I took my first airplane ride as a little girl, with my Grandmother, from Chicago O’Hare airport to the Pittsburgh International airport.
My Grandmother was my sidekick (or was I hers?) on many of my early adventures. We dressed in our Sunday finest clothes and had “pigs in a blanket” (pancakes rolled around sausage links) served to us on segmented plastic trays with actual metal utensils.
We stared in amazement at the beautiful billowed clouds racing by below us. We landed in Pittsburgh and were met by my Aunt and Uncle – AT THE GATE! There were hugs and kisses and chatter and squeals of delight as we walked to the baggage claim area and stood and waited at the carousel for our suitcases. Then it was a several hour car trip from Pittsburgh to their home in a small town outside of Fairmont, WV. A ride made longer by my constant need to get out and either vomit or just walk around.
I could make it through an entire plane ride with no bad effects but windy roads were my nemesis. I would make that trip from Evanston, IL to Fairmont, WV many, many more times throughout my childhood either by car or by plane. Sometimes it was the whole family traveling together, but several times my parents would put me on the plane as an unaccompanied child traveler and I would make my way to West Virginia relatives “on my own”.
Recalling those particular trips, I remember the thrill of feeling so “grown up” and independent.
That in and of itself was a gift. But the biggest gift was the first hand opportunity these visits afforded me to get to know my West Virginia roots. I was able to meet and establish relationships with a multi-generational, multi-faceted group of people – simple and complex at the same time - who were my living connection to my family’s past. This was the beginning of my emotional connection to West Virginia.