Recently, I saw the movie "Nomadland," then read the pictured article in The Oregonian. I felt a little of the old fire left in me.

In the late 1960s, I worked as a school counselor in a small town, Boerne, near San Antonio, Texas — a great place to raise five kids (later six).

In the early 1970s, I worked as a rehabilitation counselor in San Antonio. We saved, bought a Volkswagen van on time, and after receiving permission to pull the kids out of school, traveled across Mexico for two weeks.

We had a portable stove and other basics. The children were excited and we all pulled together. I feel I laid a lot of work on my eldest son, then 15, and my wife, a nurse, who did my wanderings with approval, work and love.

Our relatives on both sides were conservative folk. I think they thought we were living in an unstable manner. We did, however, survive this and other outings.

I look back on these vagabond years, and the adventures, as some of the happiest times of my life. We had little money, but good professional jobs. We wanted to live in the times, and contribute something to the world in that changing era.

Today, the Mexico trip is one of the life experiences the kids remember with joy.