The campsite is outside Rochester, New York and a jog from Lake Ontario.

I just swept the bulk of the beaches from Lake Michigan, Lake Erie and Lake Ontario out of Little Bird — now the van’s official name. When you travel with a dog, you know lake stops are a must. For me, too, always. In Door County, Wisconsin, Maxx barked at the breaking waves and tried to gobble them as they crashed into the shore. It’s good to travel with a brave boy.

I’d initially thought I’d only camp away from people, waking up alone in my “stealth van,” as the internet van communities call these, with the gorgeous outdoor vistas from my van. People brag about how many nights they have camped for free out in the boonies. But I’ve found I feel a little more grounded — OK, safer — with a few people close, but not too close. One couple has a pair of flamingos marking their camping spot. Some families have wooden or cloth signs announcing their names and home towns. During the evening I hear a grandfather tell his grandsons how to carefully cut kindling. A woman traveling with her dog and niece stops by and compares notes on good places to park our small rigs — level ground, water, overnight parking – all things I’ve discovered on the road.

I’ve met several women who are happily traveling alone, or, I should say, with their dogs. They tell me about their past lives and marriages, and seem to conclude, perhaps a bit bitterly, that on the road with only Pup is the way to go. I agree, but not in any final way. I love my current life, and this is where I am. It’s good, it’s now, but who knows what the future will deliver?

So many states and communities are doing road work. On a four-lane state road along Lake Ontario coast, miles of cracks and potholes were jarring. From state highways to city streets, U.S. interstates to county roads, the closed lanes and lowered speed limits are ubiquitous. That’s travel in the summer, though, and I do not mind. Sometimes it brings me back to the present, out of my head, which can take over before I am aware that I’m lost in thought. “Wait, what town was that? What state am I in?”

Being on the road also reminds me how used to fast-speed internet we’ve become. As I wait and wait… and wait for my laptop to connect using an external device supposed to boost my Wi-Fi, I remind myself nothing is all that urgent. Not really.

One of the rare treats of traveling in the Northeast is the omnipresence of water. I know Flagstaff has been hit by rains and damaging floods this summer, but I’m talking about bodies of water. For a Midwest gal living the in Southwest for 40-plus years, it’s heaven to be around lakes and ponds, rivers and creeks. Driving through Ohio, I was constantly surprised when I drove over bridges, and suddenly I was surrounded by lily pads as far as the eye could see. Gorgeous, glimmering.

The main focus of the trip so far was saying a last goodbye to our Mom, finally. All six of her children and a few spouses and grandchildren gathered in Wisconsin, after a COVID-imposed Zoom memorial last fall. We buried most of her ashes with my dad in Milwaukee’s Holy Cross Cemetery, but a bit of her found its way into the lake she loved. (Shhhh!) It was good to make our final goodbyes, and it was poignant.

The day I left town, I stopped for a take-out coffee where I used to frequent with her. As I left the coffee shop, I looked across the street at her former condominium. She was there right before moving to “community living” and she so loved that place. As I sipped my latte, I gazed at her window, and the tears came. I was leaving Milwaukee, leaving her behind, leaving my siblings, who are scattered around the globe. Still, it was good to think of her in happier times. I saw her laughing with me as we sat together at her small wooden table at the window, jaunty geraniums on the sill.

As I step into the waves between Milwaukee and Maine, I am thinking of her, and moving forward — Maxx, me and Little Bird.