I ended up driving to Winfield after midnight and I am glad I did as the town was further away than I thought. I parked in a hotel parking lot and went soundly to sleep until sunlight got me up at 6:40am. I planned on calling Tony promptly after the 7am news. The big news today? The swine flu has spread in Japan, quadrupling over the weekend.
Tony was barely awake when we called and he guided me to his small place while I was on the phone with him.
“I see you coming!” he yelled as he saw the red van turn into his street. I don’t think I would have found this place on my own. It was a small place, an extension of a home shaded by maples and walnuts.
We chatted for a while but knowing that he had a 10:30am doctor’s appointment I asked him to breakfast for more chat. It was my first real meal since on the road, a simple breakfast of coffee and two eggs over easy with hash browns and dry wheat toast. It’s a staple of mine every now and then. We ate at the Bleu’s Café, owned by Blain and Susan (thus the name of the place) a small corner restaurant popular with the locals.
Decorated with simple metal chairs and tables, this was the basics. The daily special was listed on the wall and the tabletops were covered with local ads from businesses. The place was hopping.
We talked about our lives since we last met in 2001, a few days before 911 in early September when he still lived in Warsau, WI and I drove up from Crown Point to see him. (The drive was longer than I thought). His girlfriend Lisanne brought him here to Kansas where they had hoped to start a youth ministry but that closed due to lack of finances. Both work for the local VA hospital in town. He seems happy now, and a wedding for next September seems very likely. I hope to fly in for that one.
We chatted in the restaurant until almost 10am when he had to leave for his appointment. This gave me a chance to walk Sadie around the shaded neighborhood and check out the downtown some more.
There isn’t much to Winfield other than the three blocks of old historic downtown. Pansies, lillies and hostas line the cooler parts of the streets. “The place where your grandfather traded” boasted one hardware store. This is a town of Euro-American retirees and nearby farmers. As for diversity in the populace? Everyone was white. This wasn’t the sort of town one wanted to be known for as people kept an eye on you.
Sadie took her walk in stride. We walked past very old, termite-infested wooden squares to a few nicely-maintained homes with chiseled yards. We crossed two sets of railroad tracks that paralled next to homes, a sign of the town's growth and the economic class of the neighborhood.
Barely a block from Tony’s little abode she left a turd in the middle of the street. When we got back an hour later the turd had been completely flattened by wide tire marks turning into the adjacent alley.
“You were lucky Sadie that no one knows you here!” I told her, as neighborhood dogs barked from the inside of the small homes. Big dogs in little houses, I noted. Some dogs were so big that their jumps against the windows caused the panes to buckle.
After an hour of walking we came back to Tony’s little place and sat in the shade of athe mature, diseased maple. Sadie rested and I started on one of my Amazon books I have to review. No time was wasted as I enjoyed the chirps of the jays, robins, sparrows and blackbirds around me, the conversations of the farmer and his neighbor across the street, and the occasional bark of a dog.
Tony came back just as the noon siren blared. “The city tests its sirens promptly at noon every day” he explained. The noise was loud enough.
“ At least you know they are working!” I retorted. It was only two years ago when Greensburg, KS was totally destroyed by a tornado.
We didn’t have much time together but reminded Tony to hurry up and visit his girlfriend at the local VA home, a nice, cozy (if that is possible) home for mostly disabled veterans. I met her and instantly took a liking to her, and she became only the second person I’ve talked intimately with about my older brother Tom, the black sheep in the family.
Time was running out for all of us. Tony had to get back to his place while I got the van ready for the next adventure: Moline KS, home of my friend Judy. It was a direct route via US Highway 160, which in this part of Kansas resembled more of a country road with its sharp turns and narrow lanes as it traversed gently green hills and pastoral countryside. If there truly are happy cows like California boasts it has, they would live here, in southeastern Kansas, where the grass is lush and green and plentiful.
The town of Moline, however, doesn’t boast much of anything, being smaller than Winfield it’s at least home to the states “oldest swinging bridge.” The trouble I had was finding the bridge!
Tony was barely awake when we called and he guided me to his small place while I was on the phone with him.
“I see you coming!” he yelled as he saw the red van turn into his street. I don’t think I would have found this place on my own. It was a small place, an extension of a home shaded by maples and walnuts.
We chatted for a while but knowing that he had a 10:30am doctor’s appointment I asked him to breakfast for more chat. It was my first real meal since on the road, a simple breakfast of coffee and two eggs over easy with hash browns and dry wheat toast. It’s a staple of mine every now and then. We ate at the Bleu’s Café, owned by Blain and Susan (thus the name of the place) a small corner restaurant popular with the locals.
Decorated with simple metal chairs and tables, this was the basics. The daily special was listed on the wall and the tabletops were covered with local ads from businesses. The place was hopping.
We talked about our lives since we last met in 2001, a few days before 911 in early September when he still lived in Warsau, WI and I drove up from Crown Point to see him. (The drive was longer than I thought). His girlfriend Lisanne brought him here to Kansas where they had hoped to start a youth ministry but that closed due to lack of finances. Both work for the local VA hospital in town. He seems happy now, and a wedding for next September seems very likely. I hope to fly in for that one.
We chatted in the restaurant until almost 10am when he had to leave for his appointment. This gave me a chance to walk Sadie around the shaded neighborhood and check out the downtown some more.
There isn’t much to Winfield other than the three blocks of old historic downtown. Pansies, lillies and hostas line the cooler parts of the streets. “The place where your grandfather traded” boasted one hardware store. This is a town of Euro-American retirees and nearby farmers. As for diversity in the populace? Everyone was white. This wasn’t the sort of town one wanted to be known for as people kept an eye on you.
Sadie took her walk in stride. We walked past very old, termite-infested wooden squares to a few nicely-maintained homes with chiseled yards. We crossed two sets of railroad tracks that paralled next to homes, a sign of the town's growth and the economic class of the neighborhood.
Barely a block from Tony’s little abode she left a turd in the middle of the street. When we got back an hour later the turd had been completely flattened by wide tire marks turning into the adjacent alley.
“You were lucky Sadie that no one knows you here!” I told her, as neighborhood dogs barked from the inside of the small homes. Big dogs in little houses, I noted. Some dogs were so big that their jumps against the windows caused the panes to buckle.
After an hour of walking we came back to Tony’s little place and sat in the shade of athe mature, diseased maple. Sadie rested and I started on one of my Amazon books I have to review. No time was wasted as I enjoyed the chirps of the jays, robins, sparrows and blackbirds around me, the conversations of the farmer and his neighbor across the street, and the occasional bark of a dog.
Tony came back just as the noon siren blared. “The city tests its sirens promptly at noon every day” he explained. The noise was loud enough.
“ At least you know they are working!” I retorted. It was only two years ago when Greensburg, KS was totally destroyed by a tornado.
We didn’t have much time together but reminded Tony to hurry up and visit his girlfriend at the local VA home, a nice, cozy (if that is possible) home for mostly disabled veterans. I met her and instantly took a liking to her, and she became only the second person I’ve talked intimately with about my older brother Tom, the black sheep in the family.
Time was running out for all of us. Tony had to get back to his place while I got the van ready for the next adventure: Moline KS, home of my friend Judy. It was a direct route via US Highway 160, which in this part of Kansas resembled more of a country road with its sharp turns and narrow lanes as it traversed gently green hills and pastoral countryside. If there truly are happy cows like California boasts it has, they would live here, in southeastern Kansas, where the grass is lush and green and plentiful.
The town of Moline, however, doesn’t boast much of anything, being smaller than Winfield it’s at least home to the states “oldest swinging bridge.” The trouble I had was finding the bridge!
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