I have now embarked on Phase Two of my summer travels: the Road Trip.
I'm in the process of driving across Washington, Idaho, Montana, and North Dakota. The verdict? Beautiful, beautiful, extremely beautiful, and, yep, you guessed it, beautiful. Kudos to all people who have the smarts to live in any of those States. (And if you live elsewhere, don't be offended. I'll probably visit your homeland and issues kudos at some point. Unless you live in Minnesota. Minnesota hates me. So no kudos. But you have my sincere awe at your bravery. Minnesota spat me out.)
I've made the trip before, but it's easy to forget how gorgeous this country is this time of year. The Big Sky Country is surprisingly Big.
And the farm lands in eastern Washington have started labeling their crops for the edification of passing motorists. Not really sure why, but I thought it was worth sharing because it was so darned weird seeing Alfalfa! and Sweet Corn! signs which were not selling the items, mind you, just telling you what was growing in that field. It also got me started on a thought bender about words that are their own plural. (Moose! Spam!)
Unfortunately, my car windshield has once again indulged in the highly masochistic behavior of diving in front of oncoming rocks. Four freaking times, I've had to have the freaking windshield patched or replaced in the last two years. You would think my windshield would have learned by now that rocks are not its friend. But no. It just loves rocks. Can't get enough of them. Damn thing needs counselling. Arg.
My new theory as to why my windshield persists in its destructive relationship with rocks is because it is short and has poor self-esteem. I don't think my dad's big ole truck has ever had a rock dare to smack it in the face. Note to self: Buy enormous, gas-guzzling vehicle to save money on windshield replacement.