In October it typically starts getting chilly out reminding us of the blizzard which is brewing. However, it is sticky and hot as if it were mid-July. As I fire up my old red truck I hope I have diesel to get me by for the week as the soaring gas prices and annoying policemen tend to push me away from BP, the only place in town that sells diesel. I drive by Logansport Gate feeling happy but feeling sad knowing all of the boarding students are stuck on the island of Culver. However, I quickly get over it and keep on driving. I drive by the numerous glistening faculty vehicles as the sun begins to be shaded by the still summer trees. I make my way past the last cuttings of hay laying in oddly perfect wind rows ready to be baled. I continue past the ghost town of a school before I begin the long journey out of town through oceans of soy beans and soon to be ethanol.

Far in the ocean lurk numerous convoys of semi-trucks, combines, and numerous tractors. A familiar sight in the mid-west, but still interesting. One combine rumbles along snatching up grain at an astonishing pace while the other unloads into the patient semi on the side.

As I approach closer to my destination I pass through the farms near my home. One is so amazing it is startling knowing it was built by Mennonites with the help of modern day equipment. The fields full of Belgium draft horses, large Brahma bulls, and the familiar Black Angus. Then there’s the dairy farm with the massive cows protected by a simple donkey. Looking oddly similar to “Donkey” on Shrek you can’t help but laugh at the long-eared pony.

As I pass through some more alfalfa the sweet smell signals me to release the gas pedal and begin slowing down to make one of my three turns on my journey. Sure enough my dog comes galloping across the yard, tongue and all. She greets me panting from the oddly blistering heat. Realizing I forgot my backpack I have to turn around and make that journey all over again.