Gravel Lanes

Gravel Lanes

  There is nothing more undeniably Indiana than the gravel lanes that thread their way across the state.  Winding randomly between cornfields, along creek bottoms, dead ending in surprising spots, the best way to see Indiana is from the vantage point of an old farm road.

  For those not native to Indiana, the curly queuing country roads present a puzzle.  “Why don’t these county roads run in a straight line?”  This from a transplant from the West Coast, who was considering living outside the city limits.

  “These farms are old,” I responded. ” Some go back over a hundred years in the same family.  The fields came first, so they ran the roads around - - not through.”

  My acquaintance snorted his disgust.  “It’s the 21^st Century for Heaven’s sake!”

  I sighed. There’s no point in explaining to someone from Southern California the importance of every square inch of tillable soil in a farmer’s field. Black gold, that. And if my acquaintance didn’t see the romance in spending an evening driving around in the country with the windows rolled down, lights glowing on the dash, the scent of freshly cut hay in the air, well, he just isn’t going to be educated, is he?

  If you grew up here, you know.  Getting lost in a maze of cornfields in high summer is a rite of passage for every Indiana kid once they receive their driver’s license. It’s a requirement almost a state law, no less than having a basketball hoop in every driveway. Crawling around in the dark with the headlights on low, mist rising from the fields is tradition.

  If, like my California friend, you want to use the country roads to get somewhere - - not just ramble, there’s an art to it, a methodology of travel, rules of the road, if you will. Those rules don’t necessarily correspond with the driver’s manual that the BMV hands out for driver’s tests.

  The first rule is the speed limit must be no less than fifty miles per hour, as you drive down the middle of the road until oncoming traffic appears. At that time, pulling to the right and decreasing speed slightly is recommended.

  Secondly, one must always be aware of farm vehicles, grain trucks, combines and the like, moving at a much slower speed. These vehicles are particularly prevalent in the spring and fall. During those seasons it is a good idea to consider adding extra time for your trip. Since they take up the entire roadway, it will be an exercise in self control to follow at ten miles per hour until the farmer can find a spot wide enough to move over and let you pass. He always does, but it can take a few miles, so it is best not to get too impatient about the situation.

   The third basic tenet of country driving is that all roads lead to somewhere. They may not lead to where you were planning to go, but you will end up somewhere. That place might be a farmer’s barn yard, the crossroads where a one room schoolhouse still sits, or even a small town. There is always a place at the end of the lane. Remember that.

  If you recognize that most county roads are constructed on a grid, moving outward from the courthouse at the county seat, understanding where the road goes isn’t too difficult. For instance, I once lived at 430 North 500 West. What that means is I lived 4.30 miles north of the court house and 5.0 miles west. As long as you don’t have directional dyslexia or can follow the sun, you will never get lost in Indiana.

   You can see amazing things on an aimless summer excursion.  Wild turkey, fox or deer slip in and out of shadows. Rounding a curve you might experience the breathtaking moment that deep woods alongside the road give way to an unexpected pond, waterfowl quacking and honking in the late afternoon sun. A field of soybeans suddenly turns to open pasture, filled with prairie flowers; a redwing blackbird’s unmistakable call lets you know you aren’t alone.  It is still possible to find stands of blackberry canes tumbling through an old barbed wire fence, the plump purple berries ready to be picked for tonight’s cobbler or pie.

  Old cemeteries crop up along the roads, the surrounding ancient iron fences overgrown in wild morning glory vines; gates propped ajar, layered in time and weeds.  The headstones date back to the early 19^th century. Reading the weathered slate, tilted drunkenly on one side, you realize the luck it took to survive to adulthood in the early days of our state. A faint echo - - a touch of mist, lets you know someone was here.

   Even older whispers float along creek-beds and hollows where the road dips low. Arrowheads can still be found; some of these lanes must have followed trails they made, paths worn into the land over time.

   People get creative with their mailboxes; roadside art flourishes, constructed of old gears, posts, and tractor parts. Heading northwest, the land opens into long grass prairie, windmills sprout from the earth, great blades turning languidly in a dance with the breeze.

  These days I have to drive deep into the country to experience the thrill of gravel crunching under my tires. Some years ago an overzealous county commissioner saw to it that all our county roads were paved. I suppose it’s a kind of progress. Paved or not, the lanes still exist. They allow Hoosiers to experience Indiana at its roots, along a quiet narrow road, cornstalks rustling, and the rasping buzz of cicadas in your ears. You can’t say you know Indiana until you do.

As originally Published in Undeniably Indiana, 2016 Indiana University Press