A distinct three syllable warning -
Eighty five years of automotive technology
thrown out the window, 
replaced by a rumble seat and mechanical brakes.

With a spitter and a sputter
we’re off the gravel and on the asphalt.
The distinct hum of Henry’s four cylinders carry us,
Row after row of corn race blur
in our vision, well past knee high,
and it isn’t even close to the fourth of July!

We wander and putter
through the wide open backroads,
Northern Illinois now, then
southern Wisconsin’s diary air
and back again.

Double clutching and
Ah-oo-ga again and again to everyone we pass!

Horses and cows and the fine smell of pigs.
BBQ’s with brats
Farms and farms and silos and quaint midwestern towns.

Spitter and sputter around the curves and over the hills,
Hand signals long forgotten,
Back on the gravel and into the barn
Up to the farmhouse – dinner awaits.


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