on my game face made a few decisions like: pack the rope, leave the Tiffany lamp. Bring flour and coffee, and a smidge of salt, but don't overdo it by bringing too much sugar. And when it came time to cross the canyon with a raging river at the bottom, that rope came in handy. It ended up even shaving a few days off our trip and possibly saving the wagon because winter was a coming. My group didn't do to shabby, in fact we actually reached Oregon first out of all the other groups. Don't ask me what happened to the group that got stuck in the snow. Fortunately in our simulation they didn't lose any points for earning the nickname Donnor Party.

Flash forward 20 years and I have to admit, part of me still would like to travel across the country in a covered wagon. The other part of me now feels the emotional pain that a decision like that must have involved. Leaving family and friends on the other side of the continent, to travel across the country for six months all the while not be entirely sure you would make it through: Indian attacks, surprise blizzards, snake bites, viruses, hunger and with the knowledge that when you got to the other side it could even be worse. That just does not sound as pleasant to me anymore.

However, something about the conversations we're throwing around the apartment lately remind me a little bit of playing that Westward Ho game. Here's what I mean:

"Should we pack the first aid kit, extra gauze and ice pack?"

"I don't know. We can only bring 594 pounds worth of stuff and it all has to fit in these six bags." (By the way, our bags will not actually carry that amount of stuff. 594 pounds is just the weight of the luggage we have determined we are willing to pay to bring.)

"Well, we do need to take care of ourselves during accidents. It's a good investment of space. Let's bring it."

So, when we get to Asia and we find ourselves in a bind in need of a band aid or Benadryl, the severity of the situation might not be as great as that wagon train crossing the raging river, but at least we'll know we've come prepared. I might bring a few figurative "Tiffany Lamps" because this ain't the wild west after all, this is moving by jet plane.

Maybe I'll start thinking of this month of my life as "Eastward Ho." It sounds more exciting then what I have been calling it in my mind: "Spending four weeks sleeping on air mattresses, on the floor or in someone else's bed because you are in the middle of a humongous move to another country where you can only bring 6 bags, 2 carry-ons and a husband."

Yeah, Eastward Ho. It sounds a lot more exciting and is less of a mouthful.