Cowgirls and Such

Gloomy rain under a menacing sky, intermittent wipers framing a blurred landscape. A chill in the air, my nose is rosy, my pace hurried, chattering teeth, a shiver, the sweltering summer, a long forgotten friend. There is melancholy in the shift of seasons, especially evident in the drear of a heavy sky and a steady deluge. Reminiscing moments of a carefree summer with family and friends lifts my spirit, although I didn't hit the gazillionaire lottery, get a tattoo or swim with sharks, I do count my blessings, forever the lucky one.

Nashville with a pack of unruly honky tonkin' Grandmas, testing the waters since my last trip with local, loco ladies. Cautiously slinking past suspicious bouncers, avoiding eye contact, the city has apparently recovered from the menace of unsupervised gray hairs, although I do anticipate a self induced ban on tequila shooters and senior conga. Our vintage tribe rocking identical cowgirl shirts depicting sharp shooting, bronco riding, smoking hot rodeo queens bearing absolutely no resemblance to our seasoned entourage. Wrinkled and meandering, a dawdling posse ready to light it up until about sundown, psycho party gals head for the barn when the moon slurs our hearing and transforms us into geriatric zombies. This unique band of misfits rescued each other over 60 years ago, as five year olds we were shrewd, drawn even then to the rowdiest, most fearless on the playground. Decades later the familiar mischief unfolds, meeting new friends on street corners, bar stools, rooftops, digging old time country AND western music, consuming enough cold beer and White Claw to sing very loudly and very badly. Old age doesn't necessarily indicate maturity, far from home it's unlikely an embarrassing scandal will reach our next of kin.

Northeast Iowa tradition stopping by the sweetest and most breathtaking vista in the glorious state of Iowa. The Honey Lady shares her tasty bounty along a stretch of incredible paradise ablaze with golden bronze, fiery ruby, fading emerald, lit by the sun's blond streaks creating a radiant blanket across tumbling hills, eventually landing along the muddy shores of the mighty Mississippi. An unbelievable palette of muted autumn, ancient weathered stone bluffs, a whispering Bob Ross moment patiently mesmerizing an enchanted audience.  

Fierce gales trap us in the confines of our 4 wheel transport, flags and windsocks flapping madly against a blustery arctic blast. Worn river towns, crackling shriveled corn, semis stacked impatient waiting to haul a final load before the sun settles ahead of a long trek home. A train's haunting drone, Blake and Gwen's "Anywhere With You", this time farm country Iowa. A you-pick-em pumpkin patch, small town "crap" shows (Paul's description), velvet plum, brilliant flaming sunset maples lining boulevards. Delicate leaves drift lazily into soft mounds awaiting energized tykes, pouncing, gleeful, screaming, squeezing joyful energy into these shortened days. Slots, Old Style, supper clubs, warm apple cider doughnuts, nutty caramel perfection on a stick, monster John Deere combines kickin' up dust, tired rustic barns bursting hay bales lean precarious under the hefty load, towering silos keeping watch over abundant fields, soaring steeples spike almighty into chilled blue heavens, church bells resonate throughout the valley. God's country.

Hibernating under bulky layers of plush thermal, rich homespun afghans, back at home weary bones lazy in the warmth of a cozy evening shared with my excellent driver and a soothing nightcap. The universe in perfect harmony, joy finds a simple soul. Peace friends.