A bland and characteristically normal car ride home a few weeks ago acted as a medium through which I came to a realization. Driving along the highway, I looked out of my window to a vibrant, diminishing sun and a purple, blood - stained sky, perfectly coexisting with the infinitely flat green and auburn land. If the car hadn’t been moving, you would have thought time had paused or maybe it was just a painting hung on the wall of a bank. I shut off the radio, as if music suddenly interfered with my ability to see. It didn’t. It interfered with my ability to focus, to feel; to appreciate. I tried to soak it all in. Wind tossing my hair back like those cool guys in convertibles in the movies, the sun kissing its land goodnight, fresh oxygen swarming my nostrils. The moment was perfect.
I had never given the sights in the Midwest the appreciation they deserve. The lush vegetation, the way the light strikes the protective husks of corn and makes miniature bodies of water glisten. The way the moon gives the Earth a mellow, cool, vacant ambiance at night. The way the symmetric and parallel walking rows between crops hypnotizes you as you fly by them on the highway.
Lots think of the Midwest as a means to an end. That place with the tractors and overalls. The long stretch of highway that leads to the address in your GPS. The place your cell service provider appears so frightened of. “Are we there yet?” seems to be the popular question that this scenery probes. But it’s so much more than just the home of the convenience store your family pees in on the way to your vacation destination. The Midwest pulsates with hard work, family, and love. The work of generations of diligent farmers who strive to put food on the table of both their family and America. Also corn. Lots of corn.
An aspect of the Midwest even more beautiful than the scenery is the people. Not many times do a wave and a smile go unreciprocated. The checkout clerk at your local grocery store may greet you as warmly as your Grandmother. Folks aren’t so quick to snap, especially on the road. Dozens of annoying honks very rarely follow the second it takes for you to realize the stoplight has turned green. Midwesterners are relaxed and seem to live in the moment rather than in the future. Something about the values our families set keep us rooted a bit stronger than most.
Finally, the Midwest has seasons. A balance of cold and crisp and hot and humid and both extremes. Wishing for the opposite allows us to appreciate. “It’s too cold, all I want is for it to be hot out.” “Ugh, I am literally going to die if it doesn’t cool down. I miss winter.” The great thing about the Midwest is we get them all. We get to enjoy the cackling of a warm fire in the winter, the gamut of colors and sweaters in the fall, the emergence of warmth and leafy greenness in the spring, and the preservation and exacerbation of that in the summer. It just takes a little bit of patience. Time is the only thing separating the seasons and the passing of time is inevitable.
