The Great Migration

Twenty years ago today, on May 1, 2003, we had begun our "great migration" from California to France via North Carolina. We were driving across the southern part of the North American continent in Walt's Jeep, with our dog Collette and her kennel, pulling a U-Haul trailer. It would be a week-long drive. We were headed to my mother's house in N.C., where we would wait for our French visas de long séjour to be issued. Once we had those, we would travel on to France and take possession of our new house just outside Saint-Aignan. That was the plan.

Above is a snapshot of the 13th century native American village called Acoma, high on a mesa (a table rock) above the desert. We had spent the night in the town of Gallup after a night or two at CHM's house in southern California. We had sold our San Francisco house in March and sent the money to pay for the house in France. We hadn't yet bought plane tickets for the trip to France because we didn't know when those visas would arrive. We were enjoying the drive. We had lunch in a fancy restaurant in Santa Fe, New Mexico, after admiring Acoma.

Our destination for the day was the town of Tucumcari, where we had reserved a room at a Motel 6 (and where dogs were welcome). I really wanted to go see Tucumcari. I had already seen Tuscon, Tehachapi, and Tonopah, and I was more than willing to leave the great American west and start a new life in France. Once we got into our hotel room that evening, I called the Allied International moving company and gave them the go-ahead to put our container load of furniture and other possessions on the ship that would take them to France. We figured we'd get there before the container did, but it was a little strange not to know when and how it would all unfold.