Leaving Home & Arriving in Concord, Part One

As seen in Concord’s Sleepy Hollow Cemetery.

I'm a strange duck, married to the comforts of a quiet home, yet now that we've tasted travel, I long for it each winter. Every December, like Anaïs Nin, I find that "I'm restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again."

No wonder I relate so to Tolkien's Bilbo Baggins, who was utterly comfortable with his books and kitchen and reading chair in his hobbit hole. However, once his Tookish side awakened, he could not restrain it. He balanced both for the rest of his years, taking adventures with the dwarves and elves when needed but also luxuriating at home.

So, every winter, there is a tug-of-war of epic contest within me.

My kitchen, writing desk, bed, and bathtub conspire to seduce me to settle in and stay. After all, the best recipes are made in the winter months when we are nesting. Yet I desire to move, to flow freely along woodland trails for up to ten miles a day. But that's not possible once the snow and…