Introduction: Stories That Stuck With Me on the Road

When we packed up our RV to begin this roadschool adventure, I knew I’d learn a lot from the places we visited. What I didn’t expect was how much I’d learn from the books I read along the way.

Between hikes, drives, campfires, and quiet afternoons, I found myself flipping through pages that somehow matched the places we were exploring. Some books hit me harder than I expected. Others opened up parts of history, nature, and even myself that I hadn’t seen before. These stories didn’t just fill time—they formed something in me.

I started to realize that learning through storytelling isn’t just something teachers say to sound poetic. It’s real. When a book shows up at the right moment—after you’ve stood in the place it describes or lived something similar—the lesson lands differently. It stays.

These are the four books that met me right where I was and taught me something I didn’t know I needed to learn. You know what else pushed me to learn? NCC's college classes. But I’ll talk more about that shortly.

Lessons That Hit Home – Reading Nisei Daughter After Visiting Washington

I read Nisei Daughter not long after we left Washington state, and honestly, I’m glad I waited. Seeing the Pacific Northwest first—the coastlines, the towns, the tension between old and new—made the story feel more alive, and a whole lot more real.

Written by Monica Sone, Nisei Daughter is a memoir about growing up Japanese-American in Seattle during the 1930s and 1940s. She writes with humor, honesty, and heartbreak, telling the story of her childhood in a tight-knit immigrant family, and how her world changed when World War II began. The book moves from light and funny family moments to the painful realities of racism, relocation, and identity in a country that suddenly saw her as “other.”

I remember finishing a chapter and just sitting there for a second, thinking, She lived this. These weren’t characters—they were her parents, her neighbors, her classmates. People who laughed, worked, played, and then got uprooted because of their ancestry.

Having just been in Seattle, I could picture her world. The damp sidewalks. The Japanese gardens. The cultural mix of her neighborhood. All of it added weight to the words, as if the setting had followed me from the coast right onto the pages.

That’s the power of learning through storytelling.
 It doesn’t just explain the facts—it makes them matter. It turns history into humanity.

I didn’t just learn about internment camps or racial prejudice.
 I learned about Monica. And I won’t forget her story.

Wild Truths and Wilderness Heroes – John Muir: The Scotsman Who Saved America’s Wild Places

Some books feel like walking into a forest—and this one? Definitely that. Reading John Muir: The Scotsman Who Saved America’s Wild Places while visiting national parks in the west made it feel like his fingerprints were on everything. The trails we walked. The mountains we saw. The protected land we got to experience—largely because he cared enough to fight for it.

The book is a biography, written in a simple, story-driven way that pulls you into Muir’s life without feeling like a lecture. It traces his journey from Scotland to America, his love for nature, and how he went from wandering the Sierra Nevadas to convincing presidents that some places were too sacred to lose.

I’d never read about someone so obsessed with trees and rocks and waterfalls—and yet somehow, it made sense. He didn’t just see beauty in nature; he believed it deserved to be protected. And thanks to him, we have places like Yosemite, Sequoia, and dozens of other parks that have become the heart of my homeschool year.

This wasn’t just a history lesson. It felt personal. Like he had carved out these wild places for kids like me to walk through a hundred years later.

And while I’ll probably never live in a tree or argue with Congress about preserving a mountain range, I finished the book with this quiet thought: Someone has to care enough to notice.

Because that’s how change starts. Someone pays attention.

Heartbreak in the Hammock – The Yearling in Florida

I read The Yearling while we were in Florida, and I don’t think I’ve ever cried so hard over a book in my life.

Written by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, The Yearling is set in the Florida backwoods, where a boy named Jody lives with his hardworking parents and forms an unforgettable bond with a wild fawn. The writing is slow and deep, full of nature, family, hardship, and moments that feel too real to be fiction. What starts off as a quiet, earthy story about boyhood turns into a powerful, heartbreaking lesson about what it means to grow up.

The characters don’t live easy lives. They hunt to survive. They lose things. They try their best, even when the world isn’t kind. And through all of that, there’s this overwhelming theme of loving something deeply… and learning to let it go.

Reading it while surrounded by swaying palmettos, warm breezes, and the same thick Florida air that filled the pages made the story hit differently. I remember looking up from the book and realizing how much the world around me looked like Jody’s world—wild, green, humid, and full of life you can’t always control.

And the ending? It completely undid me. I cried as I hugged the book. Then I just sat there and stared out the window for a while. Because it wasn’t just a story—it was a reflection of something much deeper. That sometimes, growing up means hurting. Sometimes, holding on isn’t the right thing. And sometimes, stories show us what we’re not quite ready to learn in real life.

That’s the beauty of learning through storytelling. It’s not always comfortable. But it’s honest. It takes truth and wraps it in something so deeply human that we can’t help but feel it all the way down.

I’m glad I read The Yearling. Even if it broke my heart a little. Actually—especially because it broke my heart a little.

Roots and Reality – What Hillbilly Elegy Taught Me About Appalachia

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I started Hillbilly Elegy, but by the end, I felt like someone had handed me a lens I didn’t know I needed.

Written by J.D. Vance (who become vice president just a few months ago!), the book is a memoir about growing up in a working-class Appalachian family, dealing with poverty, addiction, loyalty, and everything in between. It’s raw. It’s heavy. And it doesn’t sugarcoat anything. Vance doesn’t just share facts—he opens the door to his world and lets you see how complicated it really is.

Reading it made me realize that real life doesn’t always follow a neat, hopeful arc. Not everyone gets a picture-perfect childhood. Not everyone has safety nets. And some people grow up fighting against a future that feels already written for them.

But the biggest thing I took from it? You are not your upbringing. You are not your zip code or your last name or the statistics stacked against you.

What hit me hardest was how he kept choosing to push forward. Even when it was messy. Even when it meant breaking cycles that had existed for generations. That takes more courage than we talk about in most “success stories.”

I haven’t spent a ton of time in Appalachia, but I do have family roots there—and reading this book helped me see that part of my heritage in a deeper way. It made me think about people I love and the challenges they’ve faced that I’ve only ever heard about in passing. This wasn’t just someone else’s story—it felt familiar. It gave me new empathy, not just for strangers, but for people in my own family. That made it hit harder, and stick longer.

Spiritual Reflection – Stories and the Way God Teaches Us

The more books I read this year, the more I started seeing a pattern.

Not just in the characters or the settings, but in the way stories teach us—quietly, honestly, and right when we’re ready to listen. Sometimes, they sneak up on us. Sometimes, they hit hard and leave us a little different than we were before.

And it made me realize: that’s exactly how God works, too.

Luke 8:11 (ESV)
 “The seed is the word of God.”

When Jesus wanted people to understand something big, He didn’t just lecture. He told parables. Stories. He wrapped eternal truth in simple words and human moments. A shepherd. A mustard seed. A lost son. He knew that the human heart listens differently when it’s listening to a story.

Romans 15:4 (ESV)
 “For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, that through endurance and through the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.”

This year, I’ve seen how stories—whether from the Bible, a memoir, or a novel—can carry truth in ways I didn’t expect. They help us feel when we’d rather not. They push us to grow when it’s easier to stay the same. They connect our hearts to things that facts alone can’t reach.

God has been teaching me through every story I’ve read.vNot just about history or culture—but about hope, grief, beauty, courage, and faith.

Sometimes He speaks in Scripture. Sometimes in prayer. And sometimes, in the quiet space between two pages.

How NCC Made This Reading Journey Possible

If there’s one reason I got to read all these books while traveling across the country—it’s Northwest Iowa Community College.

Through NCC’s dual enrollment program, I’ve been able to take college-level classes on the road. That means I can dig into a book one day, write an essay the next, and still hike a canyon or sit by the ocean in between. It’s flexible, challenging, and fits my life in a way I didn’t think school could.

And it’s not just the flexibility. It’s the professors who give thoughtful feedback. It’s the online discussions that actually feel engaging. It’s the fact that I don’t have to choose between education and adventure—because I get both.

Whether I was writing in the RV, reading under a tree, or submitting assignments from a picnic table, NCC made it possible. They’ve supported my curiosity, encouraged deeper thinking, and allowed me to blend academics with real-world experiences in a way that actually feels meaningful.

If you’re a student who learns a little differently—or dreams a little bigger—this is the kind of college that sees you and says, “Let’s make it work.”

When I first started my Composition classes, one of the biggest things I learned was how to dig deeper into what I was reading. Instead of just enjoying a story on the surface, my Comp classes taught me to compare ideas, notice themes, and connect books to the places and experiences around me. It was like I got a new pair of glasses that helped me see how stories relate to each other—and to life—in ways I hadn’t before.

That skill helped me see these books differently on the road. I wasn’t just reading for fun; I was thinking about how Nisei Daughter and Hillbilly Elegy both tell stories about identity and struggle, or how John Muir’s love for nature connects with what I felt hiking through those parks. Comp made those connections clearer, richer, and more meaningful.

💻 Curious about learning that works with your lifestyle?
 Request more information from Northwest Iowa Community College today!

Conclusion: The Road, the Books, and the Growth They Gave Me

Looking back at this homeschool journey, I can list the parks we visited, the trails we hiked, and the sunsets we chased. But honestly? Some of the most unexpected growth came from the pages I turned along the way.

These stories weren’t just assigned reading. They met me where I was—on beaches, under trees, beside waterfalls—and they walked with me.

Nisei Daughter gave me empathy.
John Muir stirred something wild in my spirit.
The Yearling broke my heart and reminded me why softness matters.
Hillbilly Elegy pushed me to think deeper about where we come from—and who we can become.

Each one offered more than information. They offered understanding. Because learning through storytelling doesn’t just fill your mind—it shapes your heart.

This year, I’ve realized that education isn’t just about answers. It’s about listening. Feeling. Growing through stories that feel too honest to ignore. Whether I was curled up in a campground or reading by the window as we rolled into a new state, these books became part of the journey.

These stories didn’t just fill time on the road—they became part of the road. They shaped the way I saw each place. They gave quiet moments more meaning. They reminded me that learning doesn’t stop when you close the book… sometimes, that’s when it actually begins.