I used to think that I would end up spending my entire life in Washington State. It’s where my family was from, it’s where my children lived and it’s where all my friends were. When I moved to Florida (for what we now know to be a somewhat misguided reason), everyone thought I was nuts.
Well, I was in some respects. But in others, I was simply doing what my ancestors had always done… moved on.
I knew that my grandparents had moved to Vancouver, Washington from Aberdeen, South Dakota. Well, who can blame them? Been to South Dakota and it can be a barren wasteland in the winter. And I thought Washington had bad weather. I also knew that they had immigrated from Russia.
What I didn’t know was that my family has absolutely no roots anywhere. They have all been travelers, gypsies of sorts, each generation heading out for parts unknown for reasons I’m not sure I will ever be fully aware of.
The gypsy side of my family seems to be my mother’s. I had always thought her father and mother were from South Dakota. Nope. My grandmother was from Iowa, and my grandfather from Nebraska of all places. My immediate roots are more midwest than I ever imagined. Their parents were from Missouri, Iowa and Illinois, respectively. Move one more generation back and my great great grandparents hailed from New York, Indiana, Ontario and Montana.
This is roughly the mid 1800s. The United States was in the Civil War during part of this time and my kin were moving all over the danged country. Heck, I even have a great great grandmother from Canada who ended up in Montana.
Go back one more generation into the late 1700s and I see grandparents from Virginia, Vermont, New Jersey, Ohio, England and Kentucky.
I don’t think my ancestry is very different from many of us. What amazes me is that I only had to hop in my van, drive 84 hours and end up 3,000 miles away in Florida, about as far as one can move in the United States. My ancestors didn’t have this modern wonder. The transcontinental railroad wasn’t finished until 1863 so these folks either went by wagon, by horse or by foot to spread out far and wide in this great country of ours. I come from the true pioneers of this land.
I can’t even begin to imagine the hardships they endured or the dreams they must have held so dearly in their heart and soul that they would upend their entire lives and head for parts unknown. On second thought maybe I do.
From what I can tell my first ancestors in the Americas got here about 1680. We’ve been here a long time. But from our initial settlements in the Northeast, we continued to spread out. And judging by the records, we seem to have done it with reckless abandon.
And yet, I’m the one who gets all the grief for moving to Florida. Somehow, I betrayed my entirely family by upending my life and moving east. I see it differently. I am simply doing what my family has always done, honoring our wanderlust. I always knew that I wouldn’t end my days in Renton. From the time I graduated college I knew that I would one day live someplace else. Initially, I moved around the Seattle area, I tried San Francisco for a month, and then I made the seemingly crazy journey across the very states my ancestors were from, in a way retracing their steps without even knowing it at the time.
On my epic journey I traveled through Idaho, Montana, South Dakota, Nebraska, Iowa, Missouri, Kentucky and Tennessee, all of these places my ancestors had lived. And I didn’t have to do it in a covered wagon or on a horse. I had the luxury of a van with a sleeping bench in the back, interstate highways and 70 mph speed limits for much of the way. And when I got hungry, there was always a McDonalds or Jack in the Box along the way.
I am pretty proud of myself for being a gypsy like my grandparents and their parents before them. I too set out to realize a dream. And no, it wasn’t a failed one as some of you think. Long before the ex-whatever, I had dreamed of living in a warm place that others go on vacation to. I had realized long ago that people really do live among the swaying palms and the blinding white sand beaches. Once I figured this out, wanderlust kicked in and I knew that I would one day head out for parts unknown and settle in a new land.
In the process, I learned a lot about myself. I also learned that my roots were very different from what I had been told in family lore and dinnertime conversation. I am part of a rich tradition of travelers and adventurers who had no fear of the unknown and no trepidation about following a dream, no matter how crazy or ill advised it may have seemed at the time.
While I would never judge others who are happy to live their lives right where their parents dropped them off in the world, I will be forever grateful for the wanderlust that was delivered through my DNA. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Out on the Treasure Coast, looking at the ocean that my really great greats crossed over from England, France and parts unknown,
– Robb