Is it really possible to travel back in time? Some say yes, some say no. And, reasoned arguments are possible for both points of view. But, when I was a kid, in the late 40’s and early 50’s, it wasn’t debatable. It was just something we did – on a routine basis. It didn’t require a lot of fancy technology, either. The only equipment we ever used was a second-hand Ford with a decent set of tires, and a full tank of gas. Every other weekend, or so, we would pile into the car and make the leap.
Here’s how it was done. We would pull out onto Rt. 69 – head south, accelerate until we reached a cruising speed of about 60 m.p.h. – then set back and bide our time until we reached the time-gate. This was usually a 2 to 2-1/2 hr. process. Sometimes I would doze off, or be day-dreaming, when we actually made the transition, but the quantum change of the leap through time would always wake me up. The whining of the tires on pavement would shift to the crunch of gravel, then, finally, to a soft hum, as the gravel gave way to plain, ordinary dirt. One look through the window would confirm our backward jump through time.
We would gaze out on a landscape that hadn’t been seen in America since the turn of the century. On either side of the road were trees, fields, and farms – but not a trace of power lines as far as the eye could see. We would occasionally spot a farmer with a team of horses, or mules, or another, clanking along on an ancient early form of the tractor.
We would see women out tending their gardens, draped from neck to ankle in long print dresses – their faces shaded by sun bonnets that looked just like the ones pictured in old photographs of the pioneers. Every home had an out-house nearby, and a dug-out mound (called a “cave-house”, by the natives) that served as a substitute for refrigeration. At dusk, coal-oil lanterns would be lit against the falling darkness – a primal blackness that modern people, accustomed to the continual blaze of countless electric lights, cannot imagine.
It was a place lost in time, where the wonderous experience of a bygone era was still a living reality. No electricity, no plumbing, and just as amazing – no hurry.
Of course, the time-gate was more conventionally known as the Iowa–Missouri state line, and the natives encountered were my own relatives. I’ll admit to some exaggeration, too. Northern Missouri wasn’t completely without electricity, or paved roads. But there were more gravel roads than paved ones, and more dirt roads than gravel and paved, put together. Electrical power was available here, and there, but, for the most part, my relatives didn’t have any. Still, everything else was just as I’ve described it. Northern Missouri didn’t fully enter the 20th century until the rest of the country was half-way to the 21st. As a result, I have real memories of a way of life that most of my generation has only read about. It’s a little bit as though I had 30 to 40 years added to my life – only, in reverse order.
It wasn’t all idyllic, especially in winter. The only heat came from one coal stove. That wasn’t quite enough to warm the whole house, although the kitchen was pretty cozy. There was no indoor plumbing, so water had to be pumped by hand, and carried to where it was needed. Water pitchers, basins, and bedpans, were standard fixtures in every bedroom. Everyone went to bed early, because they had to get up early – and coal-oil lanterns don’t encourage late hours, anyway. Those cold, dark nights weren’t much fun, and a trip to the outhouse in the middle of winter was worse than no fun. I didn’t really mind it though. It was all part of the adventure of being a time-traveler. And, besides that, there were advantages, especially in summer, that shouldn’t be overlooked.
We ate better than royalty, since most of the fruit and vegetables came to the table straight from the orchard or garden. Eggs and milk were always fresh. The cream was separated, and the butter was churned, daily. (Freshly churned butter is a luxury that really cannot be overrated). We also had homemade sorghum molasses, honey from a neighbor’s beehives, and wonderful cornbread, cakes, biscuits, and cookies, baked by my grandmother, and my aunts. They made a lot of their own clothes, too – as well as beautiful quilts and impossibly soft feather-bed mattresses. In fact, almost everything was home-grown, or homemade.
If the rest of the world had suddenly disappeared, I don’t believe it would have caused anybody in northern Missouri much inconvenience. That self-sufficient way of life impressed me, and I took a kind of secondhand pride in the independence of my Missouri relatives.
Before World War II, most of America lived that way, but the exodus to cities, and then to suburbs, in search of jobs, destroyed family-centered farm life. And, what did we get in return – fast-food, VCR’s, and rush hour traffic. Was it worth it? I have my doubts, and I guess that’s a big reason why I look back so fondly on my time-traveling days.
I went back for a visit in the fall of ‘92. A lot of the old farmhouses had been abandoned and were slowly falling apart. Many, of those I remembered, were gone altogether. But it wasn’t because the people had moved into town. The towns were shrinking, too. Most of the farming seemed to be done by fewer farmers. Corporate farmers, I suppose. Even so, much of the land that used to be tilled had gone back to nature. All in all, I think there are probably fewer people living there now than there was 40 years ago.
Old Rt. 69 was still open. We took the Interstate though, both in and out. There was an exit for Bethany – the largest town in the area – with a McDonalds just across from the off-ramp.
The exit to yesterday had been closed long ago.
Time Machine / 1948
Published: Kansas City Star Magazine, 1996. The editors removed my reference to time machine and changed my title from, Last Exit To Yesterday to, The Majesty of Simplicity.
Oh well…