COORDINATES

I’ve been thinking about the journey.

Coordinates:
47°60′ N, 122°33′ W (Seattle, Washington)
41°25′ N, 96°30′ W (Waterloo, Nebraska)
53°68′ N, 7°30′ W (Castlepollard, Ireland)
60°16′ N, 24°93′ E (Helsinki, Finland)




I was laid off in March. We gave up our rental house and packed in a week. I carefully wrapped Grandma’s china in the pages I tore out of Lonely Planet’s ‘Best in Travel 2020’. I left Seattle towing a boat and carrying food for the 1,660-mile journey. 1,660 miles closer to my children, who moved to Finland in February when their dad had a job transfer.

Go, I said, what an amazing opportunity. I’ll see you soon, I said, as the borders closed.

I drove for hours of days on empty apocalyptic highways and slept in the van. I emptied a container of Clorox wipes. I crossed the American Serengeti and saw a herd of pronghorn antelope under the Super Pink Moon. South of South Dakota, I stopped for 4 months. A stop long enough to watch the Nebraska corn sprout and ripen tall, and to see my niece and my best friend lose their hair to chemotherapy.

I had a new morning ritual. Drink coffee. Check Covid cases per 100,000.  I scoured the New York Times. I bookmarked the CDC page. I read cases per capita and hot spots and deaths, by county and by country. My eyes grew weary. I bought my first reading glasses and told friends, I came of age during a pandemic.

I binged on Game of Thrones in an election year. I ran the 4-mile country square in unforgiving heat and unrelenting humidity. A head wind blew from each cardinal direction. Like an expert sommelier, I identified a range of high and low notes:  a bouquet of lilac bushes and agrochemicals, and manure. You don’t have the coronavirus, I reasoned, your sense of smell is fully intact. Despite a few challenges, I ran most days. So many little birds were singing. Keep your lungs healthy, winter is coming.

In July, cases per 100,000 kept the borders closed to American travelers and the tickets to Finland were no good. I ached — not from running — but with longing for my children. I had to take a leap of faith. I bought new tickets and held my breath on crowded flights. Ireland said welcome with a two week quarantine and a friendship with a kitten named Mojo. I visited a megalithic tomb as the American death toll struck 160,000. In August, the plane taxied onto the runway and a rainbow appeared behind the Aer Lingus shamrock.

Three hours later I landed in Finland, three days before the borders closed again, and six months after I last saw my kids. My children and I were picking blueberries in the forest and the corn was being harvested in the fields back home when I got the happy news:

Remission.