My sister is going to visit a friend in Missisippi this week and make a little visit to New Orleans. It got me thinking about our trip to the South and the related trips that seemed to just happen on that journey. I tried to remember the places we camped, the people we saw, the destinations that we found ourselves. It's hard to remember. I should have written more down. But when you are driving along and you see something so strange, or so beautiful, or so remarkable- you don't make remark- you think you'll always remember it. So as I tried to remember little things I remembered one thing that Peter didn't even see, that only I saw and it was only for a second and I can't remember what state we were in. (Iowa or Nebraska I think, because it was after leaving Chicago and we were heading west again.) The superhighway etiquette having been mastered, we were driving in the right lane. (I love that term: superhighway-it sounds very 50's) There were cornfields for miles. We had seen cornfields for at least a few hours of driving and would be sure to see a few hours more, so I had been looking at the horizon. But I turned my head to my right and I saw a field full of bobbing sunflowers, flanked by the fields of cornfields. They were gone superfast because on those superhighways we were usually going 85 miles an hour. But it was such a secret. The walls of green cornstalks all around this huge expanse of yellow sunflower faces, and the black dots all in the middle. It was a moment that I won't forget because I remembered it now and I have officially written it down. I wonder who did that? Who was bored, or who was looking for beauty enough to plant that space with flowers? But I was so glad they did, and that I saw it, even just for a second.
It looked much like this: