A Day Trip
We left Springfield about 9:00 a. m. after eating our bowl of morning oatmeal at home. At the edge of town we stopped at McDonald’s to get an “old people’s” coffee for the road.
Avoiding Interstate 55, we drove south on Route 4, that between 1926 -1933, was part of historic Route 66. At Carlinville, we headed west on Route 108, then picked up Route 111, followed it through Brighton to Alton where we caught Route 3 that took us through Godfrey to Grafton.
Passing a sign on Route 3 advertising “Eckert’s Farm, 1 ½ miles,” we turned around and drove about a mile until we saw another sign with a picture of a big red apple on it. We turned at the sign and drove and drove and drove down a road that became narrower and narrower. At one point in a deep woods, a small sign at the side of the road read, “You’re not lost. Keep going. 1 mile.” Encouraged by the thoughtfulness of someone who understood human nature and confident that we were not the first ones to question our navigation skills, we kept forging forward. Finally, we arrived.
Not at Eckerts, but at a different orchard: Yates Farm. Not wanting to take advantage of the invitation to “pick your own,” we turned around and retraced our way back to Route 3 where we had seen the Eckert’s sign. Could we have misread the sign? Were we duped by our minds associating a picture of an apple with Eckert’s Farm? Is this an example of the confusion that afflicts old people?
No, we weren’t crazy and we hadn’t been hallucinating. The sign on the highway did, indeed, say “Eckert’s Farm, 1 ½ miles.”
We turned around again and set our minds on following the sign to Eckert’s. One mile in the right direction, where a few minutes earlier we had turned, some troll had in the last three minutes added beneath the painted red apple. “Yates Farm.”
“Huh?”
“I thought it read Eckert’s!”
“So did I.”
A look at the odometer I read 00.5, not 001.5. “We didn’t go far enough. Eckert’s is another mile ahead.”
Sure enough, a mile farther along the road, was a parking lot filled with school busses, vans, and cars –all bringing children, chaperones, and parents to find just the right pumpkin for Halloween, a bag of apples, or a jug of fresh apple cider. We had found Eckert’s just in time to save us from the attack on our self-confidence and the intensifying urge of Mother Nature. But we had been duped and confused by our own minds. Too many birthdays I guess.
John, with still dry pants, and Carrol, with somewhat restored confidence in a husband who doesn’t ask for directions or look at a map, returned to the road that took us to Grafton, a quaint little town on the banks of the Mississippi River. With several choices of places to eat lunch, we chose the Ruebel Hotel, a small, renovated, 22-room hotel with a dining room and saloon. We chose the saloon; Carrol because the dining room was closed and John because the waitresses in the saloon were blond.
After nourishing our bodies with a saucer-sized pork tenderloin, a platter full of fries, and a mom-sized dish of home-made cole-slaw, we drove around town, actually, up the town built on the face of several river bluffs. Phase II of a new condominium project sits on the bluff like a press room in the Nature’s stadium where residents can watch Old Man River push south to St. Louis. We didn’t buy one; too high.
Then we drove a few miles north on the Great River Road between the mighty Mississippi and a wide paved bicycle trail to Pere Marquette State Park. There we sat on the patio of the big stone lodge built by young men of the Civilian Conservation Corps between 1933 and 1939, watching the river go by, and soaking up a bit of bright sun that was trying to drive the autumn chill away.
Rested by the change of scenery, refreshed by each other’s company, and freed from cooking and repairing a mail box broken by vandals, we headed back to Springfield. In Godfrey, we stopped at Fritz’s for a fudge and malt concrete and a big vanilla malt. We agreed that was supper.
We pulled into the garage a few minutes before 5:00 o’clock.
Where was Jesus in the day’s experience? I don’t know. But I believe he was somewhere near, even though I didn’t see him.
Avoiding Interstate 55, we drove south on Route 4, that between 1926 -1933, was part of historic Route 66. At Carlinville, we headed west on Route 108, then picked up Route 111, followed it through Brighton to Alton where we caught Route 3 that took us through Godfrey to Grafton.
Passing a sign on Route 3 advertising “Eckert’s Farm, 1 ½ miles,” we turned around and drove about a mile until we saw another sign with a picture of a big red apple on it. We turned at the sign and drove and drove and drove down a road that became narrower and narrower. At one point in a deep woods, a small sign at the side of the road read, “You’re not lost. Keep going. 1 mile.” Encouraged by the thoughtfulness of someone who understood human nature and confident that we were not the first ones to question our navigation skills, we kept forging forward. Finally, we arrived.
Not at Eckerts, but at a different orchard: Yates Farm. Not wanting to take advantage of the invitation to “pick your own,” we turned around and retraced our way back to Route 3 where we had seen the Eckert’s sign. Could we have misread the sign? Were we duped by our minds associating a picture of an apple with Eckert’s Farm? Is this an example of the confusion that afflicts old people?
No, we weren’t crazy and we hadn’t been hallucinating. The sign on the highway did, indeed, say “Eckert’s Farm, 1 ½ miles.”
We turned around again and set our minds on following the sign to Eckert’s. One mile in the right direction, where a few minutes earlier we had turned, some troll had in the last three minutes added beneath the painted red apple. “Yates Farm.”
“Huh?”
“I thought it read Eckert’s!”
“So did I.”
A look at the odometer I read 00.5, not 001.5. “We didn’t go far enough. Eckert’s is another mile ahead.”
Sure enough, a mile farther along the road, was a parking lot filled with school busses, vans, and cars –all bringing children, chaperones, and parents to find just the right pumpkin for Halloween, a bag of apples, or a jug of fresh apple cider. We had found Eckert’s just in time to save us from the attack on our self-confidence and the intensifying urge of Mother Nature. But we had been duped and confused by our own minds. Too many birthdays I guess.
John, with still dry pants, and Carrol, with somewhat restored confidence in a husband who doesn’t ask for directions or look at a map, returned to the road that took us to Grafton, a quaint little town on the banks of the Mississippi River. With several choices of places to eat lunch, we chose the Ruebel Hotel, a small, renovated, 22-room hotel with a dining room and saloon. We chose the saloon; Carrol because the dining room was closed and John because the waitresses in the saloon were blond.
After nourishing our bodies with a saucer-sized pork tenderloin, a platter full of fries, and a mom-sized dish of home-made cole-slaw, we drove around town, actually, up the town built on the face of several river bluffs. Phase II of a new condominium project sits on the bluff like a press room in the Nature’s stadium where residents can watch Old Man River push south to St. Louis. We didn’t buy one; too high.
Then we drove a few miles north on the Great River Road between the mighty Mississippi and a wide paved bicycle trail to Pere Marquette State Park. There we sat on the patio of the big stone lodge built by young men of the Civilian Conservation Corps between 1933 and 1939, watching the river go by, and soaking up a bit of bright sun that was trying to drive the autumn chill away.
Rested by the change of scenery, refreshed by each other’s company, and freed from cooking and repairing a mail box broken by vandals, we headed back to Springfield. In Godfrey, we stopped at Fritz’s for a fudge and malt concrete and a big vanilla malt. We agreed that was supper.
We pulled into the garage a few minutes before 5:00 o’clock.
Where was Jesus in the day’s experience? I don’t know. But I believe he was somewhere near, even though I didn’t see him.
posted by John | 2:22 PM
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