I found this to be a wonderfully insightful and beautifully written essay. E.B. White was also one of my heroes who gave me permission to feel more normal around animals and notice them in ways that my siblings and parents seemed to ignore. My father had two sides to him in those days, but the best of him was when he embraced adventure and the unknown like your father, exposing us to experiences in Europe that gave birth to a broader view of the world. Thank you, Christina, for such an uplifting piece of writing.
1
Snip, snip. Snip, snip, snip. I spent each evening in January hunkered down in my beach side railroad carriage cottage in West Sussex listening to the BBC and patiently snipping the needles off my Nordman pine Christmas tree to make three pine needle bed bolster pillows. Now when I fall asleep the pine scent will remind me of the author of one of my favourite books. Thank you for allowing me take part in your E B White memory.
3
Seat belts hadn't caught on yet in the early 70's? My parents had five lap belts, one for each family member, in our basic black Ford at least by the early 60's. In 1966 I was in the passenger seat of a tin-can Triumph, lap belt on, but above my pelvis, when we crashed. It caused a spinal cord injury, but I am grateful I lived and walk, even though poorly. My brother-in-law, at least family lore has it, soon thereafter influenced Ford, where he worked, to install shoulder belts routinely. It sounds to me more as though this family forgot that spontaneity doesn't preclude a certain level of physical safety. They're lucky nothing ever happened to any of them.
1
This is a grand essay of being adventuresome and never afraid to ask ... like Frost's The Road Less Traveled meets E B White's Charlotte's Web.
It reminds me of the great adventures I could have missed if I had settled for nothing special, and the people I would never have known-some by trespassing.
It reminds me of the great adventures I could have missed if I had settled for nothing special, and the people I would never have known-some by trespassing.
1
Many try to live in the moment, really we do. And often, when writing furiously, pondering on a conundrum in mathematical physics that has puzzled and defeated me for years, or racing down a steep rocky trail at full tilt leaping from boulder to boulder, every part of my frame straining and creaking, then I am forced to exclude everything other than the present task.
Nevertheless, endless anxiety grinds down even the most stalwart. Constant worries about lack of money, about the failing health of elderly family members, about our past, present and likely future failure to fulfil our few talents, about all the things we ought to have done or said but didn't, and all the things we ought not to have done or said but did, mean that the shining moment is lost too easily in the fog of despair.
Carpe diem? Yes – but more ancient still, we trace the twin inscriptions at Delphi that says to know ourselves, and nothing in excess.
Nevertheless, endless anxiety grinds down even the most stalwart. Constant worries about lack of money, about the failing health of elderly family members, about our past, present and likely future failure to fulfil our few talents, about all the things we ought to have done or said but didn't, and all the things we ought not to have done or said but did, mean that the shining moment is lost too easily in the fog of despair.
Carpe diem? Yes – but more ancient still, we trace the twin inscriptions at Delphi that says to know ourselves, and nothing in excess.
3
beautiful writing!!
reminds us to be less anxious and planning to remember why to live!
reminds us to be less anxious and planning to remember why to live!
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I think far more people lived like this, traveled like this back then than now. I certainly did. This reminds me of my youth. I was 20 in 1973, and hitchhiked
alone from Santa Cruz to Boulder with a knife in my shoe and an ankle length dress. It was great. That was one of many adventures.
alone from Santa Cruz to Boulder with a knife in my shoe and an ankle length dress. It was great. That was one of many adventures.
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I hitchiked to town from the mountains where I lived and also picked up hitchhikers in those days (no knife in my shoes). There was a guy who lived a few miles away who spooked me for some reason. I stopped picking him up. About a year later, he murdered a friend of his. After that, I stopped picking up hitchhikers unless I knew them well. It later turned out that a young woman who was murdered not so far away was most likely killed by Ted Bundy. It still gives me chills to think about my stupidity in those days. Fortunately my daughters are smarter than I was.
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Loved this. Thank you. A great reminder to get out and be present.
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And to develop charm and use it!
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Beautiful. Thank you for distracting me out of Trump woes towards things that matter so much, that I have control over. So lovely.
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Thank you for this lovely essay. It reminds us that the world can be a friendly, enchanting place where strangers can easily become friends. We need this these days with all of the talk about building walls to protect us from bad people who will hurt us.
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If you looked up White Privilege in the dictionary, it would say simply "see this article."
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Funny how you didn't notice that this was a man who did not come from privilege. But he did have curiosity, something sadly lacking in too many people.
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If you give life a chance, you may find it more open than you think. I went through the comments and discovered an old Indian gentleman from Mumbai, my Puerto Rican wife and two black women who reached out to the world and found others who reached back. I also bet that there may be others from identifiable minority groups among other writers who reacted with joy. Give life a chance, you may be surprised.
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Oh please. You've got to be kidding. Just look at some of the other comments below that describe similar attitudes, and not from "white people."
4
This article is so timely as I find my 74 year old self in Saudi Arabia visiting my children who are teachers here. We have just returned from a four day trip to the Nabatean ruins in the western part of the country. Our adventure included indignities of comfort and convenience that were far surpassed by the wonders of these timeless monuments and the magnificence of their setting. Even at my age one can broaden her appreciation of the world she is lucky enough to inhabit.
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Ah yes, discovering reality, the parts we haven't yet noticed (or taken pictures of).
One of the central lessons of Tao is found right here, that all that is real and worthwhile can be found quietly waiting around us for our eyes and ears and awareness to stop running madly around in the squirrel cage and notice it. Live in the Now.
Each place, each moment contains and is connected to all that is, was, or will be. But we can't experience those things as they are except through living fully in the long string of pearls that are the days and hours of our life.
This is what we have, this place and time, with its color, and smells, and tiny details, and the people in it. And becoming one with this tiny, immense interlude is the only eternity we know for sure we will ever have. How lucky you were. I'm glad you came to know that before it was too late.
One of the central lessons of Tao is found right here, that all that is real and worthwhile can be found quietly waiting around us for our eyes and ears and awareness to stop running madly around in the squirrel cage and notice it. Live in the Now.
Each place, each moment contains and is connected to all that is, was, or will be. But we can't experience those things as they are except through living fully in the long string of pearls that are the days and hours of our life.
This is what we have, this place and time, with its color, and smells, and tiny details, and the people in it. And becoming one with this tiny, immense interlude is the only eternity we know for sure we will ever have. How lucky you were. I'm glad you came to know that before it was too late.
8
This this reminded me of my wonderful wife who came from a small city in Puerto Rico but who could fall into conversation with locals in France, Spain, Italy, Ireland or Iceland, opening our eyes, ears and hearts to strangers in foreign lands.
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Beautiful, wistful story! Reminds me of my dad who passed away last month. He knew every store keeper and street vendor in the streets of Mumbai in our neighborhood. He would ask them what rents they paid, did they have to bribe the police to keep their carts on the streets and so on. I would sometimes be startled at his probing questions but the vendors happily answered him and shared their stories and insecurities. They would call out to him as he walked past - Uncle, uncle, come buy spinach, it is fresh from the farms today. When he got older, it was - Grandad, come buy these bananas! Dad loved it but my Mom and I would be embarrassed and hang our heads while he chatted. We were small-minded, he had a large, generous soul. We miss him terribly.
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A heart-entrancing, evocative essay. It
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This is my mom
4
This marvelous essay seamlessly moves us into the author's childhood memories, which give us as much joy as they do her. Kline's father taught her life-changing lessons about believing in the basic goodness of strangers, of being in the moment, of finding adventures in the simplest Sunday drive, and of relishing the natural world in all its manifestations. These are the lessons we all believe and adopt easily in childhood, and which can sustain us throughout all our decades to come.
Is also reminded me of our family's Sunday late-1960s drives with Dad, five kids piled into the "way-back" of a Rambler Station wagon as we explored the backroads of New Jersey and Pennsylvania. We never met E. B. White, but we met dozens of residents of a rural history and way of life preserved for decades - now all gone.
But juxtaposed next to articles for Black History Month, it made me realize, for the first time, how "racially entitled" my white family was in our journeys. No family of five black youngsters would have met with welcomes from the same pipe-smokers feet-up on the pot-bellied stove, in a general store that time had forgotten. Would we have been invited into the homes of the then-octogenarian grandchildren of canal bargemen while they swapped history tales with my dad? Would five curious children been viewed as happy diversions, as messengers to the future, or as potential little criminals?
And how would a similar family of few black children be welcomed today?
Is also reminded me of our family's Sunday late-1960s drives with Dad, five kids piled into the "way-back" of a Rambler Station wagon as we explored the backroads of New Jersey and Pennsylvania. We never met E. B. White, but we met dozens of residents of a rural history and way of life preserved for decades - now all gone.
But juxtaposed next to articles for Black History Month, it made me realize, for the first time, how "racially entitled" my white family was in our journeys. No family of five black youngsters would have met with welcomes from the same pipe-smokers feet-up on the pot-bellied stove, in a general store that time had forgotten. Would we have been invited into the homes of the then-octogenarian grandchildren of canal bargemen while they swapped history tales with my dad? Would five curious children been viewed as happy diversions, as messengers to the future, or as potential little criminals?
And how would a similar family of few black children be welcomed today?
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J & L,
How do you know that Mr. White, writer of children's book, would have held prejudice against his black readers?
That supposition actually sounds rather absurd, even if disregarding Mr. White's spirit, and simply looking at him as an entrepreneur and seller of books. What purpose does this self-flagellation by entitled whites serve, especially when the actually of intransigent poverty in our black communities remains 50 years after Civil Rights?
Wearing the horsehair shirt apparently makes everyone feel good, without actually changing anything for the people with whom they claim to empathize.
How do you know that Mr. White, writer of children's book, would have held prejudice against his black readers?
That supposition actually sounds rather absurd, even if disregarding Mr. White's spirit, and simply looking at him as an entrepreneur and seller of books. What purpose does this self-flagellation by entitled whites serve, especially when the actually of intransigent poverty in our black communities remains 50 years after Civil Rights?
Wearing the horsehair shirt apparently makes everyone feel good, without actually changing anything for the people with whom they claim to empathize.
3
Your last line says it all, Lisl. Bien faite! Well said.
The greatest gift a parent can give their children is curiosity and an openness to the world and all its people. My father was like this too. It was a blessing I hope I passed on to my son. Thank you for this piece.
21
A most charming essay. It brought back memories of my daughter and I as we trespassed over private Eaton's Neck roads in search of the Bevin House, where Antoine de St. Exupery wrote The Little Prince. Our exultation upon finding it was one of our loveliest memories.
7
Readers smitten with this story should check out "The Enjoyment of Travel," Chapter 11 of Lin Yutang's book "The Importance of Living." He espouses much the same philosophy, in a very humorous way.
6
Gee, all I did was write to E.B. White and ask him to write a letter to my daughter, age 9 and a big fan, as she was about to have open heart surgery. He wrote her a wonderful encouraging letter which she still has at age 54.
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I think I am in love with your father.
19
This lovely account sounded so familiar to me and my sister. We too had a father who loaded the family into the car every weekend and headed down some country road without a destination simply because "we haven't been down this road before". My mother was the one who talked to people and made friends with everyone. We had to stop at every historical marker and meditate on every vista. It has made me love the sheer wonder of the world, that part of hit made by man, and that made by nature. To this day, I have to tale the long, scenic route rather than the freeway wherever I am headed. And it has made all the difference....
Thanks for the reminder.
Thanks for the reminder.
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This is the most wonderful story. Makes me think about my parents who instilled in all of us their love of adventure, taking strangers in, and sometimes getting in trouble. But, they have given me and my siblings the kind of life and perspective on life that we cherish. My husband of 25 years is exactly as you describe your father and I enjoy every day of our life together with him! Thank you for sharing this beautiful story!
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Southerns are sort of full of mischief. Some good, some not so good, but usually with a good heart. You are blessed to have had one as a father.
His behavior is pretty common down here and not unexpected. Life is an adventure, enjoy it. We do.
His behavior is pretty common down here and not unexpected. Life is an adventure, enjoy it. We do.
17
I've been to Charlotte and loved it there. Wonderful town.
2
A former girlfriend forwarded this lovely remembrance to me, commenting that the writer's father reminded her of me.
Not one who is shy about speaking with and delighting in random people out in the world, I see what she means. But, while conversation with almost anyone feels safe and satisfying, picking up and going without a plan does not. Once I feel comfortable in my situation and space I'm able to open up.
Perhaps I wasn't always so averse to just hitting the road.
A target of a serious crime as a younger man, I think I became overly cautious about places and plans. But not about people, who always fascinate me. My sense of humor and ability to elicit a laugh helps break any ice. These spontaneous interactions are integral to my enjoyment of any situation. They await me every day for the small effort of saying hello or some odd, witty remark that brings a smile.
The world can be a fun playground if one shows some interest and kind regard for the other kids.
Twenty years ago, I remarked to a friend's nine year old daughter that I enjoyed speaking with strangers and said as she got older her openness and outgoing nature would serve her in life and bring many great experiences.
She instantly made a kid's observation that stands as great wisdom, "If you speak with someone, then they're not a stranger."
Try it.
Not one who is shy about speaking with and delighting in random people out in the world, I see what she means. But, while conversation with almost anyone feels safe and satisfying, picking up and going without a plan does not. Once I feel comfortable in my situation and space I'm able to open up.
Perhaps I wasn't always so averse to just hitting the road.
A target of a serious crime as a younger man, I think I became overly cautious about places and plans. But not about people, who always fascinate me. My sense of humor and ability to elicit a laugh helps break any ice. These spontaneous interactions are integral to my enjoyment of any situation. They await me every day for the small effort of saying hello or some odd, witty remark that brings a smile.
The world can be a fun playground if one shows some interest and kind regard for the other kids.
Twenty years ago, I remarked to a friend's nine year old daughter that I enjoyed speaking with strangers and said as she got older her openness and outgoing nature would serve her in life and bring many great experiences.
She instantly made a kid's observation that stands as great wisdom, "If you speak with someone, then they're not a stranger."
Try it.
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There are more Cristinas than Christinas in the USA. It's a common name I'm the Hispanic, Portuguese and Italian world. Their descendants in the USA may be a majority. It's annoying for a CRISTINA to have her name constantly miss spelled.
I am trying to figure out the purpose of your comment.
A rose would smell as sweet if called by another name, and Cristina or Christina, or Kristina, it is like the rose (rosa), the same with a tiny twist denoting original origines of the family who named the lass that particular name. And if I were you, I would take care not to be so certain that there is more of x than y anywhere. The US is full of diversity from the migrants who have traversed this wide space of the Americas, each with their names spelled slightly different than another. Curiosity invites my asking just how it is you researched over 330 M people in the US to determine how many were named a, b, or c as oppose to d?
Lovely story. Thank you.
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Lovely! Thank you!
10
Now picture this as a Black family and wonder what might have happened during all of these gleeful 'trespassing' adventures. Black fury at white oblivousess to the ways white supremacy limits, constrains and destroys 'adventuresome' Black spirits starts right here.
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I get your point and I'm white. However, I have two good black friends, females who even travel alone, who don't know each other, and they behave the same way: outgoing, don't know a stranger, adventurous. They're wonderful and make things happen and neither came from means, in fact one grew up impoverished. My point is to recognize the transcendent positive human quality of the author's father. Let's run with that.
18
Mr/Ms Grant,
How is your comment possibly related to this dear recollection?
Do you believe black people had no adventuring spirit of their own? Do you believe any greatness which has arisen from black culture sprouted from a posture of sitting back on one's haunches, mewling about opportunity denied?
What a nasty, partisan nation we have become, the only acceptable reply being one of a nasty attack, all in the name of "political correctness", mind.
Ms. Kline is not required to supplicate herself on the cross you present.
How is your comment possibly related to this dear recollection?
Do you believe black people had no adventuring spirit of their own? Do you believe any greatness which has arisen from black culture sprouted from a posture of sitting back on one's haunches, mewling about opportunity denied?
What a nasty, partisan nation we have become, the only acceptable reply being one of a nasty attack, all in the name of "political correctness", mind.
Ms. Kline is not required to supplicate herself on the cross you present.
2
This read like a plug for the new book and not an essay. Why was that line included, when the news that a book was on the way could have been included at the end of the piece and not in the body of the text?
13
Haven't you notice that the Times only prints essays that are attached to new books?
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No, I hadn't. That's because I've read plenty of essays here that aren't attached to book publications. As an example, here's one that is worth recalling. http://www.nytimes.com/2003/07/06/opinion/what-i-didn-t-find-in-africa.html
4
wonderful ! reminds me of denting a fiat bambino (tiny car) turning a corner in Rome in my much larger poor visibility VW kombi van - I got out to apologise - and the attractive young girl insisted 'don't worry about it !' - she was so friendly, by way of conversation I ended up asking 'where can we get the best spaghetti ?' - she instantly said 'my place !' - sounded like an invitation - if we're weren't holding up traffic in the middle of a peak hour intersection I might have taken her up on it - but nevertheless the joy of a moment - I've never forgotten.
13
Thank you for sharing the lovely story. People like your father help to reveal and connect the world, a bit, something we dearly need as too many shrink into their self-created echo-chambers of "rightness" and "wrongness".
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Thank you for another way to create the ties that bind.
15
A wonderful essay. That last paragraph sums it up well. I envy your childhood.
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Christina,
I am just now reading Letters of E.B.White revisited. So your essay is timely. What a rich childhood you must have had.
I am just now reading Letters of E.B.White revisited. So your essay is timely. What a rich childhood you must have had.
13
What a lovely story. I too am a child of the 70s whose father loved cars, maps and Sunday drives, and I miss him so very much. Thank you for sharing this.
14
So beautiful!
9
Beautiful. Some of my fondest memories of childhood are my mom packing my brother, grandmother, and me into the car for cross-country trips from New York to California and back, often with long detours to New Orleans on the way back. She was a teacher, and summers off for all of us meant a car and the open road of this big country.
10
"Ambush" and "trespassing" are more accurate here than your father's suggestion that an author (or painter or other private individual) will find this attention "flattering." Read the Letters of E. B. White to find out how he really felt. Read May Sarton's journals. What visitors don't stop to realize is that they are not the only one, or the rare caller. They are one snowflake in an avalanche. The cumulative effect is to keep a writer from his work, from his pleasure in his own yard, and make him feel a prisoner in his own home or town. If you want to flatter a writer, read his books. If a writer wants to meet his fans, he has plenty of opportunities of his own choosing. I enjoy your books, Christina, and have enjoyed meeting you at book events -- but you won't find me creeping around your hedges, or suggesting in the NYT that others do the same.
60
Wow --the poor author .....Reminiscing about a happy time of her life during which time her father attempted to introduce her to culture beyond her world and commenters bring up racism and stalking --beyond pathetic--
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Martha is E.B. White's granddaughter, Jenny, so we can trust her to know how one author felt, at least.
21
What is "wow" is that almost every writer describes their happiness reading the essay. A very few mention recognize that changes in our social perception have also changed the way we view even the best memories. It's actually a great thing that we can expand our interpretations of events as America changes, and that we learn more, even as adults.
Imagine reading these comments again looking for all the happy thanks and pleasure that each commentary contains. They change from "pathetic" to "joyful."
Imagine reading these comments again looking for all the happy thanks and pleasure that each commentary contains. They change from "pathetic" to "joyful."
2
What a wonderful life! The world could use many more parents like yours. May I ask what kind of work did he do that allowed such freedom? Most of us have given up our freedom to own stuff.
10
Thank you for sharing this - I think back to all the Sunday rides we took as a family - it was my mother who was the adventurer - spontaneously calling out - turn here! - to my dad who just did whatever she told him to. And I giggled at the adventure - for no more cost than an ice cream if we found a place, or some french fries, maybe. Sometimes summer tomatoes from a fruit and vegetable stand. I was much too structured with my children - wish I had transferred the carefree spontaneity of my mom (but there's still time)...
14
"Don't miss the entire point of being alive." Thank you.
19
Your story makes my day.
Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for sharing.
8
What a beautiful essay and testament to the power of being open to what the world has to offer. I loved it. But...the title is so far off from describing the content...I almost didn't read it because I thought it was going to be something completely different. I respectfully suggest a different title to give a truer picture of what's in this wonderful piece.
8
Lovely story. Thank you for sharing. "to my own kids’ embarrassment — chatting with strangers in lines, accepting spontaneous invitations, and seeking out-of-the-way adventures." yes this is me too. ;)
8
Charming story, childhood and dad. Lucky you.
5
Being half German, there are lines and boundaries I can not cross. The article describes what sounds like a wonderful experience and lifestyle, but it is not something I could have ever done, however wistful I look upon such experiences.
My daughter is currently in college in England and she is the explorer and over there is the speaker of taboos. I am glad I have not imprinted my inhibitions on her and that her English friends are amazed at her her ability to talk to anyone about any topic. I do have to give credit to my wife, as she has that gift to speak to anyone, anywhere about any topic...
My daughter is currently in college in England and she is the explorer and over there is the speaker of taboos. I am glad I have not imprinted my inhibitions on her and that her English friends are amazed at her her ability to talk to anyone about any topic. I do have to give credit to my wife, as she has that gift to speak to anyone, anywhere about any topic...
12
Your father is the operational definition of what it means to have true engagement with the world right around us. What a wonderful role model he is! Such an important lesson especially in our modern world of electronic distractions and high tech ways to avoid real connection.
60
Thank you for the glimpse back in time. Like your family, we also grew up in the car so to speak. Sundays were reserved for treks within two hours and summers for longer jaunts up and down the east coast. Unlike your father, mine was a brilliant introvert, a research scientist with an artist lurking inside. We were taught to observe, listen, and gather mental notes only later to use in stories and drawings. This was a side of my strict father I didn't truly appreciate nor understand until he retired and, age-softened, became the grandfather we all wanted in our youth. In tribute to him I became nomadic for a time and raised two daughters who continue the tradition. Life and people are pretty wonderful.
43
Such a beautiful story. As we find ourselves in a world demanding tight schedules, specific plans and ever increasing processes and procedures, this is a lesson we could all learn. Would it not be wonderful if every step one takes would be an opportunity to experience, learn and see new things. Some people have that magic, but not enough of us.
44
Ma soeur, ma sembable! While vacationing in Maine, we unexpectedly came upon theOlson house. An art historian, I recognized it immediately. And just like your father, my husband, also a Southerner, will stop and talk to strangers, a source of amusement, if not embarrassment, to his children and grandchildren. I don't mind.
Look forward to your book!
Look forward to your book!
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