The Lights Are Off

As we leave Virginia and our family behind—lingering hugs, teary kisses, and heartfelt goodbyes to our sons—Gary and I feel a mix of melancholy and renewal. That time with family marks the end of phase one of our epic road trip. And today, as we head west, marks the start of something new. A dozen more states await us, and we’re excited—two old farts with full hearts, ready for adventure.


We drive through Shenandoah National Park, soaking in the sweeping beauty of Skyline Drive and the Blue Ridge Mountains. With more than 200,000 acres of trails and waterfalls, Shenandoah oozes a peacefulness that feels lightyears away from the chaos of the D.C. metro area. It’s the kind of calm that seeps into your bones and settles your spirit.


On our way to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula (UP), we continue seeking out Harvest Host spots, and tonight’s stop is a gem: The 1812 Brewery in Cumberland, Maryland. Our host, Cory, is a twenty-something entrepreneur—friendly, passionate, and proud of his roots. He gave us a private tour and tasting of their locally brewed beers, all crafted from hops grown right on his family’s land. Their small-batch selection includes about eight beers, and our favorite was the Ambush IPA.


Listening to Cory speak about his farm, his friends, and their passion project, I felt that familiar maternal pride bubble up. Moms, I think, have a unique way of being “mom proud” of perfect strangers—celebrating the heart and hard work behind someone’s effort. Gary, on the other hand, was marveling at the 200-year-old wood bar, the Civil War memorabilia, and (of course) taste-testing every beer to determine his favorite.


As dusk fell, the pups and I were treated to another show by fireflies, their tiny lights scattered across the field like blinking stars. As we walked, their glow seemed to light our path—gratefully so, as the field was home to some farm-related hazards I’d rather not step in. Lola and Fiona chased the fireflies, spinning and leaping in circles, looking ridiculous in the best way. It reminded me of that scene from Sixteen Candles where Molly Ringwald’s sister is doped up on Midol, stumbling out of the church, trying to catch the rice flying at her. A laugh-out-loud memory for a small audience—but for me, that moment hit just right.


Then, as if summoned by the moment, a lone deer bounded across our path—leaping with grace and power, white tail flashing like punctuation in a poem. The dogs froze, then looked at each other, then back at me, as if to say, Did you see that? Seconds later, they were off—leashes taut, pulling me into chaos. I gathered myself, laughing, and continued our moonlit walk.


And somewhere along the path, I realized I had momentarily forgotten what town we were in, what day of the week it was. But I didn’t care. Because we were back on the road, surrounded by fireflies, beer, dogs, and deer—and it felt exactly right.