Traveling Back in Time It’s one of those big cedar flies or something just about that size whose blood and guts obstruct my view, as into my windshield he flew. This insect form of brave he-man has not the guts to try again. My van climbs up a steep incline some miles beyond the county line and I think of Daddy’s tough schedule in a wagon pulled by pampered mules who crossed this creek without a bridge, their forward movement just a tidge before they had to stop and blow; their weekly trek was hard and slow. The town of Turkey sprouts a sign of a forward-looking civic mind: “Industrial Development” speaks well of positive intent. Downtown they’re sprucing up the Gem and hope that from their efforts stem a Branson form of tourist trade where fame and fortune will be made. Cooperation is the rule at the small and tidy Valley School; old football rivalries gave way to common sense, which now holds sway. Big pipes and sprayers water land that grows fine peanuts in the sand. The winding roads down which I roam southwest to Flomot take me home. Cora Gail Johnson wwwcgtrent
Posted on: Wed, 17 Dec 2014 10:11:56 +0000
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