On the way to Atlanta

Had a great experience on my way north towards Atlanta this evening...  I decided to wander off the beaten I-75 corridor path a bit in search of dinner.  Thirteen miles along Highway 26, to be exact; deep in the heart of South Georgia, a land that always startles me with its beauty.  No mountains, no dramatic skylines or coastlines, and yet something happens to my heart when I drive those Georgia backroads.  Rolling hills... mile after mile of cotton and peanut and who-knows-what-else fields dotted with silos and farm machinery... glassy ponds surrounded by herds of cattle grazing contentedly... row upon row of ancient, majestic pecan trees standing sentinel... the sensation of realizing one has been driving for quite some time and hasn't seen a single vehicle... and then when one does see a vehicle, it's always a tractor or a big-man truck.  Somehow, I'm

not quite sure how, but when I drive in South Georgia, I shed something of the wider world and am enveloped in a sense of calm.  Bliss, actually.  With a little perspective, sophistication suddenly seems highly overrated.

It was just this sort of evening, tonight, cruising down the road as the sun set over the fields, throwing the cows and the pecan trees and the old farm buildings into striking silhouette against the bright pinks and purples of the evening sky; the sweet scent of new-mown grass and livestock wafting through the open windows.  

And then, in the barely-a-town of Montezuma, I stopped at Yoder's Deitsch Haus, a little Mennonite cafeteria comfortably ensconced between the road and the pastures that surround it.  When I opened my car door, my nose was instantly greeted with the smell of cow manure.  Granted, I wouldn't normally be overly impressed by this fact, but in these surroundings, it somehow felt appropriate.  

I grabbed my tray and filled it with coleslaw and pickled carrots, pot roast, rice and gravy, lima beans and cornbread, and a big slice of shoofly pie, guided along my way by a passel of sweet and friendly Mennonite ladies, garbed in their aprons and caps.  I sat next to a big picture window, watching the sun finish setting, listening to the familiar deep Southern drawl of the farm families and Baptist grandmas that surrounded me, and enjoying my feast.  I knew deep contentment.

Pure molasses and brown sugar goodness.