Evergreen Plantation
I stood there on the dirt pathway, the guide’s voice drifting into the breeze under the rustling leaves of the towering live oak trees. The humid, warm air surrounded me, as my mind transported back 250 years. I began imagining the unbearable summer heat, the trees providing the only shelter and escape from the sun’s harsh rays and life outside the shanty homes. I thought about the babies crying, the women sweeping their respective porches, the men gathered – laughing and catching up on the latest news and gossip. This was the site of a living and breathing community for generations of Americans, unfairly and unjustly, brought to Louisiana for dark, self-serving purposes of others. Evergreen Plantation is one of the few plantations left in America where you can get a realistic view of the Antebellum era of slavery in America in the late 18th century. It is a raw,…Continue Reading
I’m back. Expect more posts, more travel, and more of The Fly Away American in your life. But first, I feel like I owe you an explanation. Last year, I was feeling rundown. Low on energy. Every aspect of my life was beginning to feel like work – pulling in opposite directions so that I constantly felt… exhausted. After returning back to the UK in January from my trip home to America, I realized I needed a massive change. I was tired of feeling tired. I was over feeling hungover. My love of food and booze had become a burden to my health, and it wasn’t fun anymore. You know, I have always pushed myself. I’ve never set limitations on what I am capable of – physical or otherwise. I climbed Meesapulimala, a 9,000 ft. peak in India. I walked/cycled/kayaked the Scottish Highlands coast to coast. Never have I turned…Continue Reading
The last few days I have been so disheartened. Sad. Angry. I’m having trouble finding my usual positive thinking, happy-go-lucky self. This blog has always been a safe place for me. A place to share the good things in life. A place to show others that they too can grab hold of their dreams, and live that life they imagine. But this week, I don’t feel like that person. I walk down the street in a daze, reflecting on our world in deep, troubling sadness. Today I am not sharing my latest adventure or cultural mishap, because honestly I just don’t have that in me right now. Over the last year, the refugee crisis has grown to unforeseen levels. Living in Folkestone, only a 30 minute trip from Calais on the Eurotunnel, I saw first-hand the fear and uncertainty of those around me. Fear of these war-torn and desperate people…Continue Reading