As much as I’m loving my life on the road, I have to admit I’m more than a bit homesick right now. I miss my animals, and my garden something awful. Plus, we’re terribly curious to see how the bees are doing, and if they have started to produce honey. The raspberries are just coming ripe, and I should be picking them to make jam. Soon, the sour cherries across the street from us will need harvesting. I’m not there to make sure my squash all gets pollinated.

As enjoyable as this trip is and has been, it’s hard to be missing those little events that tie me to my tiny piece of land on this planet. I’m missing the milestones of the season as it changes back home. I’ve lost a little bit of that connection this year. If I were home, I’d be watching the girls for signs of upcoming molts. I’d be weeding the garden and removing the early bloomers to make way for the fall harvest. I’d be walking the dogs, and watching the yards in the neighbourhoods to see what’s growing. I’d be doing a daily walkabout in the yard with Will to observe what’s sprouting or blossoming or dying.

However, as much as I’m aware of what I’m missing back home, I’m also aware of what I’m learning and absorbing on this trip so far. I’ve seen incredible sights, met friendly people everywhere I go, and consumed a novel in eight days (something I haven’t had time to do in years). With everything gained, something is sacrificed. And that’s okay. It’s totally worth it. Besides, nothing is forever, and before I know it, the month will be up, and I’ll be back at home, canning tomatoes and walking the dogs again.