Hippie Daze - 1st Day - Life and Deaf

I do research at the library and through the mail - there was no such thing as internet - to find the best auditory/oral education for our son. We map out a route and set a timetable for our exploratory trip. We start traveling separately then meet up with my brother and Barb, and another couple of friends, Trudy and Herb, at specified locations around the United States. In between we plan to visit with many friends made through the years of college and military life. Since there are no cell phones or email we have to rely on the US Mail General Delivery and public phone booths. Although there are several highly regarded oral schools on the Eastern Seaboard we decide to skip the crowded cities of New England and explore new territory in, for us, the wild west.

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There are two records of our trip: my personal story and the children’s hardback Diary 1974 in which we chronicle the trip with simple stories and pictures. I find my old loose-leaf notebook where the dream of telling this old hippie story starts and open it to: The First Day – June 26, 1974.

We leave in a tropical storm on our shakedown trip from Ormond Beach to Venice, FL to say good-bye to family and friends. Violent winds and rain christen the new Dodge van and our carefully packed hand-built car-top carrier leaks like a sieve. Everything has to be unstowed. It takes all day in Grandma Fifi’s dryer to dry blankets, pillows, sleeping bags, clothes, while we do an epoxy repair job on the carrier. We try to pack “intelligently” for the big haul cross-country and still have room for living. In a van? My mother spends many hours ringing her hands (and hankies). “What am I going to do with all your leftover gear that won’t fit?” She had just gone through the same thing with Terry and Barb the week before and her patience was wearing thin. I don’t blame her. The Green house has always been used as home base because of a welcoming attitude, ample space, and Fif’s delicious home cooking. Of course the real reason is that two out of three of her children and two of her grandchildren are going far away.

“Your leaving for God knows where to live as hippies for God knows how long,” she wails.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be careful. And as soon as we get settled you can come visit,” I try to ease her pain.

“Don’t worry? Are you crazy?” She laughs through her tears.

 Though we’ve been hashing and re-hashing the plan for over a year, none of the parents thought we’d leave the state to become wanderers. I, myself, find it hard to believe that we are actually giving up our stable life with two kids, in middle class suburbia. Fond thoughts arise upon leaving the friends we’ve made and the great times we’ve had in our insulated neighborhood.