small towns and big flags

the Disciple of De-troit (aka the brother) and i meandered through the northernmost parts of California only to find ourselves amused we had entered Oregon; we figured we must have arrived somewhere of note as we saw people across the old highway posing next to a sign (now leaving Oregon or Welcome to California...can't remember which). off of I-5 there is lots 'o land and not much else. small towns (average population 600) crept up on us and we were through them before we thought we entered them. the homes looked lived in, worn by generations of dust and family, while businesses were shuttered or displaying the sign with a clock where the hands are turned to the hours someone was to return. there were pastures of cows roaming freely, farm houses with rickety red barns, and low rolling hills. both of us commented on the similarity to the plains states and the hope of seeing cowboys appearing at the next hilltop. as we drove, lyrics from songs by John Cougar Mellencamp (i know he gave up the 'cougar' but the songs i am referencing were all done by JCM), Bruce Springstein and Bob Dylan played as a soundtrack in my head...i half expected the cast of Footloose to roll up in a caravan to one of the many granaries we passed.

and in the words of the Mover & Shaker, "America!"