In Wyoming, I looked at the rock formations, dead brown and sandy tan, expecting to see Tonto, peeking over the edge at the top where the sky meets the rock hill. I looked out at the cattle, expecting to see cowboys, only to farther down the road actually see two cowboys, on horseback, rounding up cattle. Winding rivers and pioneer monuments like Fort Bridger reminded me of the Oregon trail game I played as a child. Those rivers were the ones where my ox would drown in the game or my wagon tip over.
We passed the Danish immigrant museum in Nebraska. Barns and silos. Small metal weather vanes in a lone field. Corporate powered white wind mills next to big business farms. We watched tractor trailers each pulling one arm of a windmill on its way to somewhere. While I was awake, there were at least farms. My father-in-law kept saying, "they don't waste a speck of land; they plant it right up to the back of their house and up to the ditch."
The power lines along the interstates and highways were straight, disappearing into the distance. And parked trains and moving trains occasionally appeared in your peripheral vision.
This the expanse of our country. So mobile and historic. We left Salt Lake City, where Mormon pioneers landed, and on our way back east, saw the remains of pioneers of many religions and histories marking the route west. Even the gas stations tell the story. Casey's General Store sells Dutch Letters, a local pastry.
There's so much I don't know. So many details of those people who traveled here and lived across this country. I know quite a bit about Utah. Quite a bit about Tennessee. And I'm about to learn more about South Carolina.
What kills me is that so many people, mostly from the younger generations don't care. So many people drive these roads and highways, without a context or frame of reference for their existence.
Ps. I love Parker so much that I even share my diet coke with him. :)
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