Now Playing: Vivaldi, "Four Seasons."

U.K. Trip, Day 1

 Indianapolis Airport

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Frantic preparation for our grand adventures consumed most of today. Our flight from Indianapolis to Newark didn't leave until about half five in the evening, so we had all day to deposit checks, mow the lawn, wash sheets, eat leftovers, and stuff our backpacks with everything we'd need for the next three weeks. Most of the around-the-house tasks were Scott's--he had to show Eric where everything was; he had to print all our reservation confirmations; he had to mow and spray deer repellant on the rosebushes.

At 2 p.m., Mary showed up to take us to the airport, and Eric returned with his first load of belongings. The four of us ate an impromptu feast on leftover wedding cake and lasagna before Mary took us up to Indianapolis. The afternoon was warm, May in full flush, variegating the woods and fields with the lush greens of late spring.

At the airport we said good-bye to Mary and were off. I've decided that I much prefer traveling with someone else--no tear-jerking farewells, no panic at the check-in desk. We had no hitches as we went through security, waited for, and then boarded our flight. As we coasted down over New York City, the setting sun flashed apricot and peach from the skyscrapers, flashed green from roofs and the Statue of Liberty, outlined all these against the grey bay.

We sat at the gate for the flight from Newark to Belfast for awhile. Around us the familiar Northern Irish accents had already begun to crop up, and for once I wasn't stressed, afraid, or melancholy. Our cinched backpacks rested against our knees until boarding began, and then the six-hour flight. At one point, lightning flickered below us, intersecting across the night sky, sketching vast fields of cloud to the south. I hardly slept, but Scott did.