From the Road to Roots

Headed west on the turnpike today, and every time I do, it brings back a flood of memories. Being on the road makes me miss traveling, seeing the country—something that was such a big part of my life for so many years.

From the time I was 15 until I bought this house in 2005, I never stayed in one place very long. Not just job-wise, but home-wise too. A lot of apartments, a lot of different towns. This is actually the only house I’ve ever owned.

At 15, I quit school and moved out of state. I can’t even remember how long I was gone—maybe six or eight months. Eventually, my best friend at the time (I still wonder where we drifted apart) came and got me, brought me back home. After that, it was job after job, town after town.

When we started doing railroad demolition, the real traveling began. How long we stayed in one place depended on the job—some lasted a month or two, others six months. I met so many people over the years. I still wonder how they’re doing. I’d love to visit, but most of them are probably long gone—not necessarily gone for good, just moved on to different lives. Hopefully retired. Hopefully happy.

The longest job we had was here in Ohio. We worked multiple job sites around the Toledo area and even had a few up in Detroit. Since we knew we’d be around for a while, we rented an apartment in Oregon, Ohio. We liked it here. (We didn’t want to live in Detroit—no offense to anyone who does.)

Then the bottom dropped out of the rail recovery business. After the Berlin Wall came down and more rail was imported into the U.S., the price of steel tanked. So we moved on and started driving over the road. That meant seeing even more of the country. You could be in several states in a single day. I learned more about America from the seat of a truck than I ever did in school. Honestly, quitting school is one thing I’ve never regretted. Sometimes, I wish I’d done it sooner.

Driving led to propane work. In the winters, we hauled propane. Summers took us back to Oregon, Ohio—this time hauling asphalt. Our second time in this area, and we still liked it just as much. Asphalt seemed steady. One day we said, “What if we just bought a truck and moved out here?” The conversation didn’t last long. We made the decision in minutes.

That’s what led me to where I am now.

Sometimes I wonder how I went from living so fully for so many years to just surviving day by day. A friend once told me that after I moved here, I put down roots—and became a tree.

But sometimes, like today, when I’m on the turnpike,
I don’t want to be a tree anymore.

I just don’t know how to change it—or if it can be changed.

Michelle