I wasn't sure exactly what I was getting myself into, only that a lovely friend needed someone to ride shotgun as she drove a truck towards nashville, and I was selected as good company and someone who needed to get out of town. Cheap vacation to a place I had never seen, and that is about all I knew.
After a late start, due to a missing and necessary prescription that needed filling, my partner assured me we would be there shortly after midnight. Ahhh, the romance of a road trip -- great tunes, light traffic, and a heavy engine to roll us through the Wyeth painted Iowa cornfields. Beautiful! So many cornfields! Wow, look at all those cornfields. Really, there are so many cornfields...
Indianna finally crept up, and with it, more cornfields along with a casual remark from my partner that maybe we should have take the Wisconsin route after all, as were now about 253 miles away from half-way there. We oughta make it my 3, she said.
THREE?! IN THE MORNING AS IN TOMORROW MORNING? Hmmm. Approach with caution. I am the guest here, after all. Mustn't bite the hand that feeds you, or in this case, the hand of the gracious hostess who got me into this in the first place. A few choice words were politely exchanged, including a some that intimated that if our "departure time had not been delayed due to a medication situation" that we could have gotten there by at least TWO not THREE.
By that time we were laughing so hard we could barely breathe, and 253 miles flew past us into the dark, and by midnight we were singing along with Peter, Paul and Mary as we admired the sparkling night lights of Louisville, Kentucky.
Lemon tree, very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of the poor lemon, is impossible to eat.
Four more hours to go.
In the early morning hours the semi trucks - hundreds of them, kept us company for miles of kentucky and into tennessee. I had never seen so many! Huge beasts of steel and lights and shiny panels, loud and determined and very polite as they made their way to whereever they were going, and just as many cozied up next to each other in oddly poignant scenes by the side of road, dozens of big loads who decided to catch a snooze before sun up. It was a slumber party for PeterBuilt, tires tucked under massive rigs like sleepy paws pressed into tired bellies and dimmed headlights like sleepy eyelids.
Finally at 10 to 3, eastern time, we rolled into the valley (as they call it) to the sweet smell of hay and the welcoming tunes of crickets and frogs. There were horses out there somewhere, we will see those tomorrow, but for now, a glass of wine and then to bed.
In the morning I found myself a guest in a gracious southern home, with one refigerator filled with wine and the other , food, and a note about chores and "please make yourself at home". My darling traveling partner is happy tending to outdoor chores, and I am happy to sit and read and write and nap and find something useful to do with some fresh tomatoes, fettucini, and plenty of garlic for our dinner.
In my 50's I am finding that so many things that never used to feel like me are defining everything I truly am in a way I could not have imagined. Where are we going? South. When will we get there? In "several hours". Where are we staying? Someplace nice. How am I possibly going after an adventure like this with so little information? This is SO not like me!
Surprise on me! Yes it is.
And it turns out that the fruit of the poor lemon may indeed be impossible to eat, but squeezed on a little fresh pasta and argula, it is quite tasty, especially with a Biltmore Pinot Grigio.
Cheers.
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