Travel is a tricky word in some ways. We travel to get somewhere. We travel for work. We travel for fun. We travel for … there are so many ways to finish this sentence. There are travel mugs, travel blogs, even travel pillows. It is a verb and a noun and an adjective. I love to travel. For me, travel means seeing new things and having adventures. It is finding those small little places off the beaten path, taking a tour of a historic place and doing something that I’ve never done before. It is seeing life lived in places other than where I have lived. I believe my love of travel is a heritage of sorts from my parents.

As a kid, I got to travel. We called those travel times “vacations.” I know many people take vacations with family and go places and all that. However, my father was a farmer. As one can imagine, farmers don’t really move around much like people may do in other careers. So, one may think that a farmer probably doesn’t see much of the world during his life, since he is tied to one area of soil, of land. I am the youngest of six children. One of my cousins lived with us for 10 years. For our longer trips, my parents allowed the older children to take turns choosing a friend to come along. So, in total, there were 10 of us. As I grew up, I began to realize just how unique our vacations were.