Road Trip

Driving today through unfamiliar towns and country, I passed miles and miles of fields of brown-husked corn stalks, their tan tassels matching dried grasses roadside. I passed tackle and bait shops, Vidiots video and gaming shop, a gun shop next to a bar—wait, was that cold-beer sign in the gun shop window?

In small towns, yard after yard had tables filled with very small items for sale. Thirty years ago, on road trips, my husband and I could have had a bumper sticker that read “This car stops for yard sales.” We’d almost always pull over and look for junque among the junk. Once I found a Victorian hand vase for just a few dollars. Nowadays, however, I'd be more tempted to stop at a yard sale to unload stuff. Here, you take it. I can't deal with it any more.

I passed this fellow inviting folks in to eat. Who decided a bear baring its teeth was inviting?

Crossing the mighty Mississippi, I noted many golden almost-sandbars beneath brown waters. The Welcome to Iowa Center had a large FOR SALE sign in the window. Sign of the times, I guess. Not to worry, soon the self-proclaimed World’s Largest Truck Stop welcomed half the road warriors in the world. Besides the truck museum and signs for a huge truck jamboree (can’t imagine what this is, I’m afraid), the path to the ladies room was like a wall-less mall selling everything from the expected snacks to the unexpected—jewelry and American Indian pottery. Adding to the sensory overload of the place itself was the neon many customers wore. Neon-orange sunglasses. Neon-pink short-shorts. Neon-yellow flip-flops. Another sign of the times, I guess.

Finally at my destination, took an evening walk and noted a pine with a double-ess-curve trunk. Hula tree? Indecisive tree? Wave tree? Oh, and I liked this bench, too.