ROBIN WRITES: Nature calls

By Editor | June 2, 2026 |

A vacation by car is not the adventure it used to be. Now, with restaurants and rest stops almost everywhere, one particular struggle of traveling is eliminated.
Travel back with me to the summer trips of the past. They were a test of every parent’s patience and endurance.
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Vacation time. Time to jump in the car and escape your three-bedroom cage of domesticity. You crave adventure and novelty. Roadside stands of oddities and billboards that beg for attention in peeling paint. For the next few days, you’re free.
The car is stocked with enough gear to establish a New World colony. You’ve made a list and checked it twice. And you know you have everything because there is nothing left in the house except appliances. It’s time to roll.
Kids in the back, already complaining (it’s hot in here…how much farther). Your smile is stapled on with determination. Nothing will prevent you from having a relaxing vacation. NOTHING.
Turn on the air and the radio. See. You can hardly hear the kids now.
As the house fades from the rear-view, it is the front seat passenger’s job to pose pertinent questions to each family member. There is a tiny window of time that allows for turnarounds. You take a deep breath and toss out words like fizzling firecrackers.
The safety checklist is first; the driver is in the hot seat. “Did you lock the door? Turn the TV off? Leave water for the cat? Unplug? Close? Extinguish?” His head nods like a dashboard hula girl.
“Ok,” you sigh. The house will still be standing when you arrive home.
Now the kids. Their faces are frozen in short attention span sullenness. You go through the alphabet, naming items and daring each child to admit having left anything behind. “Stuffed penguin? Pillow? Toysgamesbooks?” Their responses are adequate.
“That’s it, then,” you say with a gallows grimace. “No turning back.”
Four-lane freeways lead to two-lane highways lead to blacktop roads, and your sunglass-shielded eyes feast on the dullness of rusty barbed wire fencing and fields of unidentifiable crops. Metal signs shout out the populations of towns smaller than your subdivision.
This is what you’ve waited for. A chance to sit back and relax—no housework, alarm clock, supervisor. Ahh.
Your child’s face looms in the rearview mirror, full of bloated urgency.
“I gotta go to the bathroom.”
“Can you wait till the next gas station?” He groans his answer, holding his hand against his stomach to protect his pea-sized bladder from exploding at each bump in the road.
Ditches of weeds wave to you. Trees offer to shield little bodies from curious passersby. And signs assure you that the nearest town is twenty-two miles ahead.
“Okay. We’ll stop here and let you go.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere along here…”
“I CAN’T GO OUT THERE!”
Your baby’s face pales in horror. Isn’t this the same little guy who had no problem drenching diapers? Soaking clothing, beds, and car seats? Now, he begs for porcelain and running water? Well…too bad. It’s time for tough love.
“It’s here or hold it.” A sigh announces the victory of matter over mind. Vacation means adventure, after all.
Dad rolls to a gentle stop. The steamy air muscles its way through the open car door, and the aroma of cow pastures waft into your nostrils. Whining follows your little man as he disappears into the cover of chigger-infested weeds to do his business.
Crickets crick. Bees buzz. It is official now. You are on your way to a week of fun in the sun. You will eat food of questionable quality, sleep in beds that held strangers the night before, and listen to your kids argue over whose turn it is to sit by the window.
And you will have a wonderful time. You have to. It’s your vacation.
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■ Robin is a freelance columnist who lives and writes in Quincy, Illinois. Contact her at [email protected].