My mother, my father, my son and I were driving on rolling highway lined with skinny fir trees and white northern birch. Giant poisonous red and white mushrooms dotted the grass and we counted them. The road signs were in Swedish and my mother said, “I made this drive yesterday. All the way to Stokholm and back to Dayton in one day. Can’t believe I’m doing it again this morning!”
My father, my son and I shook our heads in supportive disbelief and admired the little red barns and log cabins that started to appear through the forest. We were getting close to our destination.