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Yesterday afternoon, as temperatures climbed toward the 90˚F mark, Myladylove and I filled a cooler with ice and bottled water, and took a long, leisurely drive through east-central Indiana. Our plans were minimal—follow only the backroads and byways; purchase a bucket of fried chicken for a picnic lunch to be partaken in some village park; stop at any picturesque bridges, flower-dappled fields, rustic barns, or used bookshops and antique stores that struck our fancy; maybe finish off with an ice cream cone on the way home.
Otherwise, our day would be ruled by whim and serendipity…and it was, indeed, a truly glorious day! Bright blue sky and some of the finest puffy white clouds I've seen in years.
For parts of our impromptu ramble we followed a section of U.S. 40 that was once part of the historic National Road. As the first improved road built by the federal government—construction started in 1811—this 620 mile long thoroughfare became the shining pathway for thousands of hope-filled settlers seeking the Promised Land of the West.
This fine old roadway retained its significance until just a few decades ago when the Interstate highway system came along—offering high-speed, limited-access convenience, while being thoroughly devoid of both character and soul.
Nowadays I-70 parallels U.S. 40, often visible less than a half-mile distant. The old National Road is all but deserted. Once-thriving gas stations and gift shops, cafés, motels, truck stops, and similar businesses catering to cross-country travelers have closed, their buildings vacant, in disrepair, crumbling; many already reduced to an open area in the weeds and a just-visible bit of foundation rubble.
A ghost road, with only spirit tenants. But a change which occurred my lifetime. I can easily remember the National Road before the Interstate sapped its lifeblood, and for nostalgia's sake, like to pay my respects.
After a while we turned north, leaving the old National Road to wend emptily westward across the vast green plain of Heartland agriculture. This is flat country—as in table-top flat. Sparsely settled. Farmhouses cling close to the road, and are often set a mile apart. And other than a few patches of woods, maybe a red barn, stone silo, or the spire of a distant village church, not much else to break the monotony of endless fields of corn and soybeans.
And yet, paradoxically, it's a land I do not find monotonous. Instead, it seems open and honest and soothing. A relaxed world where—on a Sunday afternoon—you can cover a couple hundred miles on a network of narrow rural roads and count the vehicles-passed-per-hour on the fingers of one hand. A place where you can slow down, unwind, lose your worries beneath a cornflower-blue sky filled with glowing white clouds…and then enjoy an ice cream cone as you find your way home.
12 comments:
HI GRIZZ - what a wonderful way to spend a day. No destination in mind or time dead lines just a free ramblin' man and his Lady wandering the country side. I love it! Great picture. Reminds of upstate Ny, right down to the far, houses miles apart and a barn or silo or small church peppered about. Glorious freedom. ANd the ice cram cone on the way home? Perfect.
Love to you and yours.
Gail
peace.....
p.s. went in the pool, braved it again. Had me some float devices, a double sided dolphin and a big tire type tube. Te dolphins were my favorite. If u get a moment on facebook there are some pictures.
Gail…
Aimless wandering through interesting country is really my favorite way to spend a day or an entire vacation. Enough of my life is already scheduled, planned, dictated, restricted, controlled, or otherwise contrived and boxed-in that I feel suffocated and cramped, like an eager hound on a too-short leash. There's no more opportunity to sideline into an adventure than if you were a train on a track.
The ice cream was excellent.
As to your pool post, I visited, read, and commented.
HI GRIZZ - yes, saw you came by. :-) Thanks....
and I so agree with the freedom of aimless wander.....we almost always say, "where do you want to go today, and one or the other will answer, "let's see where thew road takes us...."
Love Gail
peace.....
Gail…
So far as I'm concerned, going where the road takes you is the perfect traveler's (or weekend wanderer's) philosophy. :-)
We used to do things like this when the kids were home and young, and we didn't have money to do much but gas was not as high as it is now and we could pack a lunch. I live in an agricultural area with views like the one you recorded. It's a long way from my home Texas, and I've come to love it for the same reason you mentioned. It's such a reminder that God is the Giver. It is simplicity.
We could use some more of these rambles. We should stop our home improvement work and just go. Course it'll be just me, Handyman and Beau the dog now. We miss our kids, as they always seemed to make these rambles fun.
Debbie
Debbie…
Here's something important I've learned—and I'll preface it by saying this:
We live in a comfortable stone cottage beside a lovely river. The house needs a ton of work. That takes a ton of money, even if only for materials, which is not exactly in abundance. So we do things along as we can. Same thing for the yard—plenty of jobs there, too. We are responsible people…though I admit Myladylove is stronger on this point than me; I'm semi-responsible with an impulsive streak. At any rate, there's always tasks to do that more-or-less need doing.
On a sunny Sunday afternoon, with an achingly blue sky overhead and puffy clouds so white they're luminescent, responsible folks would stay home, engage in honest, necessary, sweaty labor. After a bit of that we could, in clear conscience, fire up the grill, toss on some steaks, and kick back in deckside rockers—doing what carnivores do best and watching the river flow endlessly along. I might even rouse myself to go catch a smallmouth bass or two.
Everyone says, "Why this is a perfect vacation cottage in the woods. Paradise. You guys don't ever have to leave home!" We even say that ourselves, at times.
But that's not true—not the fact of it. Why? Because we all need to get away from time to time. Escape. Even if only for a few hours. We need to turn our backs on the familiar and share a place that's different. Two people who love and care about each other, a country road you've never traveled, new sights around every bend. It's a sort of natural magic. The new and different perspective of the place, the land and country and villages and people, seep into the perspective of who you are, what you say, how you think. Conversations are fresh…and maybe some of the best you had in a long time because you're having them in a new place, without all the distractions of the comfortable and familiar.
No matter how nice home is, or how many reasons you can come up with for not going anywhere…the impromptu adventure of a drive together is something you don't ever want to neglect. Have Handyman gas up the vehicle. Whistle up Beau. Don't pack a picnic lunch; stop somewhere, buy a sandwich or whatever, or try some tiny country café. That's part of the adventure, the giving up of control to serendipity and spontaneity. Rediscover each other without all the baggage of home. You don't need stuff to have a good time together.
Reminding yourself of that fact on a regular basis is important.
And you can do that all by yourself, too.
Judith…
Yes you can… and I do, because alone time is important, too. Maybe because I'm an only child. But sometimes I just need to be out there by myself, moving, with only earth and sky and a winding road for company.
I was with you on this drive Grizz. On most of our tours of the US we saw areas like this, where once thriving communities have gone and the buildings have fallen down. It seems so sad. Where there are farms a long way apart, there has to be a good sense of neighbourliness in order to survive I would have thought.
Glad you enjoyed your day.
Weaver…
I'm glad you enjoyed the post. I liked your thoughtful comments re. distance and neighborliness. And you very well may be right, though I should tell you that rural areas in this part of the U.S. have gone through sweeping, fundamental changes during my lifetime. Small, "family" farmers are becoming more scarce every year. Agri-business has taken over. Where once there were neatly-tilled fenced fields of 20-100 acres planted in various crops, now the fences (plus their brushy edges and trees) have been removed to created vast monoculture plantings stretching a mile or more, and requiring huge machines to work. The old houses along the road are still there, most of them, sitting on maybe a quarter-acre plot; but they're not homes to farmers…or if they do farm, they work for some corporation as labor. The land is long gone from their family's ownership.
So you get these long vistas. But not the varied scene I knew the first half of my life—places with patchwork fields, cows, chickens, maybe sheep and a horse; wash hanging on lines, flowers in little pots and patches bordering the lane and encircling the mailbox, kids toys scattered in the yard, a shaggy old dog or two lolling under the shade of the big lilac bush, and a half-dozen rockers and chairs on the wide front porch where—come sundown or Sunday—everyone rested after their day's work. I got to say, I miss that…
Finally, you should know that such table-flat land in the photo is not the landscape setting where I live. That's northwest and west of here. My area is rolling; little hills, lots of creeks and brooks. Not the true hill-country of southeastern Ohio, but not like what's in the pix, either—though I don't have to drive far to be in that sort of country. And for that matter, I can been in real hills in under an hour. I used to despise the rural flatlands. I preferred the steep, rugged, cliffy Appalachian foothill country north of the Ohio River. And truth be told, I still do. But I've also come to find something both appealing and appeasing in the rural flatlands. And I especially enjoy it in the starkness of winter, when the light slants low across the distances, colors are muted, and your eye follows lines and textures.
Scribe--I recall driving (actually riding) on Rt. 40 in a cross-country trip my parents took in the mid-1950s. Also on Rt. 66.
In many ways it is sad that the inter-state system has stripped us of such wonderful roads that went cross country through towns and villages. That was the way to SEE America.
KGMom…
Routes 40 and 66 are really quite similar in that they were once true national arteries. Rt. 66 was the longer, Rt. 40 the older. But the way they wove through towns and villages, and all the traveler's commerce along their borders, was identical. The "Blue Highways" of writer William Least Heat Moon, who I met a few years back.
Bittersweet roads today, but still interesting and preferable over freeways. I always take such routes when I can…except when I travel the even smaller backroads, which are always my first choice. And I do agree—the only way to see America.
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