forgive me sweet baby, but i always take the long way home

it took us six hours to take a two-hour route home last night. this was to robert's chagrin and my utter, utmost delight.

we did not take the highway. that was my one caveat. we took wandering back roads that meandered past neighborhoods and diners and little boys on bicycles after school. we stopped to take long winery tours and visit the mount olive pickle factory. we held hands across tables with checkered tablecloths and sipped warm coffee late into the afternoon.

it could have been a straight shot down interstate 40. just one right turn and hundreds of miles of straight.

but then we wouldn't have seen the four deer in the meadow. and we wouldn't have been reminded how pickles are made (i say reminded because we watch the same 10-minute video twice a year. you get a free jar of pickles each, people. need i say more?)

we wouldn't driven past my dad's old high school, and taken a picture in front of the sign (go southern wayne fighting saints!) or have met the tour guide at the winery, who wore flip flops in february and spoke in a define, practiced surfer boy accent. who suggested we try this type of wine, then this type, then just for good measure, this type. who snuck us extra crackers and showed us a picture of the oldest grape vine in the world.

yes, we would have made it home before sundown. and our weary, traveling faces would have hit the pillows of our own bed before midnight. but the day of traveling home is still a day of travel. and that means a day of experiences. of getting away from screens. of blasting the heat in an old sedan and cranking up some country jams from the early nineties (doug stone, anyone?)

because putting off tuesday and the workweek ahead is part of why we take these little getaways. to act for a second like vagabonds with no real responsibilities. and a true vagabond would never take the road most traveled.