I stumbled across a video the other day that further convinced me that I need to move Gates of the Arctic National Park higher on my to-do list. In it, two septuagenarians set off on a three-week canoe trip down the Noatak River, a river the park staff tells us "drains the largest mountain-ringed river basin in America that is still virtually unaffected by human activities."

One of the most incredibly beautiful birds you'll find in Everglades National Park is the Purple Gallinule. Unless you see a Roseate spoonbill. Or maybe a Tri-colored heron. Or a ..., well, you get the idea. There are an amazing number of gorgeous, and more common, bird species in the park. But time is running out to easily spot many of them, as the rainy season isn't too far off.

The dogs were large, with pointy ears, and they appeared suddenly along the cobbled path, barking furiously. My husband Paul and I paused, then slowly crept past them as we murmured pet-friendly reassurances at their bared teeth. They jumped around a bit but did not draw nearer; all bark, no bite. A cheerful man hobbled down the path on his cane, reaffirming this in Portuguese and gestures and tone that conveyed his meaning to our linguistically challenged ears. Chuckling, he waved us on our way from the tiny stone village into a sparse forest in Portugal’s sole national park—Peneda-Gerês.

Stratton family lore has my ancestors migrating west on the Oregon Trail. I’m not entirely sure if I believe it, since trail use greatly declined when the Transcontinental Railroad was finished in 1869 and my relatives didn’t arrive in Oregon until the 1880s. But there are accounts of the trail being used through the 1890s, so it is possible. Either way, the Stratton clan ended up in eastern Oregon operating a stagecoach station on the road between John Day and Burns.