There is something serene about driving. Of course, that’s only after you’ve escaped the parking lot that is every large highway winding out of the poorly designed city of Boston. Finally, when the number of cars slowly starts to let up, and your calf muscle gets a rest from constantly moving from the gas pedal to the break and back again, the serenity hits.
Each weekend I drive two hours from Boston to Maine. My experience continues to change with every passing week: some months I’m fighting with vacationers who are trying to make their way to Maine for the summer weekends, others the roads become increasingly crowded as students head back to school. Each drive can bring a new frustration, getting in the way between where I am and where I’m going.
However, despite the countless hours I spend in my car, there’s nothing like the beginning of October when I realize how truly blessed I have been to grow up in New England. The leaves begin to turn, and all of a sudden I am driving through a tunnel of color. What once was I sped by vibrant greens, now I see sunset hues. The color awakens the senses and opens my eyes to how beautiful nature really is.
The leaves never last, and slowly the drive will fade to dull grays and browns, revealing desolate branches prepping for another rough winter ahead. With the leaves will also go the memories from the summer before. The bathing suits are put away and replaced with boots and scarves, and the Coronas on the beach become warm apple cider and pie. With each season significantly different than the one before, it sure makes the same two hour drive north, week after week, a new adventure!