Lessons from Maryland

I’ve visited the Washington, D.C., area (including Frederick, Md.) 4-6 times a year for the last eight years. I thought I really knew the place. I’ve learned, however, that living here is different than visiting here (I guess that’s true with anywhere – and why people who have been to Las Vegas are astonished that I would ever leave).

Anyway, after a month as a Maryland resident, a few things stand out about living here:

Lesson 1: The airborne allergens suck.

Everyone loves the greenery. It’s so pretty. So lush.

And so full of pollen.

To give you an idea of how bad it is, I mowed our new lawn for the first time last week. Actually, the boys mowed it, but I moved around the edges – under trees and shrubbery. When I got done the lawnmower looked like it had been painted an orange-ish brown – it was a fine layer of pollen that brushed off all the foliage. No wonder my sinuses feel like they are trying to explode through my face.

After a couple weeks of Claritin, Astelin, and vitamin B, I think I’m ok. The kids are fighting it too. I hear we’ll get used to it. I hope so.

Lesson 2: Whoever named the streets couldn’t count.

Here in the East the roads are really just paved wagon trails that meander over and around the countryside. At some point someone gave the busiest trails random numbers that don’t seem to mean anything – and in most cases the same road will have different numbers for various segments of the road. Giving directions sounds like a conversation on a CB radio.

For instance, to get to our house from D.C., take the GW to 495, then go north on 270 which later becomes 40 and then becomes 15. But be careful because 15 south is not and never is 270. And while you are on the part of 270 that is 40, if you want to be travel on 40 you need to exit the 40. Seriously. And that doesn’t include where 340 and 15 are the same road (but not the same as 270), or how if you stay straight on 85 it becomes 355 – or you can turn off of 85 to stay on 85.

10-4 good buddy, what's your 20?

This all leads me to…

Lesson 3: The penalty for missing a turn is severe

I’ll admit it: I’ve been lost several times. Besides the strange numbering system, many streets change names as you travel over them, and on top of that the cities aren’t really laid out in neat grids like we were accustomed to in the West.

So it’s easy to make the wrong turn. And there’s the rub.

In the West, if you miss a turn, you just go to the next street, take a right, take another right, and then you’re at the street you missed.

Not so in our new neighborhood, my friends.

The other night Yvonne and I were driving when I missed a turn. I went to the next street, took a right, took another right, and the original street that I was on had DISAPPEARED.

I kid you not.

So we went where we thought the next street should be, got on a one-way street through town, drove for about 15 minutes, and then finally succeeded at returning to the point where we first realized our destination street had disappeared. I was shocked we didn’t see a “Welcome to Delaware” sign.

GPS systems are little help (have you ever seen one shrug its shoulders when you ask for directions?), so I finally called a neighbor and asked him to guide me out of it, which he did.

If you hear reports of mysterious bread crumbs being spread around this area, it’s just me making sure I can find my way home.

On another occasion I missed the turn off the freeway. No big deal, except that the next exit was eight miles away…and didn’t have an on-ramp to bring me back. Twenty minutes later, I was on my way back. From Delaware (not really, but it felt like it).

This has nothing to do with…

Lesson #4: Neighbors watch out for you

We have been stunned by the number of people in our neighborhood who have reached out to us. And I’m not talking people from church (although they have been extremely helpful and generous). This is people who noticed someone new in the neighborhood and welcomed us.

Our neighbors next door knew we were coming and had homemade cornbread baked and waiting for us. The neighbors across the street were gone when we moved in, but brought us back some treats from their trip. Women at the bus stop are giving Yvonne their phone numbers so they can set up play dates with the kids and Yvonne can ask questions about the area. It goes on and on.

And these are people that don’t know us from Adam.

And then you have the people from church (who, I guess, would know us from Adam), who have welcomed us all with open arms, provided meals and treats, invited us for dinner or s'mores, introduced our kids to their kids, offered to help us move in or paint, invited us to socials, etc.

Funny how the allergies, strange twists in the road and time spent trying to find our way home tends to melt away when so many people here want to get to know us and take care of us.

Of course, once they get to know us…?

(One neighbor who introduced herself told us how nice and quiet the neighborhood is. On cue, Dylan and Levi tore across the dining room screaming. “Well, it was,” I replied.)

Lesson 5: If it weren't for technology, 2,500 miles might as well be a million

Lastly, the miles seem to expand exponentially once you go about 150 east. Like Lewis and Clark, we view anything past the western Maryland border as the great frontier.

While we really like it here and the neighbors have been more than hospitable, we really miss being able to share our new neighborhood with our friends and family from locations West. The sense of incompleteness that comes from not being able to share our new life with those we love lingers like a dense haze on some days.

But 2,500 miles is a long, long ways. Too long for a quick weekend visit. And far too long for a cookout.

Thank goodness for technology (which is noted on my family’s blog). While we can’t have them over for a barbecue (or ask them to paint a room), electrons have capably spanned the breadth of the U.S. and enabled us to share photos, stories, sarcastic comments, and more via our blogs, Facebook, e-mail, and telephone.

It’s not the same as being there (or them being here), but it’s a lot better than waiting by the mailbox.

More lessons to come, I’m sure. Recess is over…