‭Life on The Road: A Reflection‬

There’s something special about life on the road, even if for a short time. It’s packing your belongings into a couple bags and knowing that this is all you’ll need for a while. Packing yourself into a six-seater with strangers and understanding that you will have each other to rely on, that they just might become something akin to family. Living outside–with hardly more than a sheet of polyester separating you from the elements, watching the sun rise and set every day, nothing between yourself and the stars as you lock the trailer at night–you start to feel just a little bit different. A little bit stronger and a little more connected. There’s no better place than outdoors to notice as leaves bud in the spring, stretch to catch the sun in the summer, dazzle with vivid color in the fall, and crunch beneath your feet as winter approaches. You learn about the land and the sun, watching as they too, change with the seasons.

There’s something about walking over soft pine needles, smelling the aroma of the woods, and looking ahead to see a line of boots padding home to a circle of tents. Everyone in the same place, perhaps carrying the same kind of loppers, but thinking their unique thoughts and feeling something only they can feel. You’re at once completely alone and more together than you’ve ever been before. It’s waking up, cooking, working, and playing outside every day. Bathing in the lake when you’re miles from the nearest shower, sitting cross-legged on the ground to make dinner, listening to the hum of mosquitoes as you fall asleep. It’s the taboo of speaking through tent walls protecting your privacy and allowing valuable moments of quiet and solitude, though nearby sneezes and snoring remind you that you’re not quite tucked away completely. It’s these moments that remind you how great and small you are. A piece of the living puzzle made up of everything in this world. We experience ups and downs on the road, all of them amplified by distance and proximity, from civilization and to our crew. We work through it all, rain and shine, special moments of awe and warmth made more incredible simply by knowing you’re there to feel them.

The end of a long day made more satisfying by how hard you’ve worked to get there. I’ve awoken late at night or in the wee hours of the morning to look at lights in the sky, someone whispering, “Beth, you have to come out of there and look up right now, they’re even better than last time.” And as I would shuffle out of my tent and rub the fog from my eyes, I’d see them, my friends with necks craned and mouths open, standing in the vastness of our current wild, before I saw any dancing streaks of green. We’d stand there together, take a photo or two, and look for a moment longer to take it all in, enjoying this reward saved for those who dare to venture out. It was by being there to witness a friend seeing the northern lights for the first time that we came to appreciate the phrase, “Man, I love that for you.”

Now we know the only proper response to an experience such as this, because we love it for us too.

We live as humans on the road, imperfect and ever-changing, and we understand that nothing goes just right. Until it does. Until it does, only because you possess a shared willingness to learn and grow together. It may not happen as you expect or as you hope, but it happens nonetheless and it is good. What’s at the beginning a mess of needs and opinions, everyone dropped in from their individual lives, becomes a neat stack of understanding and collaboration, a tiny community. You may add an extra head of garlic to a meal that you wouldn’t before, just because you remember that someone enjoyed it last time. Maybe they’ll ask if you seasoned it differently or ask for you to pass the Cholula as always. It’s a question of meatballs versus meat sauce that may just divide a crew, but it’s a loaf of bread and a stick of butter that brings them back together. Nothing is more simple, and nothing more complex, out here it just is. You live and you learn and you grow, and you do it together.

It’s the memory of shared experience that makes everything worthwhile. Knowing that you were lucky to have this opportunity to live outside, explore new places, and think of what’s yet to come. Creating a path for future members to follow, demonstrating how and why it works, and hoping that those who choose this path will find the same joy and satisfaction that you did. Maybe I’m sappy, but the trees out here are too and my uniform can vouch for that! I’ve spent a year of my life doing this stuff, going places and seeing things, making friends and building connections, and I’ve grown through it. Now as I hang up my WisCorps boots and prepare for new adventures, I’ll remember this time on the road. I’ll remember life as a crew watching wildflowers bloom and seasons change, as all the while the trees watched us do the same.