I left Mitchell SD pretty early for me. I got on the Interstate and on a whim turned off to see De Smet(?) where the real house built by Charles Ingalls still stands. I figured I had plenty of time and it was only 55 miles out of my way but in the same general direction. That was the first of many BAD decisions made today.

I was doing fine following all the plentiful signs to the Ingalls house but then wham! There were no more signs! Once again the signs lead you along and then when the critical turn comes, there’s no marker. The turning lanes for right turns are only about 3 times the length of the RV so there are no backsies. I don’t know what was wrong with the NavSys but she kept wanting me to take every rural and county road ever laid out by the GRIDMAN. I remember Wing had said to be sure and see Pipe something. I went through it twice and never did make the right turn.

Driving the Minnie is not like driving the Jeep and the roads here have zero shoulder room. They are just 2-way, narrow lane roads that drop off precipitously into steep ditches. There are no turn-outs or places to make a U-turn. And, to make everything even more indistinguishable there is nothing but CORN!!!!!!! Corn everywhere!!! On both sides of the road!!!! Mile after mile state after state of CORN!!!!

I filled up in a little town called Tracy and the gas pump made me laugh in the midst of my cussing. The premium pump had cobwebs all over it--obviously no one uses that kind of gas. The regular nozzle informed me that the gasoline was 10% ethanol!!! Now I had a reason why they were growing more corn than there were head of cattle on 3 planets!!! The shiny new silos were also a hint of hopes of big things to come in the alternate fuel department.

I decided to push on towards Walnut Grove and finally get to see the actual site of the Little House on the Prairie books. The Nav Sys kept me going on and off Highway 14 until I was so turned around and lost in the CORN that I found myself programming in little towns just to get from one place to another.

I cheered when I crossed a small creed and the sign said Plum Creek!!! I turned off into a county park and at the end of the cul-de-sac I was able to park the Minnie and go exploring in the real Plum Creek. Byrdie, of course, headed for the water immediately. She had a wonderful time--the water wasn’t deep at all--bounding up and down the banks and getting as wet as she could. It wasn’t until I got her back into the RV that I realized that the mud of that sweet Plum Creek was smelly, like tar and black sticky goo. Before I could grab her the damage was done--black thick mud all over the carpet that Mr. Toccata had worked so hard to clean before I’d left Bakersfield. Mud was all over the linoleum also. I finally pinned her down but not before her paws had ruined my white t-shirt and jeans. I had to hose down each paw in the shower then mop the floors and clean the carpet where the mud had left such awful stains. Persuading a 65 pound dog to get even one paw in the RV shower was not an easy chore.
A clean set of clothes and 5 towels later I was ready to see the Laura Ingalls Wilder Museum.

The people working there were so helpful. Not much is left of the original settlement. Actually, nothing is left of the original places but there is a lot of great memorabilia and reconstructions of a sod hut and the buildings used in the TV series. What struck me the most was the large page of the county birth register--about one third of the parents had been born in a foreign country! The countries were Sweden, England and Scotland. I couldn’t help but compare it to the influx of illegals we experience on a daily basis in Bakersfield. All those babies from the early 1800s grew up speaking English, their parents were here legally and they all were hell-bent to become Americans and blend in as well as prosper. The families knew why they were here!

On the other hand, today had times when I was ashamed to be an American. Almost every American I met under the age of 45 was grossly overweight. I mean really, really fat. Even the little kids were way past “pudgy.” What is the matter with the population? How can so many people be so morbidly obese? I don’t see people walking around shoving food into their mouths--but some folk were too big to even fit through the doors inside “Grandma’s House” at the Museum! They could only peep in at the exhibits. Then they would go outside to rest on one of the many benches.
I left Walnut Grove with presents for the grandkids and a desire to be out of the CORN.


But the NavSys had different ideas. Pretty soon I was calling Mr Toccata for help from California as he worked out a more direct route than turning at right angles at every county road that came up--and there are a bazillion county roads in the CORN. Approximately 9 hours after I left Mitchell--allowing for the 2 hours in Walnut Grove--I arrived at the WestRich RV Park in Spicer, MN. These are the nicest people!!!! Even though I’ve been without wifi for days I was so grateful to have a place to stay. This is the 2nd night of Labor Day Week-end and everyplace required either a 3-day reservation of were already full. The family running it has 4 small children and were just wonderful. They helped me back in--I was rather frazzled by this point having been driven to the point of insanity by the CORN--and they were so gracious.

I had to clean out some food from the refrigerator and what did I find that had to be eaten?? CORN!!!! I wasn’t sure I could eat it but it was quite good--the kernals on the cob were both yellow and white.

Compared to the RV Park where I stayed last night in Mitchell, this one was heaven. The surprise is that these people are here in clans and are set up to enjoy the entire week-end. I’m one of the few staying just one night. The people across from me have had a big bonfire going and have strung Christmas lights around their rig. Many people have pinned up large American flags or actually planted flag poles in the ground. There are countless lawn c hairs, portable gazebos with bug netting, tons of children, dogs, extra vehicles, awnings--you name it, this encampment has it! The atmosphere is really one of a big festival. I have a feeling it will be a tad noisy for sleeping but this isn’t any worse than the many nights I’ve slept next to an Interstate. My aloneness seems very peculiar and people have actually asked me where my husband is! Byrdie is always a hit though and makes me seem “maybe okay” since I am alone.

There are two Catholic churches listed for Spicer--and they both have the same address but different mass schedules! I don’t understand what that is about. A Fr. Fred Fink--I am not making this up--is the rector for both places--which appear to be the same place. One is called St. Anthony’s parish and the other is Our Lady of the Lakes parish. Both are listed at 13722 Hwy 23 NE! We shall see. I just want to get to sleep. Of course preparation for mass is a must--for me that means remembering to shave my legs so I don’t have to wear hose with a skirt! Perhaps it means other more spiritual things to others. As it turned out, I found the church but the mass times had been changed from what was listed on their website. I'm sure intentions count for everything!


Notes on the day:
I wonder if the people who live here notice the eau de manure hanging over everything? After the Byrdie episode at Plum Creek and realizing how infrequently people could bathe perhaps the odor in the air is just residual from all the people who have lived without indoor plumbing and working in the dirt and with animals. The flies are still thick--it kind of goes with the smell. Some bug bit me on the ankle at Plum Creek and it has caused quite the reaction! Bakersfield is actually looking good in comparison. On the other hand, I’ve really enjoyed the absence of graffiti and the orderliness of this world. There is no litter and other than all the Japanese tourists at Mt. Rushmore, I’ve only heard English! I’d forgotten what it feels like to live in a homogeneous society. BUT--on the other hand, I would go absolutely nuts with the sameness. BUT--on the other hand, perhaps it is easier for people to grow the CORN without too much restlessness or discontent or else they would all leave. There are ruins of old homesteads and barns all over. I wish I could more easily photograph them. By the time I see something particularly ruined and aged I’m past the property and there is no way to turn the rig around. I did drive up to one abandoned and for sale property today. Do the ruins represent collapsed dreams the way they do in the desert? Or are these the old skins the folks who stayed and prospered shed off when they built bigger and nicer houses in the same area?
I don’t think the CORN is picked. It seems the entire stalk is ripped from the earth by some machine. It leaves a totally bare spot in the CORN covering of the earth. The wind was blowing pretty hard today--I think wind and plains go together--and folks were complaining that their CORN allergies were acting up. Even the Ingalls family moved all over the place from Wisconsin to Minnesota to South Dakota to Iowa and back again. Did they ever have the same mental stress from the plains? I find that the endless open flatness makes me very uneasy. Yet the CORN makes me feel claustrophobic! It is like a bad case of agoraphobia and claustrophobia competing for the dominant neurosis!!! No--I could not live here. More and more I’m understanding that the geographical area that imprinted on me from infancy is what soothes. And that can be very depressing! I think I want out of Southern California but no place “calls” to me. I keep remember the woman volunteer park aid in Vernal, Utah. She and her husband were out “looking” for that special place and they both felt that Vernal screamed at them, “This is IT!!!! Settle down here in your retirement!!!” I wonder if that will happen to us or is Bakersfield just where we happened to be when the music stopped? As the punch line to the old joke goes: Everybody has to be someplace!

It’s 11:30pm and the hoo-wah non-verbal sounds from the various clan gatherings can be heard. I don’t think there is any beer shortage here and the protestant work ethic that laid out such severe rows of CORN is not evident with the young campers here!