From home to home

As I prepared to leave my hometown in the early morning light I observed a pickup truck moving up our main street slowly. The truck would stop and an older man would get out, pound something into the ground, return to the truck and take out a large United States flag to stand in the fixture he had just installed.

I watched him while I gassed up the car. It is part of what I love about a small town. This solitary figure moving with grace and dignity in his honoring of comrades known and unknown.

The sun breached the clouds about 30 minutes later as the road began to fill with oilfield vehicles - no surprise in the boom in exploration and drilling over the last couple of years. Some trucks had a hard time maintaining their lane in the stiff wind. I wasted no time, passing them when I could on these windy, hilly roads.

In the next big town it seemed a crowd of demolition derby "wannabes" were in training. Trucks and cars exited driveways, crossed medians, changed lanes, ran stop signs and generally created havoc. I began to think that traffic rules had been suspended for the day. It was a long few minutes getting through safely.

I reached the new part of the tollway and was relieved to have it mostly to myself.

I nearly flew home.