I’ve always liked ants. Ever since I was a child, popping them underfoot like small, hard-shelled grapes, they’ve fascinated me. I can relate to the way they work selflessly for the greater good of their community, yet can also be solitary, going off into the unknown searching bravely through the nooks and crannies for bits of food and hidden treasures to share with the nest. And, of course, I like that they have long legs, like me. I’ve taken on the role of the “Questing Ant” in my own search for little tales and small grains of truth I can share with whoever is interested.
And because I’d like a nickname, I picked the one that stuck with me during my early years, you know, those formative years when we develop those character quirks that end up defining the rest of our lives. The first times I heard my nickname was, while driving the wrong way down a one way street in Vancouver, BC, my friends would yell out, “Wrong way Roland!” The name stuck. Yet, Life would teach me many times over that there really is no wrong way. Sure, there are some more difficult ways, and even some painful ways, but in the end, pretty well any way that helps you grow is a good one. And although we may get lost for a while, all roads eventually take us home.
Or become our home. As it has with us. After thirty years of doing the career thing, raising a daughter, taking care of our parents, watering the lawn, eating Sushi and lentil burgers (which I’ll never get used to), and binge watching Netflix while sipping too much wine, this spring my wife Kat and I decided to pack it all in, sell our house, give away what we no longer needed, put the rest of our stuff into storage, plop a Northern Lite camper on the back of an older Ford F-350 pickup we dubbed “Snowflake”, and take to the road. Oh, we were also visited by a grey heron while we were debating whether to give it all up or not and the heron said to us: Go.
Read on to find out what happens.
Roland (The Questing Ant)