To Newaygo, MI

I left Niles, Michigan. Once again the morning was cloaked in fog, thinner, more of a dense haze than a fog. Perhaps I was just getting used to it. Highway 51 took me Northeast.Tucked among the trees as I passed was a round house. The tops of the walls had chunks cut out to give it a castle-like appearance. Was this the home of a member of the Society for Creative Anachronism? A medieval survivalist? Who knows for sure, it is one of those mysteries of the road.

You find a lot of patriotism in the United States. This is not a new thing, though it may be somewhat unique. I have a book, "Cowboys and Colonels" written by a Belgian Baron who traveled through the Midwest in the 1860's. He was in a town in the Black Hills of South Dakota on the Forth of July and described the celebration the town staged in honor of Independence Day. A rag-tagged parade, the firing of guns and the whole town participated. He thought it was unusual, for that time, for a people to be in celebration of their country. Certainly, at that time in history, Russian serfs had nothing to celebrate. (The good Baron also had a very humorous ongoing commentary about the complete lack of any epicurean sentiment among the frontier folk of the time.)

U.S. Citizens generally have a love of their country, this is why we love to debate over what is wrong or right about it. I have seen people flying the flag in the deep South as well as up here in Michigan. Sometimes I feel the sense of National Pride is misplaced when someone upset over foreign affairs changes the name of French Fries to Freedom Fries. To me it seems lacking in perspective. Without the aid of the French our little revolution miht not have been quite as successful. I have seen this a number of times in the roadside bistros I've frequented. Sometimes what you end up with is the expected French Fries, sometimes not. Once I was served hash browns. One other time some potato-ey mess that I think would be a good cause for charges of treason. In all cases, if the restaurant served breakfast on the same menu as the Freedom Fries, they were serving French Toast. I guess French Fries is a lunch thing and breakfast time is too early in the day to worry about patriotic nuances so French Toast is allowed to stay. I think this is a good thing, given my experience with Freedom fries. Imagine what a mess some culinarily creative patriot could make of French Toast. It would probably end up battered, deep-fried and covered with grated cheese. Though the gastronomic landscape of the Midwest has certainly improved since the time of the good Baron's visit, there have been moments and meals where I had my doubts.

The road unwound beneath me, I passed different kinds of crops. Vineyards, peach and apple orchards. There were not so many field crops as in Illinois and Indiana. More wooded areas were filling the landscape.

It is not often I run into towns named after myself. Close to the end of my drive I was given the experience. It is mildly strange and one is tempted to do really stupid things. I gave into temptation and took my picture next to the "Welcome to Grant" sign. The day was saved when the camera decided it didn't want to function correctly and the best picture was when the camera went off when I was staring at it wondering what was wrong with it. The most amusing thing about the town of Grant was the "Grant Reformed Church." (I was unaware I had reformed.) The best thing about the town of Grant is it holds the record for the lowest gas prices so far, $2.48 per gallon! Though I wanted to spend the night in my town my hopes were dashed when I discovered that my town had no motels. Alas I had to continue on.

I ended up in Newaygo, Michigan A picturesque little town on the Muskeegon River. This was the Sunday of Labor Day Weekend and celebrations were in full swing. There was outdoor bingo, fireman challenges, chainsaw sculptors and much, much more. It even appeared that they were going to have a parade for five blocks. When I found my motel, the proprietor said big things were happening. Labor Day weekend was when everything popped in that town. The next day everybody was going to walk across the bridge, an event I'm sad to have missed.