Words fail so often. Romance fails always. Thus I have decided to leave them behind and embark on a wordless journey, beginning in a corner of the world where I do not know the spoken language. Not a single word.

"What are you doing, dear?"

My mother worries about me. I don't want to alarm her with my plan.

"Making a list of places I might visit someday." Trying to appease her imminent curiosity I announce, "here's what I have so far: 

Tamil Nadu, India.

Broome, Western Australia.

Grand Ronde, near Salem, Oregon."

She squints in such a way that even her own son would be clueless regarding what she is thinking. Head tilted, her chin protrudes, almost imperceptibly. I've lived with these subtle gestures for 28 years, four months, and two days. Without a doubt, even when I was a newborn, this woman attempted to inspect my intentions wordlessly without giving the slightest glimpse of what lurked behind her steel blue eyes.

Waiting eventually became my strategy. Thus, it is now my turn to extend the pause between us as I pull the invisible mask of indifference over my face to await her reaction. 

"Why are you interested in those particular places?"

"Fascination with language." A morsel of an answer, promising myself it is the only clue she may have, as I walk out of the house, heading toward the closest wifi coffee shop at the end of our block, to do more research.

I'm leaning toward the Oregon reservation, but I need to know more about it. Will they allow me to visit? May I quietly observe their heritage language immersion program?

Two days ago, I met Charlotte at the local casino. She explained the rules of the preschool: no English is spoken in the classes. When the children say something in English, the teachers gently reply, "Chinuk Wawa, nixwa!" The same rule will apply to me, the visitor studying heritage languages. She presumed I was from a Linguistics research program at a university. I didn't correct her assumption.

Charlotte was taken-in by my unwavering attention as she described her ancestry and passion for saving the vanishing language which has been used regionally for more than a hundred years. I had no interest in offering long explanations of my reason to be in this corner of Oregon. I did, though, ask her to speak to me using the same indigenous language as she speaks to the children. "I want to experience this educational program first-hand. Starting now. Please." I have never seen such an intrigued expression spread across a woman's face in my life. 

I have not uttered a single word of English since that first meeting with this cultural director of the school. Sometimes, if she wishes to make sure I understand her, she launches into English. I reply "Chinuk Wawa, nixwa!" 

The excitement of beginning a relatively wordless connection to such a beautiful intelligent lady is indescribable.