Since the baby is toddling and not such a baby anymore the fam and I decided to get back into our usual camping mode.

Roll the cheesy footage of parents arguing and kids whining about getting there.

But because I’m a writing nerd, we didn’t just go anywhere. (I hate that saying, no one ever just goes anywhere, we all have a certain somewhere we wanna see)

We went to Florida, near PARIS… Missouri

I need to work on my geography because somehow even though I once worked as a travel agent I never knew you could visit A Paris (not the) and A Florida (again, not THE), without leaving the state of Missouri. (Insert misery jokes here.)

Aaaa yes, Florida Missouri, where the sky is blue, the town is tiny, and a certain literary legend was born. It’s the home of Mark Twain State Park. The man was born there. You can go to his house-well, the one he was born in-and touch the walls.

It did have to be moved about 1/4 mile away from it’s original site, but it’s a marvel for me. A greater shrine was built over the house and many items preserved.

There are copies of Mark Twain’s first editions, manuscript drafts, proofs, and publishing contracts.

Samuel Clemens would probably laugh at all the grandeur, or make an off color joke about humanity’s obsession with worshiping what they are too lazy to achieve, but going there and exploring his world reminded me how very lucky any author is. Few of us can ever hope to reach his level of popularity. Even with every obstacle before us, having his little piece of history speaks volumes.

I’m still in awe.