March 29, Grand Saline.
It looked as if we were smack in the middle of nowhere, driving in this morning, lost at the end of a maze of back-country roads part asphalt part mud, a couple of nice houses standing out among dilapidated houses and trailers (hard to believe anybody can live there,) a small wood bridge on the other side of the road by the entrance to the rodeo grounds where the circus is parked. It would be nice to live in a place like this, far in the country, quiet and serene, what I dream for, a farm somewhere in the middle of nowhere, land and a creek maybe, growing my own food (ok, except chocolate, tea, coffee, Thai food, oh and the absolutely needed Rocky Road ice-cream,) the pastoral utopia, but not without my high-speed internet or NPR or overnight mail, because utopia or not there are some things one simply cannot live without, right? Then I took a walk this afternoon with Dylan and Nicolas and discovered that the main highway through town was on the other side of that wooden bridge, its noise reverberating all around. So much for quiet and serene.
On with the pastoral mode, the route was along a country highway, and everywhere green green green green an orgy of green. And then on the road near the circus, a blue barn.
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