Driving along the backroads going no place in particular--just drinking in my surroundings and celebrating the good feelings of life!

THE HIGHWAYS OF OUR PAST

In this, the age of interstates,
We've traded slow for fast
And seldom take the time to drive
The highways of our past:

Where barn roofs pitched Rock City,
Mail Pouch, and Mammoth Cave;
And batches of those roadside signs
Held verse by Burma Shave.

Where the route was shaded, here and there,
By canopies of trees;
Where lines of clothes by simple homes
Were blowing in the breeze.

Where a family's own produce
Was sold to passers-by;
And barefoot children ran with kites
To launch them towards the sky.

Where the place you chose for dinner
Could be called "one-of-a-kind;"
Where the road spread out before you
Had a gentle, scenic wind.

Where a rolling, sun-kissed valley
Could be viewed from mountain ridge;
And men and boys were fishing
From a singing metal bridge.

Where folks not only filled your car
But cleaned your windshield, too;
And wildflowers shone and sparkled
In the early-morning dew.

Where firefly stars surrounded you
When you drove in the night;
Where trees and graveyards took an eerie look
In full moonlight.

So take a little time out
When you need not go so fast
To drive, with gentle thoughtfulness,
The highways of our past.

Due to that thing we call "progress,"
Some of what once was is gone,
But, in many ways, on these roads
A simpler time lives on.

Ainsley Jo Phillips

In the 1992 Indiana Federation of State Poetry Clubs Fall Rendezvous Contest, the above poem received:

Category #8
Glenna Glee Award
First Honorable Mention

and was then printed in my chapbook, A TALE OF FIVE AUTUMNS, Copyright 1994 by Ainsley Jo Phillips.

Many such warm, magical places as I've written about in this poem can still be found, if you just take the time to leave the fast-lane and seek them out. Happy road-tripping! :o)

Just this morning, I happened to think about my cousin, Danny, who passed away unexpectedly nearly two years ago from a severe stroke.  The thought of him just crossed my mind, and I could hear his voice in my head and wished that I could still call him to catch up with him and his family.

I also thought about driving around with him, listening to music, and just spending time together back when we were teenagers.

Danny came into our family when Uncle George married Aunt Mildred when they were 52 and 47.  She was a widow with five kids, and Danny was the only one left at home.  He was a grade ahead of me in school.  When we first met, I had just finished seventh grade, and he had just finished the eighth.

Actually, my mom and I had been thinking about him just a few days ago and how we wanted to call Deanna (his widow) to see how she was doing, and I had been thinking about what had happened at their wedding.

First off, let me tell you that it was a few years after their wedding when they had their first child...

Anyway, there was this small child in attendance at their wedding.

I didn't hear all of the conversation, but I'm guessing that the child was bored and fidgiting and his/her mom was telling him/her to sit still because Danny and Deanna were getting married.

Anyway, I believe this kid wanted to know why this was going on and preventing him/her from doing what he/she would rather be doing:  playing.

So, here's the resulting conversation:

Child (in a whiny voice):  Why do they have to get married?

Mommy:  Shhhhhhhh!

Child (again and more persistently):  Why do they have to get married?

Mommy:  Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Child (much louder and more persistently):  But MOMMY!  Why do they have to get married!?!

(This is followed by the sound of the mother and child getting up from the pew and leaving the sanctuary with the child chattering and the mother shushing him/her all the way out.)