Unsettled

My father blames my gypsy ways on himself and my mother.

No doubt my love for adventure and incurable itchy feet was genetic.

My parents met in England and after they were married moved to Canada. Never settling down in one place for long they moved numerous times in the late 60's early 70's.

Even traveling across Canada, from Montreal in a V.W. with a
cat and my brother to settle in B.C.

After I was born
we moved again a total of 4 more times before ending up in the Southern Okanagan in 1982. It was due to my fathers job transfers that we moved so much, but I have the feeling we may have traveled from town to town even without him being transfered.

As a young child I had to start new schools in the middle of the school year on a few occasions. It never bothered me much.
My mum tells a funny story of having just moved to Campbell River and literally booting me out of the house to go knock on neighboring doors in search of playmates. No shy bones in my body back then I eventually found some friends.....until we moved a couple years later. It was instilled in me at an early age to be carefree and have a passion for travel.

My fathers mother traveled to the U.S.A with him in tow in the 50's, only to relocate back to Italy years later. My mothers parents travels included Africa, Europe, North America. They went as far as finding some rural land in the Fraser Valley, parking their ancient Bedford Van and staking a claim. The home my grandfather built still stands to this day. Could the need to move, travel, get away be passed from generation to generation? I suppose if I had to sort through all my family's traits and pick which one I'd prefer to pass along to my children;
a zeal for journey would be on the top of my list.

We've already obliviously tutored our young children this exact point.
Little B's first trip to Nevada, and California was at only 4 months. Little C's at 3 months! Countless trips in between have landed us all over Washington, Oregon, and B.C.

Time will tell where my little darlings end up on the spectrum. If they take after me, they may find themselves on foreign turf with a pack sac strapped to their sweaty backs, a guide book in their hands, and nothing but a deep admiration of generations past to guide them on.

As long as they call home every day, I vow to be as supportive as my parents were when they found out I was hooked on adventure.