Southwardness... Sans Kansas

I’ve driven through Kansas before. You wanna know what’s in Kansas? Let me tell you what’s in Kansas.

There, I just did.

Unless you really crave the sight of dirt and air, there’s no reason to go to Kansas. And the thing is, there are cool things that could and should be in Kansas, but they’re elsewhere. For example, the annual Wizard of Oz festival in Charleston, Indiana. Why is it in Indiana and not Kansas? You got me. I can only guess it’s there because the people who plan it must realize nobody in their right mind would want to go to Kansas to see it. Indiana is pretty sparse in itself, so that’s saying a lot.

Or the tornado museum. You’d think that some city council in Kansas would want to build it there because, well, all anybody knows about Kansas has to do with a movie about a tornado. But no, it’s in Pomeroy, Iowa.

How about some Superman attractions? After all, he was raised in a place called Smallville, Kansas. You’d think someone would want to build an attraction around that, but guess again—the Superman museum is in southern Illinois.

I will admit that Kansas City has a lot to offer, but get this: IT’S IN MISSOURI!!!

My latest work of art. I call it "Kansas In Its Entirety"

That being said, I decided to circumvent Kansas on my trip to Mississippi. Hence, the longer route to Iowa where my uncle was happy to put me up for a couple nights. I had a brief but nice visit with Uncle Jerry, then took off bright and squirrely Wednesday morning for the Mississippi farm.

I estimated that I had plenty of time for a leisurely trip so I had no qualms about stopping to see a few sights, and that led me to spend most of the day in Hannibal, Missouri. Hannibal is best known as the childhood home of Mark Twain/Samuel Clemens and provides the setting for many of his novels. As a devout Huck Finn fan, I couldn’t resist scoping out some key sights, including the riverboat ferries, the homes of Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher and the famous maze of caves on the outskirt of town—where Tom got lost with Becky and later found Injun Joe’s treasure.

By the time I finally returned to the road, I realized I used up all my spare time… and then some. The rest of the evening was spent racing to Mississippi as fast as possible. My fear was that I would arrive so late that I would either impolitely wake up my next farm host or have to find another place to spend the night. By “finding another place,” I mean finding a safe place to park the car so I could sleep in it without trouble from a jerk cop—something I’ve learned to worry about more in this part of the country than I did back west. Aside from hitting rush hour traffic in St. Louis, and taking a little detour for a picture of the Arch, I sped through the rest of Missouri, Arkansas and Tennessee in one long stretch, stopping only once for gas.

I did wake up Joh, my new farm host, but not at an ungodly hour. I called as I navigated the sparse country roads leading to his property and he was outside waiting with a flashlight when I arrived. Good thing, too, because I would never have found his house otherwise (so far, Mapquest has been unable to lead me to a single farm I’ve visited on this trip). And my heart leapt for joy when he showed me the yurt where I’d be staying. He and his mother lived in a small house on the other side of the property, so the yurt was all mine. Every foot of it was covered in junk and it had no running water, but I loved it right away. After sleeping on the floor at the res for two weeks with zero privacy, this yurt—equipped with a fridge, shelves full of books and a full size bed—felt like my own palace of luxury.

Even though it was late, John offered to prepare some food for me if I was hungry. I politely declined and quickly sank into my new bed. I decided not to care that the sheets were filthy or that there were dirty socks between them.

It’s Good to Achieve Something… Anything

My new goal is to see in how many different states I can get pulled over for different things without actually being fined. Why is this a goal, you ask? Simple, because goals should be attainable and I’m already on a roll. Here’s the tally so far:

• Wyoming: Broken headlight
• South Dakota: Speeding
• South Dakota: Driving too close to the car in front of me
• South Dakota: Object hanging from rear view mirror
• North Dakota: Broken headlight

What is it, the long hair? The Oregon plates? The back seat filled to the brim with everything I own? The deer shrapnel hanging out of what used to be my headlight? Whatever the case, I feel I’m a magnet for highway patrolmen and small town cops. And they all ask me about five times if I have any marijuana in the car. Do people actually say yes to that? At least no tickets yet (knock on wood). Plus, I now have no shortage of fire starter with all these written warnings.

Nebraska will be next. Keep your fingers crossed that I get a nifty written alert for dragging a muffler four feet behind the car.

Yeah, the Infiniti could use a little work right now.

Freedom WWOOFers

Danny told me not to worry about getting up early, which is the last thing I expected to hear as a farm worker. I woke naturally at 8:30am and was the first one up. Danny woke up around 11, made a big breakfast of sausage, bacon and eggs, then woke everyone else. We didn't get out to work until noon. I'm sure that isn't normal for most farms.

I was assigned to do some digging for new irrigation pipes. It was over 90 degrees, but I'm used to much more humid climates and it actually felt nice. I also picked the right work clothes... jeans, light long-sleeved collar shirt and a big hat. I finished digging in an hour, then ran into the Brits. They were cutting PVC pipes to irrigate grapes in another field and I ended up helping them the rest of the day.

Josh just finished a year working as a police officer in Manchester and is here on a 6-month trip to see the US before returning to school. Aaron, his old friend, lives on a farm just outside Manchester and is a student on holiday leave for a few weeks. We all hit it of right away, especially when I mentioned I grew up outside Atlanta. It turns out these guys are really fascinated with the deep south and want to do a trip across all the Southern states. I asked if that was a normal interest for the British and Josh said no, he's just personally really into American redneck culture.

I always thought it was a stereotype that the British hate the French, but Josh and Aaron assured me it was true. They call the French volunteers "the French fags" behind their backs and make a lot of jokes about them surrendering all the time, as in "Why are the French fags going in so soon? Are they surrendering to the tractor?" They're very friendly to their faces, though, and the French guys, Nicholas and Gabriel, seem to be oblivious. I'm staying out of it. That feud is centuries old, and I get along fine with both the Brits and the Frenchies. Nicholas and Gabriel are super friendly, although their English isn't great and they tend to keep to themselves and speak French.

We measured and cut pipes the rest of the day. The Brits decided to go swimming after work and invited me to come. We drove to a nearby lake and hung out there the rest of the evening. They later told me they come there to fish if I was every interested. When we got back to the house, it was too late to set up the trailer, so I hit the couch again.