BEFORE THE ROAD WAS BLESSED WITH OUR PRESENCE…

The Maplings Travelogue

We had not packed yet, but spiritually, Pittsburgh had already been notified.

The road was minding its business, flat and innocent, until we put a map on the table and decided to become its problem.

We did not begin with luggage.

We began with a map.

That matters, because luggage only tells people you are leaving. A map tells people you had the nerve to plan it.

Pittsburgh sat in the middle of the table like it already knew it was the root of the whole thing. Washington, D.C. was circled first, not like it had been chosen, but like it had been summoned.

He studied the route like roads had consequences.

I looked at the map like it had already made several poor decisions.

“We start in Pittsburgh,” he said.

“Obviously,” I said. “Leaving dramatically from somewhere we do not live would be attention-seeking. Even for us.”

That was the first rule of The Maplings Travelogue: no pretending.

Pittsburgh was not scenery. Pittsburgh was the root. The underneath. The place that gave us grit, timing, suspicion, taste, and just enough nerve to leave without asking the room for permission.

He knew that.

I knew it too, but I try not to get sentimental in public. It ruins my glasses.

He traced the route with one finger.

“Washington, D.C. first,” he said. “Then we move through the country, circle up toward New York, and eventually leave from JFK.”

I leaned back.

“So the plan is politics, traffic, attitude, and airport security.”

“The plan is movement.”

“Same thing, depending on the shoes.”

That is our way.

He is Rooted.
I am Rude.

Not as a catchphrase. Not as decoration. As a survival arrangement.

He is the part that remembers where we come from. He is steady, observant, and hard to move without a reason. He respects the ground because he understands what it takes to stand.

I am the part that refuses to confuse grounded with stuck. I am sharp, stylish, beautifully off-center, and deeply uninterested in shrinking so the world can feel taller.

Together, we carry the first lesson of the tree.

Go deep enough to survive.
Rise high enough to refuse what was supposed to hold you down.

The roots were never the cage.
They were the reason you could rise.

That is the code underneath Rooted & Rude. That is the code underneath “US” The Maplings.

Before the apparel, before the art prints, before the framed moments and strange little arrivals, there is this: two characters built from contradiction.

One of us holds the ground.

One of us insults gravity.

And somehow, we both keep moving.

The map sat between us, quiet and unprepared.

Washington, D.C. was circled first because some places do not deserve a casual entrance. Some places need to be observed. Measured. Questioned. Walked through with good posture and better commentary.

He wrote the city name neatly.

I looked down at it and said, “Fine. Let the monuments prepare themselves.”

He paused.

“That is not how travel planning works.”

“It is now.”

This was not tourism.

We were not leaving Pittsburgh to collect cute photos and pretend every place was magical. We were leaving to see what the world looked like when we entered it without apology.

We were leaving to test the difference between a destination and a lesson.

A destination is where you go.

A lesson is what refuses to leave you afterward.

That is why The Maplings Travelogue begins before the road. Before the train. Before the plane. Before the first dramatic arrival.

It begins with the decision.

That moment when the map is still flat, the bags are not packed, and the world has no idea it is about to be interrupted by two small figures with oversized glasses, serious opinions, and absolutely no interest in being ordinary.

He folded the corner of the map back into place.

I tapped Washington, D.C. once with my finger.

“First stop,” I said.

“First stop,” he confirmed.

Outside, Pittsburgh kept moving.

Inside, we had already left.

The map did not know us yet.

That was its problem.

Filed from somewhere between the root and the road,
Kimberly Ann Hawes
Creator of The Maplings

If it hits, we say it hits.
If it doesn’t, we let the silence do the damage.