Author's Description:

Very nearly my favorite place in the universe as a child, my enchantment with Cuba, Missouri has remained my entire life. It wasn’t just the lake, or that my grandmother’s house was right next to the beach, it was the whole town: the IGA, Freddy’s hamburgers and grape soda, the short drive along the twisting road to the lake with cows grazing in the fields, then the airstrip, and hanger, and then it was time to look over to the right, just before the road turned again, and see the big house with the two front doors. Wow, as a kid it was something else. I could sit in the living room with the breeze from the lake coming in from the sliding glass doors, sun reflecting off of the lake water and my grandmother sitting in her chair doing a crossword puzzle, the soaps would be on t.v., and I would be sitting on the floor drawing or playing cards. At least once a day, somebody at the airstrip went out and broke the sound barrier…and in my mind as a child I could picture the airfield and the orange windsock flying as that horrendous boom echoed.

Hmmmm….

I created this collection of photographs, unfortunately, on a drive to a relative’s Wake and back. So, while I didn’t have the opportunity to go see grandma’s house, I did have the opportunity to take a ride out with my mother, out to Cuba, and pay our respects. Along the way, I focused my gaze on the surrounding hillsides, the blazing hot sunshine, the nearly open road on the interstate, and finally our destination: the town where I grew up spending all my summers in. After the Wake, we drove slow and looked out across the hills, watching the sun turn the cut grass in the fields to gold, and the drivers wind their way toward the big city, away from the setting sun.

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There and Back Again

The drive from our home to Cuba, Missouri would take us well over an hour when Grandma drove us kids out to her lake house for the summer. Grandma drove her Dodge Duster at full throttle, roaring along packed straightaways on the interstate, racing truck drivers that honked and pointed at her, her finger cocked to show her impatience with them, and a fresh gallon of milk forgotten on the roof of the car. We always had a helluva good time with Grandma.

I grew up this way, watching the horizon change, the yards grow larger, the do-dads in the front lawn turn into horses and cattle, and seeing water towers tower over towns with their names emblazoned across them like sports teams. This was how summer was born for me. Along the highways and interstates, during the long breaks from school, and in the heat of the year.  Just as an author does with words they’ve written down in a book, the painted lines marking the free road system tells a story, and I watch as those story lines transform into ribbons, weaving their way into a world far from my own, leading me away from here, to there, and back again.

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