2025 Summer Road Trip - Time Marches On......

We’ve hit the road on our first big adventure with Coddiwomple (our trusty pickup), Cat (our cozy RV), and Rita, our ever-faithful travel companion. We rolled out of Belton on May 15, and we’re excited to share the journey—one stop at a time.

This blog will mostly fall into the Mile Marks – Feeding Our Wanderlust category, as entries will be organized by the places we stay in our home on wheels. However, I’ll also be sharing stories about the amazing people we meet, the beautiful places we explore, and, of course, the delicious food we find, cook, and enjoy. I hope you come along for the ride.

Note: This post is more personal and falls into the Place Marks - Gathering Around the Table category as it focuses on the time we spent with Josh and Ariel at her family farm in Pennsylvania.

Some stops on our journey aren’t just about the miles—they’re about the moments that ground us in love, memory, and family. This one was different. We met up with our son Josh and his fiancee' Ariel at her grandmother’s farm in Rockton, Pennsylvania—a place rich with roots and stories, laughter and loss.

The past few months have brought Ariel’s family its share of heartache. She recently lost both an uncle and an aunt—one from each side of her family—both of whom played significant roles in raising her alongside her beloved grandmother.

Not long after, her grandmother suffered a stroke, leaving the family shaken once again.

And yet, here in this quiet corner of Pennsylvania, healing is taking shape.

Ariel and Josh just returned from a trip to the Teton Mountains, the very place where they first met. And while there, they got engaged!

Now they’re in the joyful whirlwind of planning a wedding. The timing of our visit felt like a gentle intersection of past, present, and future—grief and joy sitting side by side. And we are getting another daughter!

We visited Gram today, and to our delight, her resilient spirit had returned. She was up and about, chatting warmly with us, drinking her coffee with the same right hand doctors once feared might never work again.

She even played a round of bingo—smiling, alert, unmistakably herself.

Later in the day, we walked up the hillside just above the family farm to visit the small, timeworn cemetery where Ariel’s Aunt Cindy was recently laid to rest.

It’s a humble place—quiet and tucked away—with a peaceful view of the pond below. Though the cemetery is rarely used now, several of the aging headstones were marked with flags in honor of Memorial Day weekend. The gentle flutter of red, white, and blue stood in silent tribute, reminding us that memory has a way of lingering in even the quietest corners.

We paused there for a long while, letting the stillness settle over us. We remembered Aunt Cindy not only as a loving presence, but as the one who had quietly stepped in to hold the family together when Gram began to slow down.

As Gram—the glue that bound everyone to the farm—aged and became less able to manage the yard, flowers, and household, Cindy took over with care and grace.

She prepared incredible Sunday dinners, tended to Gram, kept the farmhouse and yard in beautiful shape, and spent many peaceful hours on the front porch, surrounded by blooms and looking out over her horses. She didn’t just fill Gram’s shoes; she carried on Gram’s heartwork, quietly and faithfully.

Wandering among the old markers, we traced softened names and dates with our eyes, marveling at the lives remembered in stone. There was comfort in the continuity of it all—generations resting beneath the same sky, still keeping watch over the land they once called home.

Down at the pond, Ariel picked up her fishing pole and cast a line into the calm water. The ripples spread gently across the surface as she waited. It felt like a kind of prayer. A way to honor the past, while holding space for the simple joys that remain.

There was something sacred in the simplicity of the day's moments: sipping coffee with Gram, laughing over a spirited game of 42, lingering outside in the hush of the countryside, simply being together.

These were the quiet rituals of family—the way we show up for one another, the way we hold each other up without needing grand gestures. Even the farm seemed to respond, as if it, too, was exhaling. What had once felt weighted by loss now stirred with gentle signs of life, resilience, and love.

On Sunday, several members of Ariel’s family gathered at the farmhouse. We enjoyed meeting everyone, sharing stories, and sitting down together for a classic Memorial Day meal—grilled ribs, corn on the cob, potato salad, and beans.

Between bites and laughter, the conversation turned to wedding plans. We talked about setting a date for this new chapter—right here on the land that holds so much family history. There was talk of dresses, flowers, food, and of course, the perfect spot on the property for the ceremony.

It felt like a full-circle moment: honoring the past while making space for the future. Love, after all, is what roots us—and what keeps us growing.

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