TI can't believe how fast the corn is growing - a late start, but hip high by Fourth of July, waist high the next day, shoulder high the next, and head high the next, or so it seems. Days are already getting shorter. If I'm going to get to New Mexico this summer, I better do it now.
Traffic should be lighter after the Fourth. At last, I head for Dubuque, then southwest on U.S. 151.
As I roll through quaint Mt. Vernon, Iowa on State Route 1 toward Iowa City, I'm surprised that the corn down there, usually ahead of ours, is no further along than in Green County. The commentator on Iowa Public Radio laments that Iowa had a Fourth of July without Iowa sweet corn. A local producer says that the Iowa corn is about two weeks behind normal, verifying my windshield observations.
It's a humid day, the sun is shining but there is that haze that often accompanies these humid days. No bright cobalt blue sky today.
It's through Des Moines, and south on I-35 to Missouri. I temporarily leave the interstate at Bethany, county seat of Harrison County. It's been a couple of years since I traversed their courthouse square. Curiosity gets the best of me. I roll around the vacant square and contemplate the dilapidated businesses that seem to be awaiting the demise of the owners. With their strategic location across the street from the courthouse, the law offices remain.
A new Dollar General store graces the square's northwest corner. It seems incongruous with the rest of the rundown square. If there is a bright side to the square over that of two years ago, it's that it seems no worse. But that's a low bar. Bethany's business activity is centered along and within two blocks of I-35. Its courthouse square is a declining relic of the past.
I gas up and head south on I-35 to Kansas City. The temperature has risen to nearly 100. I get through the city, crossing the border into Kansas, and roll west through endless suburbs. Beyond the city, the temperature drops to the mid 90s. It must have been the heat island effect of the city.
It's getting late and I'm anxious to get to Emporia, home of the famous journalist, William Allen White. I've been through this drill enough, I know how to do it - right? There's a trusty motel on the east edge of town - nice rooms, moderate rates, always available. I finally get to Emporia; turn off the freeway, anxious to hit the sack. As I approach the motel, it looks crowded. What? No vacancy? What gives?
Oh well, I roll through town, taking an aggravating detour as there is construction on the main drag. There are a bunch of chain motels. I pick one and go to register. I get the last room available, and only because they had a last-minute cancellation. What is this concept anyway?
The attendant tells me there is a "Frisbee golf" tournament in town, whatever that is. So much for my well-laid plans to wait till Fourth of July traffic is over. The room cost twice as much and with half the space as my usual digs in Emporia. And, of course, there is no place to park except with the big trucks on a lot in back. You get what you pay for? You can't depend on that old saw.
But the bed is comfortable. The next morning, there are plenty of parking spaces. The attendant informs me that the guests are at the tournament, presumably tossing Frisbees around in the Kansas wind. They expect town to be packed for the next ten days. Unbelievable, but what the heck do I know.
I head west, thinking that my problems dwarf before exploding trains and floods in Canada, fires and tragic deaths out west, plane crashes in San Francisco. The temperature is in the 90s; it is sunny with a slight haze in the sky. The announcer on Kansas Public Radio informs listeners that 87 percent of the Kansas wheat has been harvested - only some in the northwest corner of Kansas remaining. Central Kansas is 100 percent harvested. The fields of golden stubble alternate with occasional fields of alfalfa and soybeans.
I cross the northern edge of the Flint Hills, the grass now a pale green. The hills are dotted with herds of cattle and watering ponds. Once across the Flint Hills, the topography is flat again. U.S. 56 rolls through Lyons, county seat of Rice County. The highway runs across the north side of the courthouse square. That courthouse square is not nearly as picturesque as Monroe's, but it is way ahead of Bethany's.
There are posters in Lyons picturing a Spanish Conquistador, and the word "Quivera." Historians dispute the exact route of conquistador, Francisco Vasquez de Coronado, into the Great Plains in 1541. But it is believed that his band camped near what is now the city of Lyons. Native Americans to the southwest told Coronado of Quivera, a city of gold, located in what is now central Kansas. One theory is that the natives had hoped that Coronado and his party would get lost and perish in the vast plains country.
There is gold in Kansas, of course - the kind that helps feed the world. But in 1541 wheat had not yet arrived from the Old World. That's not the kind the Conquistadores were looking for anyway. They were after the shiny kind that they could steal from the native peoples, or at least dig from the earth via slave labor.
Coronado did not find any gold and returned empty-handed. A member of his expedition, Juan de Padilla, returned a year later as a missionary. After establishing a church, he was killed by the native people in 1542.
Next week: Toward Dodge.
- John Waelti's column appears every Friday in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
Traffic should be lighter after the Fourth. At last, I head for Dubuque, then southwest on U.S. 151.
As I roll through quaint Mt. Vernon, Iowa on State Route 1 toward Iowa City, I'm surprised that the corn down there, usually ahead of ours, is no further along than in Green County. The commentator on Iowa Public Radio laments that Iowa had a Fourth of July without Iowa sweet corn. A local producer says that the Iowa corn is about two weeks behind normal, verifying my windshield observations.
It's a humid day, the sun is shining but there is that haze that often accompanies these humid days. No bright cobalt blue sky today.
It's through Des Moines, and south on I-35 to Missouri. I temporarily leave the interstate at Bethany, county seat of Harrison County. It's been a couple of years since I traversed their courthouse square. Curiosity gets the best of me. I roll around the vacant square and contemplate the dilapidated businesses that seem to be awaiting the demise of the owners. With their strategic location across the street from the courthouse, the law offices remain.
A new Dollar General store graces the square's northwest corner. It seems incongruous with the rest of the rundown square. If there is a bright side to the square over that of two years ago, it's that it seems no worse. But that's a low bar. Bethany's business activity is centered along and within two blocks of I-35. Its courthouse square is a declining relic of the past.
I gas up and head south on I-35 to Kansas City. The temperature has risen to nearly 100. I get through the city, crossing the border into Kansas, and roll west through endless suburbs. Beyond the city, the temperature drops to the mid 90s. It must have been the heat island effect of the city.
It's getting late and I'm anxious to get to Emporia, home of the famous journalist, William Allen White. I've been through this drill enough, I know how to do it - right? There's a trusty motel on the east edge of town - nice rooms, moderate rates, always available. I finally get to Emporia; turn off the freeway, anxious to hit the sack. As I approach the motel, it looks crowded. What? No vacancy? What gives?
Oh well, I roll through town, taking an aggravating detour as there is construction on the main drag. There are a bunch of chain motels. I pick one and go to register. I get the last room available, and only because they had a last-minute cancellation. What is this concept anyway?
The attendant tells me there is a "Frisbee golf" tournament in town, whatever that is. So much for my well-laid plans to wait till Fourth of July traffic is over. The room cost twice as much and with half the space as my usual digs in Emporia. And, of course, there is no place to park except with the big trucks on a lot in back. You get what you pay for? You can't depend on that old saw.
But the bed is comfortable. The next morning, there are plenty of parking spaces. The attendant informs me that the guests are at the tournament, presumably tossing Frisbees around in the Kansas wind. They expect town to be packed for the next ten days. Unbelievable, but what the heck do I know.
I head west, thinking that my problems dwarf before exploding trains and floods in Canada, fires and tragic deaths out west, plane crashes in San Francisco. The temperature is in the 90s; it is sunny with a slight haze in the sky. The announcer on Kansas Public Radio informs listeners that 87 percent of the Kansas wheat has been harvested - only some in the northwest corner of Kansas remaining. Central Kansas is 100 percent harvested. The fields of golden stubble alternate with occasional fields of alfalfa and soybeans.
I cross the northern edge of the Flint Hills, the grass now a pale green. The hills are dotted with herds of cattle and watering ponds. Once across the Flint Hills, the topography is flat again. U.S. 56 rolls through Lyons, county seat of Rice County. The highway runs across the north side of the courthouse square. That courthouse square is not nearly as picturesque as Monroe's, but it is way ahead of Bethany's.
There are posters in Lyons picturing a Spanish Conquistador, and the word "Quivera." Historians dispute the exact route of conquistador, Francisco Vasquez de Coronado, into the Great Plains in 1541. But it is believed that his band camped near what is now the city of Lyons. Native Americans to the southwest told Coronado of Quivera, a city of gold, located in what is now central Kansas. One theory is that the natives had hoped that Coronado and his party would get lost and perish in the vast plains country.
There is gold in Kansas, of course - the kind that helps feed the world. But in 1541 wheat had not yet arrived from the Old World. That's not the kind the Conquistadores were looking for anyway. They were after the shiny kind that they could steal from the native peoples, or at least dig from the earth via slave labor.
Coronado did not find any gold and returned empty-handed. A member of his expedition, Juan de Padilla, returned a year later as a missionary. After establishing a church, he was killed by the native people in 1542.
Next week: Toward Dodge.
- John Waelti's column appears every Friday in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
