Sunday Drive on a Friday Night

 

We took a "Sunday drive" last Friday night.  

The term "Sunday drive" originated from leisurely car drives taken on Sundays in the early to mid-20th century as a form of cheap entertainment. That just happens to be the time I was a kid growing up on a Central Kansas farm. I know about "Sunday drives" firsthand as a kid sitting in the backseat of a car while my dad sang songs like "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" or "Mairzy Doats." Those - plus "I'm An Old Cowhand" - were also part of the sound track of our trips to visit my grandparents in Sublette. 

If you look up the definition of "Sunday drives," it says that initially, these drives were a form of recreation with no specific destination or time constraints. Over time, the term "Sunday driver" has evolved to describe someone who drives slowly, cautiously or inexpertly, often associated with inattentive drivers. Alternatively, it can mean "those who take their time to enjoy the scenery."

Since the only living things we saw on our trek off the beaten path were grazing cattle, we didn't bother any other drivers on our foray down country roads. So I guess, in this case, we'll stick with the definition of "those who take their time to enjoy the scenery."

We ate supper at Sylvia's Oasis restaurant after a fellow golfer recommended the Mexican food there to Randy. On the way home, we took a detour to the Ninnescah Pasture. Randy had been there more recently than I had. One summer when we were still actively farming, we took more trips down that road than any of us would have liked. There was a group of cows and calves that were determined to find the proverbial "greener pastures." No matter what we did, they would not stay in, so we were on 4-wheelers rounding them up more times than either of us wanted. (That group of escapees eventually ended up at the sale barn.) 

Anyway, it was nice to take a leisurely trip down the road - with no purpose in mind, other than checking out the water flow in the Ninnescah ... 

Looking east at the bridge

 

Looking west at the bridge

... And "smelling the roses" - or, in this case -  the wooly verbena. 

 

The road to another familiar pasture - the Rattlesnake Pasture - used to be lined by a tunnel of cottonwood trees, a route I loved in the summer. But several years ago, those aging cottonwoods were cleared away from the road. I'm sure it made practical sense, but I still miss dodging light and shadow as we work our way down that road. I imagined Randy's predecessors 120 years ago appreciating the road less traveled as they brought cattle to the Rattlesnake pasture and then checked them throughout the summer months.

July 2013 - This was before the township tore down most of the cottonwoods along the road to the Rattlesnake Pasture.

Maybe those nostalgic memories factor into my love of a tree-lined road near the Ninnescah Pasture, where the trees still tower over the dirt road and the sun plays peekaboo among the branches.

 

 You can't beat a Sunday drive on a Friday night.

 

Look for chances to take the less-traveled roads. 

There are no wrong turns.

-- Susan Magsamen 

 

*** 

And an update on the bridge north of our house: We drove up to the bridge last evening to check out the progress. Completion is definitely closer, but the Road Closed signs remain. However, all the big equipment is gone, and the new guardrails are in place. 

On August 5, the public works guys told Randy that the bridge would be done in 2 weeks. We'll see if their prediction holds true. 

 

Do-It-Yourself Scenic Overlook - Kansas-Style

 

I suppose I've always taken sunflowers for granted. As a Kansas native, these sunshiny flowers have become part of my peripheral vision as I motor down the road in the summer, usually in a hurry to get to where I'm going.

In our immediate area, they seem a little less plentiful as ditches have narrowed or been mowed. So as we were traveling down a more secluded dirt road in our Gator and I saw the blanket of sunflowers stretching toward the horizon, I wanted my chauffeur to stop. The national parks have scenic overlooks. I could do a make-your-own version, Kansas-style.

Summertime is sunflower time in Kansas. And even though our Iowa friends may believe it's a noxious weed, it's our noxious weed, thank you very much (with apologies to my son-in-law's Iowa family). The genus Helianthus comes from the Greek "helios" meaning "sun" and "anthos" meaning "flower." The species "annuus" means "annual."

The sunflower grows in every Kansas county due to its adaptability to soils from sand to clay and its toleration of dry to medium moist soils. In the summer and early fall, the yellow flowers give the prairies and roadsides a golden glow.

From the Kim's County Line archives

Sunflowers were cultivated in North America as far back as 3000 BC and were introduced to the rest of the world by Spanish Conquistadors in 1500. 

According to an article in The Hutchinson News by Steve Gilliland, in 1901, George Morehouse, a state senator from Council Grove, attended a rodeo in Colorado Springs where all the Kansas folks in attendance wore sunflowers identifying them as Kansans. Morehouse was so moved and inspired by the Kansas spirit, that upon returning home, he drafted the bill naming the sunflower as our state flower. It was adopted in 1903.

So, this year, it's especially appropriate to celebrate the sunflower, since it's the 120th anniversary of its status as official state flower. The 1903 proclamation said it was chosen for "its strong, distinct disk and its golden circle of clear, glowing rays."

In this original bill, Morehouse also stated:

 “This flower has to all Kansans an historical symbolism which speaks of frontier days, winding trails, pathless prairie and is full of the life and glory of the past, the pride of the present and richly emblematic of the majesty of the golden future, and is a flower which has given Kansas the world-wide name “The Sunflower State.”

I've transitioned to my sunflower decor in my living room. So I have sunflowers "blooming" all around me. 

The last several blog posts, I've reported on tourist spots in Iowa, Chicago and Missouri. We enjoyed those travels. But we are pretty fond of Kansas, too. 

 

Dueling Road Signs

Sometime in the past couple of days, a new road sign appeared at the corner south of our house. Cue up the "Dueling Banjos" song: It's been going in my head since I saw the contradictory mile markers at the corner.

According to the new Stafford County sign, I live on NE 150th Ave., just north of its intersection with NE  40th Street.

But Reno County put their signs up several years ago. For the longest time, I thought I'd been living  on South Salt Marsh Rd., just north of the intersection with West Illinois Ave.

I have a Sylvia phone, but a Stafford address. Sort of. I have a Reno County street address, but a Stafford zip code. Confused? Welcome to my world.

Let's hope the Reno County sign stays together. Randy and I noticed that there's yet another street name sandwiched between the Salt Marsh designation. If that front sign falls off, I guess I'll be living on Trails West Road ... just not really.

It's not the first time I've had to explain this anomaly. I live right on the Stafford/Reno County line, but our house is on the Reno County side. 

The latest explanation came when I voted early at the Reno County Courthouse prior to the primary election. When the election workers looked at my driver's license, they said, "You live in Stafford, but you can vote in Reno County?"

Yes. I can. Most of the time, I vote in Sylvia, and they are used to my mixed-up world. In all honesty, I'd prefer to exercise my patriotic duty in Stafford County because I'd rather vote on the school board elections where our kids and Randy went to school. I'd rather vote where we go to church, do our banking and other business. But, that's just life on the County Line.

The good news? With all these signs, I should be able to find my way home - at least for the moment. No telling what will happen if the signs all fall over. (I think I'd be OK. As a farmer's daughter and a farmer's wife, I've pretty much lived in the land of no street signs my whole life.)

(If you now have a hankering for Dueling Banjos, there are plenty of versions on YouTube. Click on the link to see Steve Martin and Kermit the Frog's version.)

Another Man's Trash

One man's trash is another man's treasure, so the saying goes.

But sometimes it's just trash.

Why do people feel the need to use country roads as a dumping ground? I am amazed at the amount of trash I see scattered along the roads.

My most interesting find on a recent walk was a half-eaten PopTart. First of all, I was surprised the toaster pastry remained intact after a flying trip from a car window. But what does that say about its viability as a breakfast selection? Is it a metaphor for the rock it makes in the eater's stomach?

At least the PopTart was biodegradable. However, I did notice that no creature came and ate it. It was still there the next day, a little worse for wear, but still unconsumed. Perhaps the creatures are wiser than we are.

The closest McDonald's is 35 miles away, but I still see the paper bag remnants of a fast food meal. There are pop cans, water bottles, plastic sacks and more along the ditches.

But the old saying did come true for us one time. The best "trash" we ever found was Mindy.

Don't get me wrong: I am certainly not advocating anyone take an unwanted pet to the country and leave it there to fend for itself.

A landlord found Mindy and asked if we wanted a dog. Mindy had obviously had a rough life up to that point. She shied away from men for quite sometime.

But she and a little boy named Brent became best of buddies.

When Brent left home for college, I had to promise I'd pet his dogs - Mindy and Ralph - every day. It was one of the hardest phone calls I had to make to Brent to tell him that Mindy had died.

She definitely ended up as treasure to our family. But, much as I loved Mindy, I wish people would keep their trash to themselves. Have we become too lazy to pick up and be responsible for ourselves?

My aversion to the trash heap along the roadside reminds me of an old public service announcement. Maybe it wouldn't hurt for us to run it again.