For the past few weeks the families who live on my road probably felt like pioneers when they ventured out in their automobiles. I know I did, and it was because the only road leading to where we live was torn up and removed, leaving only uneven paths of gravel and dirt behind.
Granted, pioneers didn’t drive cars, nor were they the recipients of a shiny black new road to replace the old one. But for those couple weeks when the road was gone, it was a challenge tantamount to crossing the plains years ago. My little Neon struggled at times to keep itself out of ruts, especially when we had a couple torrential rains. By the time I pulled into my garage, it looked as if I’d been in a mud wrestling contest.
When the weather was hot and dry, my car created a cloud of dust, even if I drove at a speed I could probably walk. From the door handles down, a film of earthen-colored dirt covered everything: the bumpers, lights, wheel rims, tires, and my little accessory that helps deer avoid a head-on collision.
I imagine the family Conestoga Wagon started its trip West with clean wheels, clean sides, and clean interiors. And I imagine the terrain those people crossed was more primitive than our temporary dirt road. Nevertheless, I felt a kinship to those people in my Conestoga Neon. The road is back, but my door locks are still sticky, the exterior needs a good wash, and the inside has a souvenir film of dust. I’d admonish anybody who tried to lean against the hood, just as I suppose more than one pioneer mom was heard to say, “Josiah, don’t lean against the wagon; you have to wear those clothes to Kansas.”
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