Leaving San Diego XXXIX

Lee had driven a school bus for eight years and was indeed a careful driver. We never exceeded the posted speed limits, nor did we ever fully reach them. From time-to-time I would lean forward in my seat to catch a peek in the outside rear-view-mirror. I was curious how much of a logjam we had back there. They were usually lined up at least four-deep. But that was okay. We were operating on Lee-time. Everyone else could go on by as they pleased. Most did so in a rush. Once in a while, one would salute with a cry of exaltation. But that was okay too. Hopefully we would never lock eyes while reaching for the same package of hamburger at the local Safeway. Evidently, in Savannah, the main attraction was a 50-foot-tall concrete statue on the banks of the Rock River of an American Indian, built by the artist, "Mr. Todd" in 1910. According to the pamphlet, time was running late and the concrete pour needed to happen in mid-December. Kerosene heaters were run on the insides of the statue to help the concrete cure properly. It seemed to have worked. The Rock River was at flood stage and many picnic tables were half-submerged. Otherwise, all was peaceful on the river. As a passenger on this trip, I had time to observe all the front yards as we sojourned. But for the life of me, I could not figure the mind-set behind all the front-yard assemblages I observed. They were obviously working together on certain themes. One theme consisted of a rooster, billy goat and windmill set-up. Another was made up of concrete birdbath, plastic ducks and small sheep. Yet another was the tractor-tire-flower-bed; monkey on tricycle and puppets-with-movable-arms in a tree. Oddly enough, it happened over and over. It was as though space aliens had landed behind barns and invaded farmers' wives' brains while the farmers were out harvesting corn. I was excited to learn more.