A highway runs near our house.
South on the road takes you to my favorite little town; head east and the next town is the one I frequent most.
North lies the town I visit least often, only if I'm running a specific errand.
"Getting the best coffee in the county" is one such specific errand.
So it was that yesterday, 2 whopping degrees that it remained (-windchill, but we're not going to talk about that okay, okay), I found myself in the backseat of my sister's car, she and Grandma discussing the weather. To be fair, it was pretty #extra even for Iowa on this particular day.
From the gravel to the highway and north to coffee we traveled. You may remember hearing about this place before, but if you haven't, I'll direct you here:
Coffeeshop Chats
Also, if you, noting the temperature, thought that I would have ordered hot coffee to combat my chilled fingers and face, you underestimate my love of iced coffee. Holding mine in gloved hands, my two older, wiser companions burning their tongues on their hot drinks, we began driving home.
~~~~~
One of the great things about growing up in the same area as the previous three generations of your family is that your family members are founts of knowledge. I swear my grandma knows the family trees of half the people in the area, and the surrounding land records down to the 1/4 section for the past 60 years.
"Right down this road," Grandma started between sips of her mocha, "is the farm where your great-grandpa played for barn dances." She continued, pointing out farm places in the neighborhood. From these anecdotes, I'm not sure how much of a dancer my Great-Grandpa Ed was because they all revolved around him accompanying on his accordion.
Morgan turned onto the next gravel road, her car adapting the conditions. As close to a square-mile grid as you can get, it's pretty easy to locate farm places, even with certain pieces of roads having been demoted to B-level maintenance, or removed altogether.
A few different buildings sat on this acreage, including the one featured in the above photo; they varied in both age and structural integrity. The barn we were meant to see rested at the bottom of both comparisons. One side had collapsed long before our excursion, the other three remained mostly upright. However, the barn which held so many social events was, as we might have guessed, no more.
It's a weird sort of nostalgia to miss things of which you never took part, like barn dances which, decades ago though they were, took place less then ten minutes from my house. Like the people who gathered there, the buildings are no longer with us, certainly not like they used to be. But the events live on in stories passed down, and in four-wheel drive adventures on snowy gravel roads.
- Grace