Wanting to bless our daughter and son-in-law with a cooler full of frozen homegrown meat — pork, beef and venison, as well as various cheeses — we opted to drive down to Texas, spending a long weekend with them.
Praying many days in advance for good weather and good health, we called forth angels in the name of Jesus to assist for safe travels. We packed up, gassed up and headed out before dawn one Thursday in April.
Using a map (our kids were speechless — “Mom, you do know you guys have GPS?”), we decided to follow a written note, noting major highways to take. We went south through Illinois, then Missouri, across Arkansas and finally Texas. All told, it took us 19 hours to get there, totaling 2,447 miles round trip.
Other than pausing for breakfast, gas and rest stops, we kept driving, pulling in for a sit-down meal near day’s end in Arkansas, close to a hotel and the freeway.
Occasionally, if I wasn’t reading the map, I’d open a book I’d brought along. From time-to-time, I’d read portions aloud that I thought he’d find interesting. He didn’t. Alas, he had no choice — he was stuck.
Conversation flowed as we noted items of interest. My farmer husband spotted fields and tractors and various planters. Wisconsin planting is yet a distant dream but niggling in the back of his mind.
“What’re they planting in that field, I wonder? Maybe it’s tobacco or cotton.”
“Look at all those solar panels.” (There were acres and acres of them.)
“Think they ever rut up a stone? I don’t see a one.” (Our farm procreates new rocks every year.)
“These fields are so flat.”
The sheer volume of seemingly endless, flat, long and wide fields astounded us. We considered the rolling hills and valleys of our farm. When I was still chopping alfalfa for the silo and then later, for corn silage, I’d sometimes have to go up chopping on one side of the hill and disengage the chopper coming down the other — otherwise I’d have the bulk of the weight shoving my tractor forward. Some of our hills were steep.
Many areas of the country had access roads next to the highway to allow the huge farm equipment ease of travel.
The closer we got to Texas, the greener everything looked — what a glorious sight. At one point, I snapped a picture of a cluster of flowers at a rest stop in Arkansas.
Dots of Black Angus grazing on slopes of emerald green had us craning our necks. I was yearning to experience Wisconsin spring again — getting impatient with the longing.
We shared lanes with semi after semi. I kept thinking: Be tolerant. They are definitely the boss of the road.
I told my husband, “They’re hauling me grapes from California.”
Pulling into our daughter and her husband’s little bungalow was the best part of the trip. Seeing their faces and being able to literally hug them was balm for my soul.
The next morning after they made breakfast, we hit the road again. (This time we weren’t driving.) Two hours later, our first stop was Paris Baguette Bakery Café where we tasted delicacies that melted in our mouths. My husband had two King Crème Donuts.
“Hey. I’m on vacation,” says he.
Going on, we stopped in the town of McKinney, Texas, at Adriatica Village, considered the Italy of Dallas — the place where our son-in-law had proposed to our daughter. The area was simply magical, bordered by a serene river, complete with cobblestone streets and stone-arched entryways.
Sunday morning was church and back to their place to relax. What I loved most was the unhurried, no agenda time with them. After making us supper that night, we all turned in early.
Hugging goodbye before dawn Monday morning, I was literally hiccuping with the effort not to burst into tears. They are so dear to us.
Our return trip was uneventful, although we had one glitch.
Stopping for the night, we pulled into an area which had various hotels, restaurants and the highway close by. After eating, my husband suggested we stay at a hotel we could walk to. I was hesitant and truly felt God was warning me. Despite my misgivings, we went in and paid. Before entering our room, to my horror I noticed something on the doorknob.
Ants. Crawling with ants.
Nope.
Spinning on my heel, I marched right back to the front desk and definitely stated we would not be staying and why. Offered a different room, we stood firm. Leaving there, we secured a place at a hotel that didn’t make my spirit shrink.
Getting home safe and sound, we were devastated to hear news of areas of extreme flooding. Had we not stayed the night (which I was insisting on), we’d have driven right into the storm. Also the next weekend, the very route we’d taken was stricken with tornadic activity.
God was surely with us during our trip — answering every prayer along the way.
(“Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvation?” Hebrews 1:14, New International Version)
Kay Reminger was born and raised on a dairy farm, and she married her high school sweetheart, who happened to farm for a living in Leopolis. Writing for quite a few years, she remains focused on the blessings of living the ups and downs of rural life from a farm wife’s perspective.
