Stuck In The Middle With You

“Yes I'm stuck in the middle with you,Trying to make some sense of it all,But I can see that it makes no sense at all,Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right,Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.Clowns to the left of me,Jokers to the right, here I am,Stuck in the middle with you,Yes I'm stuck in the middle with you,Stuck in the middle with you.”
Stealers Wheel, 1972

This might be my political anthem. After years of political drift , the ground I occupy that used to be seen as the middle is seen as left of center by many. One thing hasn’t changed though, we are still surrounded by jokers and clowns on both sides. These days the Jokers and Clowns are not only the politicians….but as often they are those we used to trust to “report the news”. That’s a laugh. These days even an organization that has the word “news” in it’s name doesn't really report news. It’s mostly manufactured entertainment, opinionated bloviators termed analysts by the networks, yelling back and forth at one another.
But this isn’t about politics or the state of modern journalism, as tempting as that might be. This summer Camilla and I traveled through the “heart of the heart of the country.” Quite literally the very middle of the lower 48 states. In the middle of pretty rolling Kansas countryside just outside the unremarkable little town of Lebanon is a neatly mowed little park and a field stone monument announcing we had found the geographic center of the contiguous 48 United States, and the location had been certified in 1918 by no less than the U.S. Coast and Geodetic Survey.
Now comes the Jokers and Clowns part. It seems this center point was arrived at through something less than scientific methodology. Someone carefully cut out a map of the lower 48 on some thick cardboard and then balanced the piece on a sharp point….it was determined that the map would balance if the point were on this spot representing a spot about 3 miles northwest of Lebanon Kansas. Town fathers no doubt had visions of tourists flooding into the town. A small motel was even built near the site. Of course the floods of tourists did not come, the motel had to close, but a small dedicated group of local backers still maintains the park. I can attest to the natural beauty of that tiny plot nestled in the rolling farmland one beautiful, blue sky, summer day in 2008.

Across America

I Like to travel, in fact it is more accurate to say I love to travel. The destination isn’t particularly important to me. Granted, I do have some preferred destinations, but my enjoyment derives as much from “the trip” as the final destination. I like driving. Aside from the physical aspect of “driving” my car, I find the thrill of discovery invigorating and I have learned that little discoveries are just as rewarding as big ones.

This summer Camilla and I put about 5000 miles under the wheels of our 11 year old car. Along with our youngest grandson, Cole, we explored a lengthy swath of the Heartland…from Indiana we crossed the prairie state of Illinois, pausing at the Mississippi then onward through Iowa, and Nebraska. Through Nebraska we followed the general route of the Oregon Trail trying to imagine what those crossing the great plains in 1849 must have seen and felt.
This would be the place to pause for a brief editorial. Where we crossed the Prairie state of Illinois there was little evidence of the lush tall grass prairies that once extended from the Wabash River bottoms of western Indiana to the Mississippi and beyond. Where emigrants of 1849 crossed a vast grassland beyond the Mississippi that extended all the way to the Rocky Mountains there is little evidence of that once treeless landscape. In fact Nebraska is even less a treeless landscape than it was when I passed through in 1959 as a child with my Grandparents.

There is a lot of talk about the homogenization of American Culture over the past couple of generations. Most of that talk applies to things like national retail and restaurant chains. From what I have seen it should also apply to what we have done to our landscape. In our drive across Nebraska there was barely any difference in the amount of timber we saw between Indiana and Nebraska. Yet I remembered a Nebraska with considerably fewer trees than a typical Indiana landscape. I remembered my grandparents telling me about the pioneer houses built of sod because there were no trees for log cabins. I even remember stopping along the road and walking out into a pasture and looking at an old soddy. I wonder if my memory is faulty? I might have been only about 10 the last time I crossed that state but I don’t remember it looking so much like home. I’m fairly certain emigrant travelers of 1849 would not have recognized much of the landscape we found in Nebraska this summer. Perhaps there are places in Nebraska that have not become so homogenized, but we did not see many of them on this trip. We did find this reproduction sod house and small museum along our route. I came away feeling somehow disappointed and looking back at the picture it took me a while to realize what was unsettling about the picture....It was the trees.....they were all wrong. There are still a few of the original sod houses that have survived since pioneer times, but they are very rare these days.

As amazing as it sounds, there are a few places where you still CAN see traces of the old Oregon Trail. Scars, yet unhealed, in the land caused by millions of wagon wheels. Another small example of ways in which we have put our mark upon this land. The depression is clearly visible here at the crest of Windlass Hill ...though it continues down both sides of the hill it is most easily photographed here.

Chimney Rock and Scotts Bluff and Devils Tower are still easily spotted landmarks along the route of the Oregon trail.