**** I set off from Pittsfield, Massachusetts, in July 2011...and ended up in Aspen, Colorado, in February 2012. Along the way, I visited 28 states, three countries, dozens of national parks, hundreds of cities and towns, and countless friends and strangers. Why? Why not? In fact, I lost my job of seven years when Berkshire Living, the regional magazine I helped launch, folded. Then my apartment building burned down while I was in Miami for the weekend. A breakup and a stolen bicycle figured in shortly thereafter. Wouldn't you hit the road, too? Enjoy my virtual scrapbook of anecdotes and eye candy from a freewheeling, cross-country, cross-cultural odyssey--past, present, and future.Amanda Rae Busch
amandaraewashere@gmail.com
This image above exemplifies how I’m NOT feeling right now.
For the first day in twenty-six, I had absolutely no plans. It was mentally challenging, for me, to wake up and start the day without an itinerary in place, but things worked out better than I could have expected. I ended up at a free outdoor yoga class on the front lawn of the Paine Arts Center and Gardens in Oshkosh and befriending a group of vibrant women. We hung out and took photos in our sweaty yoga gear. They invited me to hear a band perform on the waterfront, but by that point I did have dinner plans. The irony!
Before all that, this afternoon, I climbed to the top of the 1932 Cape Cod-style lighthouse at the very tip of Fond du Lac, on the southern shore of Lake Winnebago. (As a devoted Francophile, I was drawn to the name, which means “foot of the lake.”)
It’s been refreshingly cool here in Wisconsin—mid-70s—and breezy, so I’ve been spending as much time as possible outside, today taking photographs: of sailboats, bridges, flowers, Frisbee-playing swimmers, ducks.
At the base of the lighthouse, I took the chained anchor photo. Well, some lady did (I gave in)…at which point her two children positively squealed with delight, saying that it was the funniest photo EVER and staging their own silly shoot as I wandered off.
Free Bird
So my friend Mike and I were strolling along the High Line in New York City the other day, admiring the tall grasses, shrubs, flowers, and birdhouse sculptures that line the sleek concrete walkway and remarking how refreshing it is to avoid the Saturday morning hustle and bustle on the streets below us. The park, which opened a new section in June so that it now stretches from West 34th Street to Gansevoort Street, was crowded with couples and families and tourists posing for photos, but seemed quiet and felt peaceful at the same time.
Suddenly I heard a phlat, phlat, phlat, phlat, and feel a whoooosh of air above me. I looked up and noticed that a bird—maybe a small hawk?—had zipped across our path just inches overhead. Its small wings were pumping hard to get to its destination, some balcony or rooftop. I thought about it for a minute: I couldn’t remember if or when I’d ever heard the sound of a bird’s wings while I was taking a walk—and to hear it in the middle of Manhattan, of all places.
I mentioned this to Mike, who’s lived in the city for eight years. “Relative to the ground, he was pretty high in the sky…isn’t that a neat sound?” I said. He sort of shrugged. “Oh,” he said nonchalantly, “I thought that was my flip flips….”
