I’m back.

We went to Germany to visit our son and his family.

People always ask, “Where in Germany?”

I’ve tried to explain it. But it’s mostly a waste of their time and mine. I don’t know much Germany geography, and they don’t either.

I know how to get from Oberhaugstett to the small bakery in Neubulach. Or is it in Leibelsberg? There are four villages that together make up greater Neubulach, which in its greatness is about 5,000 people. And I haven’t figured out where all the dividing lines are.

Anyway, the bakery is in a temporary shelter while the Netto grocery store is being rebuilt. And it’s a couple kilometers by trail through the fields of canola and winter wheat and a cover crop of lettuce, beets, peas, and a couple other things. And I can drink my coffee, walk to the bakery, get some pretzel buns and some pastry thing thanks to the patience of a shopkeeper dealing with a person who speaks no German, and be back for breakfast.

And people ask about sight-seeing. That’s usually a waste of time, too, because the tree along the trail when it’s backlit by the sunrise isn’t exactly what they mean. Or the water pipe from a spring that fills a small trough along the path and has been doing so since 1921. Or the grocery stores. Or the trail, 17 kilometers away from the trail that leads to the bakery, that starts just past the mini-golf and runs along the Nagold River. Or the table for lunch and supper.

I’m mostly a disappointment to the people who think travel is about the sights and the sounds and the adventure and the thrill of new places. But those aren’t the people I worry about disappointing. I’m grateful for living life alongside the handful of people I’m responsible to care for and about. And that’s true in some town in Germany and here in Fort Wayne.