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Quiet night, tail lights. Under the anonymity of darkness, I'd plenty of time to think as I threaded each city, east to west.

So I'd been giving it some thought: It's true that years in the frozen north have left me feeling cut off and isolated from the rest of the country, but part of me truly craves the solitude. I go to the mountains, and there I feel quite content and inspired. Lately, though, they've given me the cold shoulder. And if there's one thing I've learned over the past year, it's that I need people--muses--who can form springboards for new ideas. After all, music is a language to be communicated, and I'm not talking to myself, now, am I? Perhaps I could make some new connections while I was out.

My Ebay Subaru took to the highway just fine. We weathered heavy storms in Pennsylvania, coasted the wee hours through Ohio, and met the sunrise in Indiana. Canyons of semi trucks gave way to great plains, cornfield and cattle, and I found myself with my windows rolled down, letting the road wind braid my loose ends, sifting the hot air with my fingers. It was one hundred degrees. It was glorious. The miles ticked down, with one incredibly long state stretching between St. Louis and Joplin; if I didn't stop, I could make it to Tulsa in time to bring fresh avocados for dinner. Fresh avocado right at the doorstep, unannounced.

My mother spies on me through facebook. I'd been dropping hints all along--pictures of a New York bagel, of sun-ripe backyard tomatoes, of oak leaf blue sky and turkey feathers. Now I was calling her on my cell phone from her own driveway. "I've just updated my status," I told her, "and I think you should check it out." She walked over to the computer and read aloud, "Emily Steele Grossman is standing on your front porch... ??? What?" I watched her shadow pause in-comprehensively, then move cautiously to the door.

Surprise!