New World Every Day

Road trips are always a thrill, more so when I travel without my hubby.
  Born with no sense of direction whatsoever, fortunately I have a great sense of adventure and discovery.  Navigation devices help a little, but one does have to plug in all the right addresses and poor typing skills and dyslexia can make that a challenge.  Now that I think on it, I should get a medal whenever I arrive.

This past week, we ventured far afield.  While we visited relatives in Kansas, I took an afternoon off to visit an acquaintance.  Bud didn’t really want me to go off alone, but what can happen in twenty-five miles in rural Kansas.  Just so he’d be shamed, I drove straight to my destination and sent him a smug text.  I had a lovely visit and sent him a text to let him know I’d be arriving back in forty minutes.  A quasar must have hit the GPS.  While the trip over had been mostly via interstate, only one wrong turn confused the GPS.  You’d think they’d have gotten the bugs out of those things by now.  After a few turns and considerable dirt-road sight-seeing, I decided to check my progress.  Thinking maybe the devices was defective, I decided to try to put the address in again, forgetting the house number.   That didn’t worry me too much.  Surely there couldn’t be too man Lone Star Roads.  I drove and drove.  Finally, Bud fired a text at me, wanting to know when I’d get back.  “It shouldn’t be too long.  I am on Lonestar Road and just saw a sign saying I am back in Linn County.”

He whacked out.  “You dingbat!  Linn County is forty miles from here.  You are an hour in the wrong direction.  Pull over at the next crossroads and call back and tell me where you are.  By the way, how much gas do you have?”

“Uh oh.  The orange light is on and it says I have a range of forty miles.  Why did you let the truck get so low?”

“You had a half-a-tank when you left!  Where the Hell have you been?”

“I told you I was on Lone Star Road for a long time!”  I didn’t mention all the other places.  I hate to worry him about stuff like that.  He gets excited.

“Pull over and park!  Pull over and park and call me back.  I’ll come find you!”

“Okay, but maybe you should bring some gas!”  Now I was worried.

A few country miles later, I parked in front of the Cadmus Grange Building.  They were having a meeting at six-thirty, so I might make some new friends if he didn’t get there in a couple of hours, but hoped I wouldn’t have to wait that long.  It’s amazing how cold fourteen degrees can be, even if it’s a sunny day.  I decided to take some pictures.  I am glad I did since I may never get lost again.

Bud conferred with his relatives and as fate would have it, one of them had to pass that way on the way to visit us at Aunt Beulah’s.  He was kind enough to bring a can of gas and guide me there.  True enough, I was forty miles from my goal.  Who would have thought Lone Star Road extended across two or three counties?

Tom Johnson and the Deputy

imageA lifetime of farming on the Kansas prairies had toughened old Tom Johnson up.  With eight hard-headed boys and three girls to raise, he didn’t put up with a lot of nonsense.  One morning, the boys decided, being winter, there was no need for them to get up at four-thirty in the morning to start work just because that’s what Dad always did.  They lay abed, thinking he couldn’t handle all of them if they stuck together.  Dad didn’t say anything, just set to getting them up.

A deputy sheriff had the misfortune to show up to deliver a summons for jury duty just as as eight Kansas farm boys between the age of ten and eighteen tore the front door down followed by Tom Johnson flailing the crowd with plow lines.  The poor guy was trampled, as well as flailed, trying to escape from the irate farmer intent on putting his boys back to work.  Returning to the safety of town, he told the sheriff,  “If you want that summons delivered, you’ll have to find someone else.  I’m not going back out to Tom Johnson’s place.”