Sometimes “the back way” means a little-known shortcut. Other times, it means the more scenic route. I make the 480 mile trek back and forth between west central Florida and the mountains of north Georgia several times a year, and I refuse to take the interstate highway. That, of course, results in a trip that is at least 1.5 hours longer than it needs to be.
I’m good with that. I don’t have to sit at complete attention, alert to what the cars around me might do at 80 mph, because there are very few other cars. I can set the cruise control and truly cruise for an hour or more at a time. I can, and do, stop whenever I feel like it, even if it means abruptly turning around for something I missed. In this case, it was an old abandoned farmhouse standing guard in front of a very healthy field of Georgia corn. Once I had rolled to a stop, standing alone in the morning sun and hot breeze, listening to the rustle of corn silk, I forgot about the house and was smitten by the corn.
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