Truly, the Middle of Nowhere

I was driving on a country road this week when I spotted a deteriorating wood building surrounded by a fence. Perhaps, this is what my father used to call “the middle of nowhere,” a place reached on a family road trip without benefit of maps, coupled by no gas stations or restaurants. To boot, the address sported a five-digit number. Ok, why five numbers? I turned to the trusty internet for the answer. My favorite concept is that five numbers are for very long roads with some of the numbers signifying how far in meters the structure was from the center of town. Since I am not writing a term paper, I will go with the distance response. I have some friends who by choice live in the middle of nowhere, not the one I visited this week. These places are beginning to fade from reality as rural areas sprout general stores, paved roads and internet signals. I may never again take a right at the big boulder, left onto the dirt road with the fallen down barn in the field. Oh yeah, if I pass a pond, I’ve gone too far. Don’t be in a hurry to find the middle of nowhere, you might get there. Peace.

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