Wigwam Village…

Bessemer Super Highway- 1970’s…

I can’t tell you much.  I don’t know when or where we were going.

There is just a memory of Daddy.

We are in the car and he points out something ahead that I would want to see.

“Look over there Sister.”

And there it was.

A large concrete teepee.

A blur with a window rolled down. 

But 50 years later, I can still feel the excitement in that memory.

By then, it was no longer a village.

It was a lone freestanding structure that remained of a roadside motel.

A restaurant converted into a used car lot office.

But to me, it was fascinating.

Fast forward-half a century.

I am planning a road trip to Canada and I happen upon Wigwam Village #2.

Suddenly I am 5 again.

I book a double wigwam that sleeps 4.  My travel companions agree to split the cost.

We left out at 7 am this morning and 5 stops and 10 hours later, we arrive.

I am giddy and hesitant, but hopeful.

It is cold and wet.

When we check in, our host offers to share the history if we are interested.

I don’t know if WE are, but I am.  I call the car and ask everyone to join me on the red bench.

He shares that buying an old motel bypassed by I-65 years ago and during a pandemic in November 2020 was difficult.

I listen as he shares the history and the hope for the future.

We receive our key to Wigwam #7.  The moment of truth.  I am secretly hoping my friends won’t be disappointed.

The restoration is perfect.  They kept all of the charm.  The cutest wood furniture and red and white tile.  Cozy and clean.

After a long day on the road, everyone is asleep but me.

I am grateful.

When I packed my bags this morning, I went to my jewelry box.

I grabbed Daddy’s ID from the US Navy and I put it in my wallet beside my passport.

For some reason, I wanted to take a remnant of him along with me.

There is something about when I travel, that I feel close to my parents.

I look forward to my adventures.

And I hear them excited for me.

I can picture in my mind Daddy telling someone, “Sister has gone to Kentucky.”  I hear him telling me to have a good time but be careful.

There is just something about love that makes you proud.

I know that same feeling when I see my children.  Their homes, their parenting- but mostly their joy heals my soul.

Watching my son play in the yard with his children.  “Daddy throw the ball on the house!”  They laugh when it rolls down the roof back to him.

Simple joys. But priceless.

Yesterday.

Today.

And tomorrow.

Good night from Wigwam #7 in Wigwam Village #2. 

Five year old Cheryl is thankful.

I hope and pray you find your tribe. 

Friends and family who sign up to support you even when they don’t necessarily understand what you are doing.

We know that this concrete village has nothing to do with history or accuracy of Native Americans.

But maybe just maybe it is more accurate to say that it is a little native Americana.

I hope that in your journeys, you take the love of your family with you. 

Your path may not always be straight or easy or even where you want to go.

I just hope you hang on because you never know what is around the curve.

And just like that old tile, you may find out that your life may have been made a little bit better thanks to the zig zag.

All my love,

Cheryl Suzette