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Journey, not destination, is what matters

By JAN GLIDEWELL
Published August 7, 2006

Part of the deal that lets me spend my summers alone in Colorado, hiking, soaking and goofing off, is that my wife gets a bonus trip by meeting me somewhere nice en route.

One year we met at St. George Island, last year in New Orleans. When I offered her a choice this year she said something that sounded like "Yamath."

"Where? " I asked.

"Yamath," she said.

After retiring to the computer room for a few minutes, I came back and said, "There is no such place as Yamath."

"Yes there is," she said, "It's on Cape Cod."

When I called up a map and challenged her to show me, she pointed it out.

"That's Yarmouth," I said, pronouncing it correctly (as far as I am concerned) "YAR-MOUTH."

"Yamath," she said, giving me a look that said that people from a part of the country where "You all," is "Y'all," and New Orleans is N'awlins would be unwise to make fun of a Boston accent.

And, to be fair, the way she says it is more like YAH-MAH-TH.

I had already lost the battle on the correct pronunciation of "aunt," and "vase," and if I have acquired no other wisdom to go with my white hair and skin that is no longer capable of giving you an indication of you having been in the water too long, I have learned when to cut my losses and retire gracefully from the field.

I did point out that Yarmouth, Cape Cod and New England in general are not exactly on the path one takes when driving from Colorado to Dade City, and learned in rapid succession that:

A) My selection last year of New Orleans on the date that Hurricane Katrina had also chosen to come to town had not been forgotten; and neither had our almost winding up evacuated to the Superdome and having to drive 26 hours before we could find food and shelter.

B) My wife loves Yarmouth and really wants to go.

C) She will be celebrating a significant birthday during our visit, the significance of which will be herein undisclosed. (See earlier references to knowing when to quit and other survival skills acquired during a life that has seen five marriages, one war, one revolution and nearly 40 years of convincing corporate types that I was doing more work than I was and that they should give me money for it.)

The closer though was that my mother-in-law is also from the area and was longing for a visit and agreed to come up and join us for part of our stay. I am one of those fortunate men who actually likes his mother-in-law and driving a few (hundred) extra miles to bring her some happiness is fine with me.

I have never really visited New England before, except for one trip to Bangor, Maine, when I was in the Marine Corps and we were forbidden to go there from Camp Lejeune because it was considered too far to drive. All I remember is that I slept most of the way, it was cold and it was dark when we got there. This trip, I hope will be better.

People tell me the Cape is gorgeous, that I will want to return and that I should eat as much lobster and as many fried clams as I can.

That's okay with me. After two months in the mountains, I don't think I can look at another can of Hormel chili or piece of buffalo jerky until next year anyhow.

Besides, I'm looking forward to coming home and telling my Southern friends that I have been to Yamath - and hoping they will spend some time that night trying to find it on a map.

[Last modified August 7, 2006, 10:49:35]