Dena's Story

Dreams and Genes

Does the travel bug hitch on to dreams or does it attach to genes? I’ve pondered that question a few times because as long ago as I can remember, I knew I had to “see the world.”

Growing up in western Kansas, I yearned to go to the magical places that I read about in story books and learned from geography lessons. My dreams took me to the Northern Lights in the cold of winter where I met people dressed in fur hats and coats while they herded reindeer. I ventured south of the border, not minding the heat, and saw people taking siestas and wearing sombreros and serapes of rainbow colors. And during my dreams, the travel bug hitched a ride to distant and faraway places.

Travel outside the Land of Oz depended on whether or not my Dad had a good wheat crop. Those few years when rain miraculously fell at the right time—and hail didn’t—my family of five headed to Colorado right after harvest, after the money was in the bank. En route, we stopped off at roadside stands to buy fresh cherry cider, watermelon, and Rocky Ford cantaloupe. After arriving at our primitive cabin, my brothers and I went fishing with our Dad. And later on, Mother fried “our catch” on the wood-burning stove. I loved everything about being in the mountains—watching the squirrels and deer, listening to water running over rocks in rivers and streams, walking on narrow paths among tall trees, and breathing in the pine-fragrant air. The travel bug thrived in Colorado!

Just a few weeks before my twelfth birthday, I excitedly entered a contest, hoping to win a dream trip to St. Louis, Missouri. The thought of going to a big city thrilled me. IGA grocery stores in Kansas sponsored the contest for girls who would be twelve to fifteen years of age on the July departure date. That included me! Mr. Munstedt, the owner of our local store, decided to generously sponsor eight girls in the competition that entailed collecting and submitting the most IGA brand product labels.

For three months, I pedaled my bike door-to-door, collecting canned food labels, messy butter wrappers, and empty milk cartons that kind relatives and town folks saved for me. When I was really nice to my brothers, they supported me by writing my name on the backs of labels.

Butterflies flew around my stomach on the last day of the contest, as I waited for the results in fretful anticipation. Mr. Munstedt finally called after 9:00 pm to congratulate me for taking seventh place. “Pack your suitcase,” he said. I can still hear his voice telling me that. There’s no doubt in my mind that the IGA-sponsored, adventure-packed, chaperoned, six-day journey launched my passion for travel. Thank you, Mr. Munstedt, from the bottom of my heart!

The travel bug hitched a ride with me on the Mississippi River boat cruise, and attended the Theater Under the Stars performance with me, and sat with me at the baseball game, and picnicked with me at Forest Park. When the travel bug bites so long and hard, there’s just one thing to do — keep traveling and be ready for new adventures. And when people ask me why I like to travel, I say, "I think it's in my genes."