Until I spent two and a half years in the big city, I never understood how unique living in the country was. I never appreciated the cornfields at harvest in the fall or the cows that dotted the countryside. I never appreciated the endless trees of varying colors. I took for granted being able to see a full sunset, one that didn't set behind high rises and a parking garage. It is always harder in the fall. The city just chills in the fall. There are few places where you can see the leaves in their yearly panoramic decay, fading from bright green to brilliant yellows, oranges, reds, and purples. In Indiana, it is everywhere. I am sure it is everywhere anywhere outside of the city, but I get to enjoy it in Indiana. The leaves look even more incredible against a dull backdrop of endless fields of corn and beans. Just today, while driving through the back roads of Parke County, the sky seemed to explode in vibrant shades of blue against mounting, steely gray clouds. White clouds streaked against the bright blue, chasing beams of sun over fields and tree tops. It was incredible. The leaves of the trees stood out against the corn, and the sky stood out even more against the terrestrial color scheme.
Today, I was in Parke County to see the infamous covered bridges. Six small towns in Parke County each put together their own festival. The festival consists of essentially closing these small towns down to fill their streets with booth after booth after booth; people selling their wares and delicious home cooked foods. A person could enjoy a whole meal simply from the samples that are handed out. Fresh kettle corn, home made cookies-fresh and warm- donuts, smoked pork chops, jerky, home made cheeses, and much more are offered around every turn. Elephant ears, deep fried and beer battered cheese curds, fried green tomatoes, elephant ears, funnel cakes, broasted chicken, ham and beans with cornbread, homemade noodles and mashed potatoes (yes, served together), gyros, pizza, famous smoked pork chop sandwiches, homemade root beer, blooming onions... all that is greasy and delicious, all that is homemade by the Amish and Quaker families, all that one could want to eat in one beautiful backwoods small town. The booths not offering food offered anything that a person could imagine. There were booths for bikers, farmers, Native Americans, Quakers, Amish, infomercials, hunters, kids, and anyone in between. I was not surprised to see so much leather, flannel, and camouflage in one place. All of these booths were set up on either side of Raccoon Creek. You crossed from one side to the other over a beautiful covered bridge. Next to the covered bridge was an old mill. It was definitely not a safe place to wander around. There were a few moments where I was almost sure I was going to plummet through three stories of wood that had been built a couple hundred years ago. The mill overlooked the dam and the bridge. The old wheel was in the water, but it didn't turn anymore. It was picturesque. Next to the mill was a tiny little chapel. Very tiny. It was a while little building, about the size of a shed, on a steep bank on the river. The inside was adorned in white, with beautiful flowers and an ornate lectern. The whole small town was built in such a way. It was all old fashioned and quaint. The Amish and the Quakers seemed to belong there more naturally than anyone else, in their simple gowns and slacks, with their white caps and the men with long beards. All in all, the day could not have been more relaxing and enjoyable. It was so refreshing to enjoy a day in the country. Every aspect of the festival was simple. There only one man on a cell phone. One, out of thousands. Granted, no one else had a single bar of service, but it kind of nice to be ostracized from the rest of the world. That is, until Andrew got separated from us and we couldn't find him or call him. However, we were united again, and enjoyed the rest of the day with a place designated for meeting up in case we were separated again. It was absolutely wonderful.