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Travel Back Roads
Some day, when we have winished a few more super-highways,’ someone is going to make a lot of friends by advocating the construction of a few thousand miles or narrow, winding dirt roads that lead nowhere in particular—roads that just wander off across the Countryside, up and down hills, across valleys; typical, old. country roads, with all the nltural hazards and charm left in.
Such roads will be built for dawdling, for stopping on1 hilltops, for wild-flower admiring, for bird-watching—for all the things the prudent motorist shouldn’t do on a four-lane highway. We still have many country-road drivers who want to see a tree, not a blur of woodland; who want a breath of country air, not highway fumes; who want to stop and look without creating a traffic jam two’ miles long behind them.
I recall one back road where we parked one day to watch a wood thrush, and after we had been there half an hour two foxes came into a clearing close by and played like puppies. It’s a grass-grown trail that leads past an old cellar hole and two very old lilac bushes, fragrant remembrance of a farm wife who lived and raised a family there, and is buried there beneath a feathered sandstone mark
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