To Niles, MI

I left Rock Falls, Illinois early. Driving east into the sunrise. More morning fog. Dense fog, thin fog, stringy fog. Foggy foggy foggy. There wasn't too much to take pictures of.

I was headed Southeasterly through Illinois. When the fog finally cleared I was deeper into the farmlands of Illinois, the undulating hills of the previous day had flattened out into almost still waters. The fields had become even larger. They were huge! I was driving amongst endless corn, and endless soybeans. It wasn't just quarter sections of a crop it was full sections on both sides of the roads. The horizon was broken only occasionally by clumps of trees, otherwise it was miles of corn and miles of soybeans. As far as I could see, corn and more corn. The scale was immense. I stopped my truck and stood on its roof looking out over the fields of corn. I was adrift in an ocean of corn. The roof of my little truck a raft from which I could scan the horizon for passing steamers. Ah, but in the midst of farm land there are no steamers about. Were I lost, my only hope would be for a passing dirigible.

With farms so huge there are not as many other things to see. The old buildings from when the farms were numerous and smaller are all gone. The machines that work these massive spreads don't want interruptions. Plowing, planting and harvesting around trees and old buildings is costly. Tear the old things down and plant corn. When there is a house it is modern, well kept and not so photogenic.

I was fooling about in the back roads when I crossed into Indiana. I wasn't greeted by one of those "Welcome to Our State" signs. The little dirt road I was on gave no such consideration to its travelers. But there were tell-tale signs I was in a different state. Fields were suddenly smaller. Within a mile of crossing into Indiana I passed by two fields of Tomatoes. Illinois was just corn and soy forever. In Indiana the hills started bubbling again. There were more farmers and being smaller they were busier and didn't have time to plow under every old barn. This also means that there were more of the lovely wrecked things I love so much to shoot.

Where I was in Indiana, all of the ditches by the sides of the road were very well groomed. Mowed like an extended lawn right up to the edges of the crops. It was quite pretty, but I wondered who was responsible for all of this neatness. Certainly this was not county mowers taking such attention. I turned down another neatly groomed side road and saw a teenager on a riding mower. I could see the swath of his labor. He was a quarter-mile from his house and had another just turned around for the pass back. The ditches of Indiana are maintained with allowance money. A testament to the industry of Indiana youth.

I had a notion to go to Lake Michigan. I wondered if I could see Chicago across the water, at night the lights would be pretty. Ah, but this was Saturday, Labor Day weekend and I thought I would get a room by water? Not to be had. What's more, the beaches along Eastern Lake Michigan are resort towns. They seem to be reserved for people who own or are renting houses nearby. The closest road to the lake is always a narrow lane and there are houses between you and the lake most of the time. Then there are the signs that clarified beach access was for locals only. Dispite their effforts, I still caught a few glances of the lake and yes, you can see Chicago across the water, it must be pretty at night. But this was an upscale area where they want to keep riff-raff like me out. I turned away from the water and managed to pick my way through the labyrinthine streets that guard the beach from the inland byway. The byway took me up and to the right. I was quickly into Michigan, determined to stop at the next hotel, I drove on and on.

I finally landed, exhausted, in Niles, Michigan. Niles is situated by a river and has a nice walking path by the river. Perfect for stretching your legs after driving all day. They have a massive hotel there called the four flags that Al Capone is said to have frequented. The town hall is a lovely and ornate Victorian building with green and maroon highlights.

Back at my Motel, I was sitting outside, picking on the guitar and enjoying the evening. I met one of my neighbors, an over-the-hill hippy chick. She had spent all of her life in the Niles/South Bend, Indiana area but now she and her fiance, Spike, were headed up to the Grand Rapids area because nobody wants them in South Bend. Her previous boyfriend was in jail for cooking meth. She was not too coherent. But I think she mentioned that she was waiting for him.

"Oh you know John Denver?" She asked me that about four times in our disjointed conversation.

"We got beer in our room, you want a beer?" Sometimes it is wiser to politely turn down someone's offer of hospitality.

"Yeah, I'm an old hippy chick, Were you are Woodstock?"

"No, I was too young."

"Oh, so you're a sprout. I wasn't there either, I was in South Bend. I'm an old hippy chick. You know John Denver on that?"

She talked of her Daughter and Granddaughter, offered me beer again and asked if I knew any John Denver. Eventually, she realized that her can was empty and would not deliver beer no matter how many times the tipped it up. At this point she got up and staggered to her room without excusing herself or saying goodbye, wrapped up in her own world, too numb to be joyful or sorrowful. Perhaps happy for the moment, can we hope for more? I quickly packed myself back to my room and propped my stick against the door, I had seen Spike and wasn't too sure about him