My husband and I often drive to Ohio to care for his elderly father.
Not like traveling along California’s coastline, with its infinite, sparkling waves. Not like coaxing our car up Appalachian heights, where scary curves rival breathless beauty.
A between-snows drive on Midwestern highways doesn’t raise pulse rates — unless a semi crosses the line.
Or if we focus on a sunrise. Pastel hues stripe the gray horizon, then amid sherbet-colored clouds, the butter-cake sun shines on dark chocolate fields —
Sorry. I’m driving under the influence of a post-Christmas diet. But the delicious scene raises my pulse rate. Maybe a bakery lurks nearby?
Hubby points. “The sun’s position has changed considerably since the fall equinox.” As he continues enthusiastic commentary on light angles, his pulse rate probably rises to new heights.
Mine doesn’t. Until he mentions ancient tribes who built mounds in the Anderson, Indiana, area. They marked seasons by studying scenes like this.
That’s how those Native Americans survived without phones?
My fascination with human behavior — Hubby calls it nosiness — quickly spreads to houses we pass.
I indicate a typical Indiana farmhouse. “Do they like strawberry or grape PBJ? Whatever, I’ll bet it’s homemade.”
Hubby’s look silences my mouth, but not my mind.
Yards that sport tired-looking Santas warm my heart. Someone’s farther behind than I. Others boast shining windows and perfectly sculpted bushes. Even their snowdrifts appear symmetrical. How do people live that way?
Pristine Amish homes grab me, though, with their simplicity and clotheslines full of black shirts and dresses dancing wildly in winter wind.
Slowing for buggies lets us enjoy trotting horses and large families snuggled like birds in a nest. However, rumspringa Amish teens skating down the middle of the highway don’t generate warm fuzzies.
Small-town businesses catch my eye, e.g., Red Hot Scott’s Driving Academy. Do parents entrust beginning drivers — and insurance policies — to Red Hot Scott?
Later, after a day of hugs, time with Dad and conversations with health care workers, we say bittersweet goodbyes. Hubby and I could drive the route home in our sleep, but watch each other closely so we don’t.
Against the sunset’s fiery rose, orange and purples, steeples along the way reach for Heaven. My thoughts do too.
Glory to God in the highest.
One more extraordinary ordinary drive.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Describe your latest amazing, everyday drive.