|The two of us in the Roberts' doorframe just before leaving.|
After all that, we were still left with this, an overflowing F250 and a filled Focus (rather fittingly, two American cars to haul our conspicuously consumed American belongings):
|Our full Ford Focus|
|Grandpa and Sage, Grandpa's truck, and all our boxed belongings|
Fortunately, we had help. My grandpa, mom, and brother packed the truck for us and rotated the driving responsibilities. And I've got to say that their packing job was amazing. Our belongings survived Portland traffic, Columbia River Gorge and Idaho prairie winds, and Utah construction to arrive safely in my parents' garage, anxiously awaiting the final leg of their journey in a few weeks.
Even so, I felt a twinge of envy for the pioneers, who fit all of their belongings into wagons or even handcarts. Granted, I appreciated the engines, air conditioning, and paved roads that allowed us to get to Utah quickly and (relatively) comfortably. What I envied was the constraints that forced them to make hard decisions on what to take and what to leave behind. There is something liberating and oddly comforting in having few belongings to take with us, not being tied down by material possessions.
Special thanks to Grandpa, Mom, and Sage for their help in moving. Thanks also to the Anderson and Peterson families for letting us sleep in their homes and eat their food for the next few weeks. That's one thing about being unburdened by possessions: those without tend mooch from those with them.