There is a middle part
Many of you reading this have traversed the nation back and forth and back again. We too, of course, have had to buy many a carbon offset credit to make up for the dozens of cross-country flights we’ve boarded to cut through time and space, chasing the pre-covid galas of times past (you remember those, they were mostly your weddings!).
We have not, however, driven across the country.
And perhaps we have figured out why. Perhaps it was a sub-conscience intuition, a notion of sorts. One might speculate that it was not only our schedules that demanded we board a flight (when that was a thing), but a prehistoric understanding, embedded in our very DNA; the Mid-West is…how do you say…Fly Over Country.
All right - before any of you mid-western defenders come at with me with your stories of gravy casseroles and the beauty of corn husks (although I know you won’t because you’re too Mid-Western nice) let me be clear. It ‘s not about the people, who were all quite friendly - like the lady running a campsite who told us to watch out for fallen branches that had succumb to an ice storm (I’m sorry, what in the world is an ice storm?! Like how does the rain become ice instead of snow?!) It’s not even really about the scenery. Turns out, for instance, that Arkansas is beautiful! No, the issue my friends is Oklahoma.
Yeah, you read right. Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweepin’ down the plain. Right smack dab in the middle of this country resides the state of Oklahoma, which we drove the entirety from west to east. Now, remember how we had to make a compliment sandwich for the Idaho wine? Well I hope you’re hungry because we’re gonna need to serve another sandwich today.
Here are some facts that may appeal to some readers: Yukon, Oklahoma is the home to esteemed country singer Garth Brooks. The headquarters of Sonic (the drive-in burger spot) are in Oklahoma City. These are two facts one might keep in mind to mitigate the oncoming concern as Google indicates that your campsite is down a road named Reformatory Drive. Strange name until you realize that it makes perfect sense since it lays in the shadow of a federal penitentiary, which in turn, is adjacent to a feed lot, both of which are back lit by the oil refinery just behind. But as I mentioned, the woman who picked up the phone at the campground was lovely.
Sandwich served. BYO drinks.
Luckily we survived our single evening in the middle part of the country and were rewarded with the beautiful bluffs and autumn colors of Arkansas. Peace out OK.
I would go back to Arkansas. You can see where Bill Clinton picked up his charm growing up there. We pulled into a gas station, and I was filling up this good ‘ol boy in overalls and a trucker hat looks at me with great perplexity and says (insert your best Arkansas twang) “California? You must’ve made a wrong turn if you’re here from California!” To which I replied, “Nope, we’re right where we’re supposed to be. It’s really beautiful here.” And you would have thought I told him he just won the lottery, because this man’s face lit up with a smile so big he could barely contain his, “Oh golly! Well welcome to Arkansas!” A real Andy Griffifth moment.
We will not be making a return trip to Oklahoma or the country’s other middle parts anytime soon. Someday I hope to fly right over it and waive. For now, we thank them for the hospitality and the musical.
