The drive to Arkansas was a long one, but not excruciatingly so. We picked the location due to a self-imposed we-won’t-drive-more-than-ten-hours radius from our home base in southern Minnesota. As we drove through the states we noticed more green buds in the trees, though the difference between here and there was not as great as we had expected. As we hopped from gas station to gas station we noticed fewer masks.
As we went through Kansas City we noticed fewer signs than we’d like to have seen. Then we were on a road we were not supposed to be on. Siri kept asking us to please cross four lanes of traffic to exit in one-quarter mile. Eventually our helpful vehicle, via advice from its GPS system, intoned, “Welcome to Kansas.” Those in the know realize that Kansas City is in Missouri. Well, except for little-sibling Kansas City that is actually in Kansas. In the end we visited both Kansas Cities (Kansas Citys? Kansases City?) on our drive.
This is not an April Fool’s letter, though it happens to be written by a fool on the first of April.
Approaching Arkansas brought an end to the monotonous countryside that is driving north-to-south through the center of Iowa and the left of Missouri. The Ozarks were a welcome change in scenery. Trees with slightly more hints of green, land with many more undulations, and gas stations with a few more masks.
Northwest Arkansas turned out to be a nice place to be. The businesses we visited in Bentonville, Fayetteville, and Springdale were being logical about the safety of their employees and customers. The natural places to see were numerous. The neighborhood art museum was quite a wonderful place. I suspect if you live in this place and meet someone from another state you don’t tell them “I’m from Arkansas,” but rather “I’m from northwest Arkansas.”
For this vacation we generally wanted to be away from people. It was a thirty-minute drive from the main road to the home we rented. I’ve been to the Rockies in both the U.S. and Canada. I am one of those that is happy to make fun of various other series of hills in the United States calling themselves mountains. Yet the switchback roads around the man-made Beaver Lake certainly did remind us of Going-to-the-Sun Road. It was the lite version to be sure, but we took it slow enough to wonder if we would even leave the house to explore during our stay. It turns out we got comfortable with the drive and made our way out on several days.
The time away warming our faces had to end eventually. We hopped back in the car and trekked the nine hours home. The masks ebbed and flowed as before. The land was ironed of its wrinkles. The green buds followed us back to Minnesota, sure to bring spring with them soon.
