I grew up in Mattoon, Illinois, a farm community halfway between St. Louis and Indianapolis. You only had to ride your bike a mile in just about any direction to be out on blacktop roads. And straight…you could go for miles and miles and never adjust your course. And they were hot in the summer. Depending on whether you were riding by corn or beans, there might not be even a whisper of a breeze as you pedaled on your way. Backroads were the best way to get up to Champaign or over to Terre Haute ~ or when I was going to college, ways to get around the police traps going up to Bloomington-Normal. Backroads memories allow my heart to open-up more. When I think about those drives back to Na-Wa-Kwa over in Indiana, I think about all the windows open and the music blaring. It was singing Jim Croce or Jimmy Buffett as loud as I could sing. Everything felt wide-open, from how far you could see to how fast you could drive. Somehow time was suspended on those roads. You could mark your trip by barns or curves or that one big oak tree by the road. The sunsets painted the entire – and I mean the entire western sky in shades of colors that took your breath away. You could drive and drive and drive and only pass a tractor on the road. Driving an hour commute in bumper-to-bumper traffic at the beginning and ending of the day is a true bummer. Trust me, I have learned the closest thing I can find to a backroad in this daily routine. I go through Tucker from Chamblee to get home to Decatur (and Atlantans know that geographically, it makes no sense at all). But when the “cars are aligned” I can still catch a glimpse of the sky for a sunset that reminds me of home. And seeing the sky's shades of God takes my heart back. Maybe I’m just missing blacktop roads and the way it felt to drive them. Those roads provided my favorite ways of getting from here to there without having to navigate. Instead you could travel without others dictating your pace; you could make your way and watch the world going by without it passing you by. I miss seeing the horizon just out there and knowing I could find my way, I would always find my way home.
Caryl Hefley
5/19/2013 02:51:34 am
Traveling on Mother's Day from Decatur to Indy, I snuck as many glances in my rear view mirror as I could without going off the road, watching the sun set behind me. A rare treat for someone now nestled in hills and valleys.
Reply
Claudia Brogan
5/22/2013 10:41:14 am
oh that's wonderful.....ahhh..makes me feel like i'm right there, driving the section from charleston to T'Haute....very nicely done, ma soeur
Reply
Autumn Standley
5/22/2013 11:42:12 am
Leslie, makes me think you might be missing that drive to Na-Wa-Kwa.......as you were describing it I felt like I knew exactly where you were....especially that oak by the road. It's been about 42 years since I was on staff there...longer since I was a camper. Two years ago I met Gomer in Terre Haute and we drove to the reunion together....we both agreed that even 40 years later our hearts still get excited when we see the little church where you turn to take the gravel road to NWK...and as we travelled that gravel road and got closer to camp I believe the tears were rolling down both our cheeks. Come take the trip with us again Leslie....it will do your heart some good.
Reply
5/23/2013 05:56:51 am
I used to think the central Illinois plains were so boring. Now I long to return and experience once again the scenes you describe Leslie. I look forward to coming home to Mattoon to see Dad and few the fields. Backroads are the best!
Reply
Leave a Reply. |
Lesley BroganWorking in Family Experience at Children's Healthcare of Atlanta, Lesley is an ordained minister in the United Church of Christ. A Candler School of Theology graduate, Lesley has just published her second book, Grief and the Psalms: Companioning the Moon for 29 Days (available on this website). She and her partner, Linda Ellis are raising their two sons, Brogan and Sam in Decatur, GA. Archives
April 2018
Categories |