What's the Matter with Missouri?

I should have been more troubled by tumbleweed the size of Smart Cars cutting us off as we cruised across North Texas. We previously passed this open plain under the cover of darkness blissfully unaware that tumbleweeds were casting about across the highway. I should have been more dispirited by the sameness of landscape that is central Oklahoma in winter. Traveling across our nation’s midriff in late December is to see the verdant greens of rippling pastures and amber waves of grain reduced to dead browns and gray. To see a lone horse in a field looking for death. The air is cold, ice or snow threatens with every forecast. I searched for beauty, for solace in this hung-over, end time of year when the landscape, like me, is not looking at its best. Hawks enjoy the blankness and are perched with startling regularity along utility poles and fence posts.

I should have been happy with the hawks. But there was something about Missouri. Maybe it was because we were already in the thick of the winter grays and browns that the place looked particularly dismal. There’s something else too that was unsettling. Red states tend to have a lot of churches, mega and mini, situated along or advertised on the highways. The more churches it seems, the healthier the adult services industry: videos, massage parlors, specialty shops, etc. Missouri has this classic combination of religious and sexual offerings. But it also has a thriving novelty industry forming a unique triumvirate and interesting experience for a traveler pondering the state of our culture, trying to understand the shades of purple in a red state/blue state nation. Teddy bear factories, mementos from Precious Moments, a surprising number of outlets serve as hallmarks to sentimental gift giving. A visitor to the show me state can watch an adult video, wander aisles of stuffed animals, and observe the saving of souls all in one highway exit. And if this isn’t enough, the traveler is frequently reminded of the country music acts from the 60’s and 70’s that they forgot existed. Are the Oak Ridge Boys really on stand by for charter buses in Branson? Apparently country music legends and has beens don’t just hole up in oversized log houses in the hills outside Nashville, they live in music halls in Branson eagerly awaiting your visit.

If it wasn’t for an engine light near St. Louis I might never have walked around in Missouri. We strolled away from the dealership in Southtown and relaxed in the timeless ambiance of Uncle Bill’s Pancake House. The hot cakes and syrup redeemed our long day across Missouri to the extent that I was inspired to look back and through the arch as we crossed into Illinois and feel a tinge of yearning to explore the places in the middle instead of focusing westward or eastward, to dwell a little bit in the center.