Left on Peach Fork Road

We’d spent a week on the beach: me, my wife, my daughter, and my son.  Incidentally, we’d moved to a new house the week prior to that and left it full of boxes which were mostly full.  It was a two week snapshot of extremes of stress or relaxation, but always active.

It was the drive home to Ohio where it occurred.  We were at about the eleventh hour of driving, somewhere south of Athens, and far from civilization.  I was trying to follow the signs to catch Hwy 33, but the “next right” promised by the sign proved to be premature.  

Instead of 33 we found ourselves on a country road and “in the sticks” as we would have described it growing up in southern Indiana.  My wife had been taking requests to play music on her phone and we’d just drove our way through “Carry On Wayward Son” by Kansas.

I suddenly piped up with “Look up Dueling Banjos!” as we passed a shack-of-a-house being swallowed by weeds and a pickup truck in the gravel driveway.  I was the only one who’d seen the movie or appreciated the reference, but then the banjo began to heat up.

Everyone was punchy at this point in the trip and got caught up in the manic melody.  There was  kind of buzzing sensation in the air.  As we passed a tiny house that looked like it was tiled with multicolored squares I heaved up a boisterous and piercing “YEE-HAW!” 

My 8 year old daughter burst into infectious laughter and all our recent life stressors seemed to melt away in the general hilarity that ensued.  My wife could barely breathe and I glimpsed my 14 year old son in the rearview mirror allowing himself to temporarily drop his inhibitions.

These glorious few minutes continued to build when my father-in-law texted to ask “where are you in your journey?” which was perfect, if inadvertent, comedic timing.  The Garmin indicated ‘left on Peach Fork Road’ so I half-yelled, “Tell him we’re turning left on Peach Fork Road!” 

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