Nebraska finally seemed like "The West". The corn and beans gave way to pasture, wheat, and scrub that (according to a brochure), hid more than 250 varieties of wildflowers - hence the many bee hives glimpsed along the way. The sky seemed to expand to an even greater immensity, and my feeling of "space" enlarged. Then, almost imperceptibly, pale blue mountains and buttes appeared on the horizon, slowly deepening in color, and suddenly, there was "Chimney Rock", a distinctive rock formation mentioned by almost every pioneer who wrote a journal.
In the interpretive center at the foot of the rock I learned that most of the movies had it wrong: the Indians were more helpful to the pioneers than otherwise, often selling them food, and providing them with moccasins when their eastern shoes gave out. Evidently everyone walked when possible to save the oxen from pulling extra weight, and shoes wore out in short order.
Now fast forward to 2007. Here I am, traveling with 21st century comforts, and yet every once in a while I lose my patience when it is cold, or raining, or the road takes the long way around to get over a mountain pass, or my clothes and/or person need washing, or .... you get the picture. I am, not coincidently, in the middle of reading "Centennial", by James Michener, and feel very wimpy when I compare my journey to the treks those hardy souls endured.
In Gothenberg we visited a genuine Pony Express Station, and, adding to my tally of regional foods, I enjoyed a really good steak. In Oshkosh we happened on a brilliant kaleidescope of color in a backyard dahlia garden, enlivening the otherwise grayish brown landscape. Alliance is the site of "Carhenge", which was fun, but not amazing, and the photos were disappointing. All along Route 30 we accompanied trains going at about the same speed. I never did manage to count the number of cars in each one, but that is probably just as well, since we stayed safely on the road. Most of the cars were heaped with coal, but there were others that provided some wondering.
At Lake Ogalala we camped beside a retired wheat farmer and his handsome and well-behaved dog, "Bear". Bear spent the afternoon quietly curled up next to his pick-up truck, but in the middle of the night, when the coyotes began to sing back and forth in the nearby hills, he piped up with a melodious tenor reply. In the morning his owner said that, while Bear had a pedigree, "...as long as your arm", his opinion was that there was defrinitely some wolf in Bear's ancestry.
We traveled along the Platte River, as had the folks on the Oregon Trail, the Mormon Trail, the Pony Express Trail, and the California trail. We even saw traces of the Oregon trail, sunken into the ground by the heavy wagon wheels and the feet of innumerable oxen. The routes needed to go where there was water and grass for the animals, but one historical sign said that the mosquitoes were fierce along there for both the animals and the humans.
Harking back to the dahlias that were so enchanting, one of my favorite quotes (by whom I do not know), is "God laughs in flowers".
Shalom for now.
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