Distance

The asphalt ribbon of highway stretches into the horizon.  There’s not a dip or a rise or even the slightest curve. Cars zip along going east and west passing us with a whoosh and the whine of one hundred and twenty horses of emissions controlled power.

US Highway 6 Stretches into the Distance

I pick a tree out of the smudge of shrubbery as far away as I can see.  That’s the target. That’s where we’re going to get before I check my watch.  We’re taking breaks for a handful of trail mix and schooner of tap about every hour.  When we make it to the tree, it won’t quite be time for a break, but we’ll be close.

“Ready,” I ask.

“Let’s go,” comes the reply as flat as the road.

We strike off, the gravel of the shoulder scrunching under each step.  Dad falls in behind me. I know that he’s there because his left shoe has developed a bit of a squeak.  Scrunch, squeak, scrunch, squeak, and the whoosh and the whine of a six car convoy headed east drowns out everything but their own airy advance.

I look up.  The tree’s still there far in the distance standing guard at the place I will check my watch.

I glance to the left. The drainage culvert is full to the top with mocha brown water.  It looks like it’s just sitting there except when it enters a concrete culvert to pass under the road.  Then, you can see the relentless flow, but in the mile between crossroads it just looks like it’s just sitting there soaking up sun.

The fields on the left are flooded. Standing water sits between rows of last year’s harvested corn stubble.  Some folks east of here have managed to sow this year’s crop of corn, but not here.  The fields are too wet, and you can feel the clock ticking down to the time it will be too late to plant.

The fields on the right are lush and green with winter wheat.

“Will all this standing water damage the wheat crop?” I ask.

Scrunch, squeak, whoosh.  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

We’ve told all the stories we have for today. The only thing left is to walk.

I glance up again and look at the tree.  It’s a little bit clearer….a little bit closer….the miles are clicking away.