Early June, it has long been my favorite time of year. Long days getting longer, with warm weather and many hours of daylight. And many more summer days before the waning autumn sunlight warns of those dark, cold days to come.
Dan Wegmueller’s recent column on the experience and aroma of fresh cut alfalfa reminds me of similar memories many decades ago. Along with the special scent of hay drying in the field are memories of many hours loading bales on the wagon behind the baler pulled by that Farmall Model H. A reward of that labor was knowing that the cows would have good feed during those winter days when fed in the barn rather than contentedly grazing in the pasture.
The weather this June has been comfortable without those humid days that we often have. The down side is that we need rain, and the cloudless skies have been marred by a haze attributed to fires in Canada. I almost hate to leave, but it’s time to head for New Mexico to check on my house in Mesilla, visit friends and former colleagues from my NMSU days, and perhaps even extend the trip to Arizona to visit daughter Kara and son-in-law stationed at Ft. Huachuca.
I take Wis. 11 west to Dubuque and note the dryness of the grassy hills of Southwestern Wisconsin. I head southwest of Dubuque on U.S. 151 and, according to my windshield survey, Iowa is similarly dry. I find that Iowa 1, my usual shortcut from U.S. 151 down to Iowa City, is closed. With some muddling, I get through Cedar Rapids instead, and take U.S. 30 over to Marshalltown, then southwest to Des Moines, and I-35 to Kansas City. There is construction on my usual route through KC, but somehow, again, muddle through and reach Emporia, Kansas after dark.
The next morning dawns cooler than expected, and even a bit drizzly. West of Emporia I catch U.S. 56 heading west across the northern edge of the Flint Hills. My last several times across the Flint Hills was during either autumn or late winter. But in June the Flint Hills are green and gorgeous with occasional water holding ponds and herds of beef cattle contentedly grazing on the rich grass. Those grazing cattle are a refreshing sight compared to those massive factory farms with thousands of head of confined cattle loaded with antibiotics to stave off diseases. Sadly, cattle from those massive feedlots are the source from which consumers get the majority of their beef. The grazing cattle on the scenic Flint Hills are a welcome symbol of hope that maybe mankind has not yet totally destroyed the planet.
As I pass the Flint Hills, the landscape is once again flat. The green winter wheat visible on recent trips is now golden and ready for harvest. Some fields have already been harvested but today there are no combines in action. In contrast to Wisconsin and Iowa, Kansas has had rain. There are standing pools of water in many of the flat fields. The corn looks to be almost shoulder high. I reach McPherson, and as I roll through there I note that the lawns and parks are unusually green, especially for Kansas in summer.
I reach Great Bend, named for a bend in the Arkansas River, the route of the historic Santa Fe Trail. As I follow U.S. 56 west to Dodge City, I see ever more standing water in the fields. The grassy fields in the country are unusually green, as are golf courses and lawns in towns and villages. At Dodge City, there are even some pools of water in the Arkansas River that is always a bone-dry river bed this time of year.
At Sublette, I take U.S. 83 south to Liberal in the Southwest corner of Kansas, then take U.S. 54 southwest across the Oklahoma Panhandle to Dalhart, Texas. Same story — pools of standing water in the fields and cattle grazing on surprisingly green rangelands. I reach Tucumcari in early evening. I remark to the motel manager on how green the rangelands appear. He reminds me that “We have had six years of drought, but this year we had rain.”
It’s Sunday evening and every restaurant in town is closed — except for Kix-at-Sixty-Six. I fortunately catch it the instant before closing and enjoy a great enchilada plate.
The next morning dawns bright and clear, just as I remember it from years past. My customary ritual of huevos rancheros at the Pow Wow Inn is no longer available as it is now not open for breakfast. So I go back to Kix-at-Sixty-Six. As I’m about to pay the tab the friendly waitress informs me that it has already been paid. What — I don’t think I look like a pauper in need. Maybe someone saw the Marine Corps emblem on my cap — or “cover” according to Marine Corps lingo. I still say that we aging vets get more respect now than back when we were considered just a bunch of teen-aged dummies.
The waitress assures me that the tip had been included. But I leave her several bucks anyway — the least I could do.
Leaving Tucumcari, I drive through the strip that was once part of historic Route 66. Each time I drive through that historic strip, there are more vacant structures, shells of former gas stations and motels. Such enterprises still exist, but as modern types located just off I-40 that skirts Tucumcari. Very few tourists will take extra minutes to drive a quarter mile off the interstate to get a taste of history.
At Santa Rosa I take U.S. 54 south, reaching Carrizozo at lunch time. My two favorite stops there, Roy’s Old Fashioned Ice Cream Parlor, and the Outpost with the best Chile cheeseburgers, are long gone. I drive down a decaying side street and spot a funky looking little place that I can’t resist. I enjoy a tostada there, wrapped in a genuine corn husk, just as tostados should be.
I couldn’t have planned it that way. It’s just one of the rewards of taking roads less traveled.
— John Waelti’s columns appear monthly in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
