Introduction

Wanderlust entered my life when I was four years old. My family and I lived  forty miles west of Chicago in an area that was slowly changing from rural to suburbia. At the end of our block, on Drummond Street, stood the remains of an old farm. Most of the buildings were gone, leaving only crumbling foundations and one brick fireplace standing in their wake. Wood siding from the barn lay in a heap on the ground situated in such a way that you could envision the barn standing one minute and collapsing the next. At the opposite corner of the land stood a tall, twisted mulberry tree with raggedy bark.

One day my uncle, a photographer, took me to the old abandoned farm to photograph me in an outdoor setting and something magical happened; wanderlust was born. Something about the remains of the old farm peeking out from the tall grass intrigued me. I wanted to see more. Over the years, as I spent more time on that square of land, the abandoned barn, tall grass and solitary stone fireplace became pieces of a larger story. Not a summer went by that I didn't head home from that farm every other day with mulberry stained fingers and a stomach full of berries. My curiousity gave way to a greater interest because I knew everything I saw on the farm was part of a story. Someone else's story; many peoples'stories...now my story, too.

It is my opinion that once you come down with a case of wanderlust it remains with you the rest of your life. Whether or not you stifle it, feed it or succumb to its calling is an individual thing. Some feel you must travel far and wide in order to satisfy wanderlust. I say you can explore your own backyard or travel halfway around the world; it doesn't matter. What matters most is that you explore with an eye and desire for finding the places and things that interest you, beckon you, pique your curiousity and make you hunger for more.

I am a sensorial person with a love for old things. If it looks, smells or tastes beautiful I don't want to miss experiencing it. If it's old I want to appreciate it, learn about it and when I can't learn about it, then I want time to imagine the story. Old things have a story to tell to anyone who will stay still long enough to listen.



Cypress Funeral Home

 The old farm at the end of Drummond Street was razed when I was eleven years old. The neighborhood folks waited in anticipation for four new homes to be built where, once upon a time, one family had lived and farmed long ago. Instead, a funeral home was built. No one could believe it. Even after the the old farm was gone wanderlust lived on and lead me to explore other farm fields, other neighborhoods and eventually other parts of the United States.

Now I live in Germany.  A chain of events so incredible you'd never believe them lead me to move overseas to live with a man I'd fallen in love with thirty years earlier but hadn't been in touch with for a long, long time. Sometimes love lives on without you even knowing it...but that's another blog. Though I never ran out of places to satiate my wanderlust in America, I now explore with a new perspective...that of a foreigner living, learning and experiencing life in a new land. Most everyday is a walk down Wanderlust Road as I discover a different street or spy a new sign leading me off on my next adventure.

This blog combines my wanderlust with a love for writing and photography. Here I will chronicle the places, people and things I discover on my way to a great many destinations. Some of these destinations will be well-known while others will involve trips down roads less traveled. Together I know they will form the Tales From Wanderlust Road. I know this because I can feel the stories of these places beckoning me long before I even set out on my journeys. Join me along the way because it's your story, too. We are all part of this world and, at one point or another, we all find ourselves ambling down Wanderlust Road.