Sometime in the mid 1990s...
"Are we there yet?" asked my little brother, Michael.
I sighed. My parents laughed. We had just pulled out of our driveway, two hours later than scheduled, after a lot of last minute running around. Typical. Our destination? North Platte, Nebraska, home of William "Buffalo Bill" Cody and our grandparents. Time to arrive? Approximately 8 hours.
We had to drive through the city to get to the main interstate, which in itself took about 25 minutes. I inevitably wanted to read during those first 25 minutes and would be carsick by the time we got to the road that took us straight north. If you've ever driven north on I-29 out of Kansas City, you know that it takes a long time to feel like you're getting somewhere. You have to pass through the northland, then St. Joseph, before you get out onto open highway.
Several cassette tapes or book chapters into the drive, we cross the border from Iowa into Nebraska. Every time our family makes this crossing, we sing the Nebraska state song. I carry this tradition on today. If you ever want to hear "Beautiful Nebraska", let me know. We'll take a road trip. Once in Nebraska, we make a pit stop at two restaurants, minimum, because I don't like pizza or hamburgers. I like KFC macaroni and cheese.
Even though our car smells like greasy fast food, there is something magical about turning west. I can feel in my bones what it must have been like to be a pioneer. The wind is wild on I-80. The summers are hot, the winters are cold. We watch for windmills, horses, cattle. The sky is huge.
I'm reading Laura Ingalls Wilder and dreaming of what it was like to move to the prairie back when it was prairie. I wonder if coyotes or wolves still roam the plains. Later, I imagine myself as a Native American, knowing every hill in our area from quiet walks in my moccasins.
As the sun goes down in brilliant color, we pass and are passed by several trucks. My brother and I ask the timeless question, "How much longer?"
When we were young, our parents answered in numbers of cassette tapes or in hours and minutes. As we got older, they started telling us the miles we had left and let us figure it out. If we were lucky, we had stopped at the toy store when we stopped to get food. This would tide us over longer than usual, as did the times we stopped to pick up our cousins two hours away from our grandparents.
As night fell, we tried to fall asleep to pass the time. I watched the stars come out and curled up against the cold window with my pillow and teddy bear. The pillow slides down. I pull it back up and fluff it. Finally I find a compromise good enough to allow me to drift into sleep...
We're getting off the highway now, I can feel it. I keep my eyes shut and listen to my parents' hushed voices comment on what's changed since the last time. We turn left off I-80 and begin our slow drive through town. I don't know for sure, but I assume my brother is actually sleeping, not just faking it like me. Finally, we begin the slow downhill drive. The gravel crunches under our tires and then, silence. I am always struck by the silence that comes after turning off a car that's been running for hours.
Inside, I know a light will be on and Grandma will be up to greet us. I always feel a little shy, but by the time morning comes, I know I'll be ready for cinnamon rolls, outside exploring, playing cards, and lots of vacation.
 |
| This picture has almost nothing to do with this post, but is from the mid 1990's... |
I sighed. My parents laughed. We had just pulled out of our driveway, two hours later than scheduled, after a lot of last minute running around. Typical. Our destination? North Platte, Nebraska, home of William "Buffalo Bill" Cody and our grandparents. Time to arrive? Approximately 8 hours.
We had to drive through the city to get to the main interstate, which in itself took about 25 minutes. I inevitably wanted to read during those first 25 minutes and would be carsick by the time we got to the road that took us straight north. If you've ever driven north on I-29 out of Kansas City, you know that it takes a long time to feel like you're getting somewhere. You have to pass through the northland, then St. Joseph, before you get out onto open highway.
Several cassette tapes or book chapters into the drive, we cross the border from Iowa into Nebraska. Every time our family makes this crossing, we sing the Nebraska state song. I carry this tradition on today. If you ever want to hear "Beautiful Nebraska", let me know. We'll take a road trip. Once in Nebraska, we make a pit stop at two restaurants, minimum, because I don't like pizza or hamburgers. I like KFC macaroni and cheese.
Even though our car smells like greasy fast food, there is something magical about turning west. I can feel in my bones what it must have been like to be a pioneer. The wind is wild on I-80. The summers are hot, the winters are cold. We watch for windmills, horses, cattle. The sky is huge.
I'm reading Laura Ingalls Wilder and dreaming of what it was like to move to the prairie back when it was prairie. I wonder if coyotes or wolves still roam the plains. Later, I imagine myself as a Native American, knowing every hill in our area from quiet walks in my moccasins.
As the sun goes down in brilliant color, we pass and are passed by several trucks. My brother and I ask the timeless question, "How much longer?"
When we were young, our parents answered in numbers of cassette tapes or in hours and minutes. As we got older, they started telling us the miles we had left and let us figure it out. If we were lucky, we had stopped at the toy store when we stopped to get food. This would tide us over longer than usual, as did the times we stopped to pick up our cousins two hours away from our grandparents.
As night fell, we tried to fall asleep to pass the time. I watched the stars come out and curled up against the cold window with my pillow and teddy bear. The pillow slides down. I pull it back up and fluff it. Finally I find a compromise good enough to allow me to drift into sleep...
We're getting off the highway now, I can feel it. I keep my eyes shut and listen to my parents' hushed voices comment on what's changed since the last time. We turn left off I-80 and begin our slow drive through town. I don't know for sure, but I assume my brother is actually sleeping, not just faking it like me. Finally, we begin the slow downhill drive. The gravel crunches under our tires and then, silence. I am always struck by the silence that comes after turning off a car that's been running for hours.
Inside, I know a light will be on and Grandma will be up to greet us. I always feel a little shy, but by the time morning comes, I know I'll be ready for cinnamon rolls, outside exploring, playing cards, and lots of vacation.
 |
| Grandma and Grandpa's house |
No comments:
Post a Comment