When I was growing up, my family took a vacation every year, but we never went anywhere just to go someplace. Any time we planned a trip it was to visit relatives: my dad’s three brothers in Maryland or my mom’s brothers and sisters scattered around the Midwest.

Growing up in a very small town, anyplace outside Indiana seemed grand and exotic to me. Just crossing the state line and seeing a sign welcoming us to a new state was enough to make my heart race.

Wanting to save time and money, my parents would pack a big cooler full of supplies so we wouldn’t have to stop at any restaurants along the way. The cooler was filled with glass bottles of Coca Cola and Tab, bologna and cheese sandwiches, and, best of all, my grandmother’s cold fried chicken. My grandmother, Tillie, was a wonderful cook, and fried chicken was one of her specialties. She made everything from scratch, including her cookies and cupcakes. She always sent along a big box of those too…and we usually hadn’t gotten very far outside of Indiana before my brother and I opened the lid and started snacking.

It has been said that nostalgia isn’t what it used to be. And the vacations we took may seem quite dated and mundane to anyone who is used to flying to a big theme park or sporting event. But those long summer trips make up some of my favorite memories. Crammed inside a Rambler station wagon, armed with an atlas, a Styrofoam cooler and a Kodak instamatic camera, we were ready to hit the road and simply enjoy being a family.