Day 5 -- Illinois to Iowa

Clouds and rain this morning. Coffee with Betty and her mum, Pat. Pat is such a wonderful woman, great mother and wonderful friend, not only to me but to her children and grandchildren. So understanding and connected to her family. And loving, so very loving, one of those people that love just radiates out of her pores.

Packed the car as Pat tried to unload everything from the refrigerator into my bags. Did I say she was loving? Gave me the greatest chuckle. "You have to eat." The rain came, but I headed off. Betty and I had our good byes. Pat gave me the greatest hug I think I have ever received followed by all the "mother" stuff. Be safe, be careful, keep in touch, watch for bears, lions, tigers. Ok, yes the last part I made up, actually comes from one of my favorite movies. She was so worried about me setting off on my own camping and hiking.

As I left I thought she is like the mother I always longed for. Loving, caring, compassionate. So I set off with a hug, a kiss and a "I love you sweetie." Looking back now that set the tone for my trip the rest of the time on the road.

I crossed over into Wisconsin. Saw a red-winged black bird. I love those birds. I always think of the roadtrip the father and son took in Robert Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. The touch of color that graces their wings, I believe Pirsig writes about it. And what inspiring music they sing to the world. As I watched he sang the most beautiful song. Beautiful picturesque farmland and more wind turbines. I stopped to marvel at the farmland, the diminishing farmland. I was drawn to the farmland. What a perfect world it would be to raise our own food and live with the earth instead of against it. One reason I love farms, I suppose, is my love of cows. Beautiful. In Fenimore I stopped, rested, admired the quiet solitude of nature in what appeared mostly unforgotten America. Pure nature. Route 18 West.

Wisconsin Backroads

Passing through dozens of small towns in western Wisconsin arriving in Prairie du Chein in the late afternoon. One hundred and forty nine years ago Thoreau was here. I sat at the visitors center looking out at the Mississippi River thinking about his trip, what was he thinking and seeing when he was here? What did he experience, sense and feel? Who were the people he met? What did the air smell like then?

I had a place for the next couple of nights in Harpers Ferry, Iowa. Harpers Ferry was an interesting town. Not truly a ghost town, but on the verge. The town isn't much larger than the mobile home park I lived in in Maine. The homes were small many in dire need of repairs. I stayed in a cabin. Quite striking for what I paid to stay there. Although the view was of old deteriorating RV's and mobile homes. Two floors, hunting motif, kitchen, and then if you wanted to cook outside all the amenities of a campsite outside the door.

There was also this interesting wooden trellis like structure with a skull that I found interesting. Ever since I found the goat skull on the beach in Japan I have a weird fascination about skulls.

Skull in Harper's Ferry, Iowa