Many of the alumni with whom I talked shared experiences that rang true to my own process of transition, and I couldn't help but look for these parallels as the trip went on. Yet, as I conducted the final interview of the trip, I was astounded at the similarities between Eric's point of view and my own. We sit in his office and talk for so long that he ends up being late for dinner at home.

I had always heard about the mythical Lake Okoboji, a freshwater oasis in the monotonous landlocked Iowa. When Cory asked if I'd like to visit him there, I jumped at the opportunity. We go out on the lake in his boat with the family. His children scream with delight, and there's a dry smile is on his lips as he races across the water.

Darcie first read four of the books that she teaches at Augustana–the stories she deems worthy of representing American literature–in one course at Grinnell. As a professor, she shares these texts, coupled with an understanding that not everything can be understood the same way. She tells me that she hopes this helps her students as they wrestle with both the books and their own baggage.

Ty gives me a tour of the property in terms of projects: "We're going to take out that wall, and rebuild the structural support of that staircase beams, and redo the floors and ceilings of that floor." I can't help but feel overwhelmed on his behalf. He and Tera just bought two dilapidated houses in the center of town and are beginning to rebuild, step by step, with their two young boys in tow.

The Dougherty family comes in all sizes, from pint-sized toddlers all the way on up. The seven kids fly through the house as Troy and his wife calmly smile. They have another one on the way. As the painting above the mantle says, "Family is first."

Rebecca's directions say to turn at Rattlesnake Butte. I have no idea what a butte is as I make my way down her dirt road in Homedale, but a quick Google search tells me that it is "an isolated hill with steep, often vertical sides and a small, relatively flat top." Good to know...

Monique Gaido tells me that I have to talk with fellow Grinnellian Beverly Houser, who lives on the other side of town. They had met briefly a few years before, and Monique remembers Beverly's yellow VW Bug with red flames on the sides. "She has stories," Monique says. After a conversation with Beverly, I certainly agree.

The temperature is 71 degrees when I pull out of the Mendocino Redwoods and make my first move back east in three weeks. As I go over the hills and descend into the valley on the other side, I watch the thermometer climb, a degree per minute. It's a scorching 114 when I pull into Monique's driveway. After dinner she takes me down to the Sacramento River to escape the heat.

After the microphones are turned off, Steve shows me around his workshop. He has become devoted to woodworking, a passion he had for a long time but never had the chance to pursue until he retired. He never even tries to sell his pieces–the process of finding the right fragments and fitting them together is enough for him.

Musings about the transition out of college just seem to flow better when sitting by the pool. Laura has her feet up as she works through her thoughts, trying to get over the fact that the pesky deer ate all of the plums off of the tree. There is a more pressing issue at hand: sushi or Mexican food for dinner?