I am preparing this week for a pilgrimage to my rural roots, in the heart of tobacco country. We are going by car, a long and arduous journey back to my Daddy’s boyhood home, to commune with kin my own children have never met. I am hoping to be pleasantly surprised, and for clarity enough to see some larger significance in this foray, even if it is just the resut of cultural contrast, the layering of generations, the passage of time. My family’s demons will be there as well, some more alive and well than others: a history of racism and disparity, some long-buried family secrets. Ignorance, but maybe also growth. I am hoping for laughter and tears, in limitless and measured amounts, and perhaps some insight as well.