Alright, Elantra. I'm sorry I complained about you.

My car has issues.  The radiator leaks coolant, the parking brake doesn't work, the windshield has a growing crack, and the child lock of the rear passenger door is permanently on.  That last one gave my car the name Nemo, in honor of its gimpy fin.  It was made in 2002, and therefore really isn't that old, but old enough to start having problems, and cost me an occasional arm, leg, or spleen in repairs.

After today I can look at Nemo and cry with delight, "Oh, you are SUCH a nice car!"

So, last night I promised I'd take my little brother to work in the morning, then made sure to stay up so late that I'd be woken right out of stage 3 of non REM sleep at 7:30, and therefore be completely nonfunctional for him for at least 10 minutes.  After a brief hand & foot massage that got the blood flowing, I was up and moving, and headed out to my old car - the Intrepid.

I skipped lightly toward my old wheels, quite happy with the prospect of driving her again.  I remembered that feeling of power that the 6 cylinder, 3.5 liter engine gave when I just barely tapped the gas pedal, and the way it rocketed off while passing tractors on the road.  I couldn't wait to get back in and drive her again!

I opened the door... well... tried.  The lock on the driver's side is broken and didn't unlock automatically like I expected it to.  Never fear, I just needed to turn the key the right way and ta da!  I was in. 

I sat down, and the seat back took a dive.  Oh yeah.  Forgot about that.  Barry ghetto-rigged it with a welder to keep it upright once, but that has since broken, and now it's held up by a bucket... a bucket that has been very successfully squished over the last 3 years while I was away and that really does nothing for the seat back now.

That's okay!  Who needs seat backs, right?  They're just a simple matter of convenience.

"Be careful with the transmission," Kamaron warned.  "It's really slow."
"Probably just needs a tune up," I answered, remembering back to the $100.12 I'd spent on a transmission tune up 5 years ago.
I shifted into reverse.  KUCHUNK!  "Wow.  Yeah, this thing needs some help."

We took the back roads to Kamaron's work.  I thoroughly enjoyed the drive through trees and hills and over streams, with a billowing cloud of dust flying out behind us.  There was one point we passed a guy jogging on the road.  I felt a little bad about engulfing him in gravel road dust, which inevitably sticks to sweaty bodies, but there really wasn't much to be done about that.  Right as we passed him, the radio magically turned itself on.

"Oh yeah," Kamaron said as I looked down at the station in confusion.  "It does that."

Oh... that's new.

Shortly after that I noticed how warm I was getting, and realized something else I'd forgotten:  even though the fan in my car had been turned off by my sweltering father, the heater was still permanently on, and was slowly roasting us all.   Lucky for us, today it was cool enough to roll down the windows and be perfectly fine... except for the cloud of dust that wooshed through the car, of course.

Then we turned a corner, driving through a bit of mud while we were at it.

Now, typically, when you drive through mud on a gravel road, the gravel sticks to the tires, then flings itself off, making a loud, rapid-fire thck-thck-thck-thck noise that sounds like your tires decided to engage in hostile warfare with the possums running across the road.  This was no exception... only it was louder than usual.  Then gravel started flying up in front of the car and pinging the windshield. 

I slowed down and the gravel lost enough force that it stopped smacking the glass, "Ummmm... Kam?"

"Did you drive through mud?" he asked, looking as confused as I was.

"Yeah..." 

The noise didn't stop.

I pulled the car off to the side.  There was no way something wasn't wrong with it.  I got out, and walked to the front of the vehicle.

"Ha!  Ha. Ha. Ha."

I waved at Kamaron to come see.  He joined me and we both laughed.  Apparently the front bumper is no longer being held by the bailing wire I installed after it fell off 2 summers ago.

We picked up the bumper and set it back in place, trusting in... well... nothing, really... to keep it attached to the car while we finished our drive.

By the time I got back home, I thought lovingly of my ugly, hatchback Elantra and it's working A/C, nice stereo, automatic locks and, well... intact body parts.  Of my 3 cars (alright, the Camry - aka "The Asphyxiator" - wasn't technically mine, but I was the primary driver for a couple semesters), Nemo is, without a doubt, the best behaved car I've owned.  Alright, so I just got a new battery and replaced a valve cover gasket, and I still need to spend another few hundred to fix the radiator, windshield and parking brake, but at least, when driving to Salt Lake, BYU campus, or any other location I may hope to attain, I can lean back against the seat and not be reclined in a sleeping position.

Dear Elantra, I'm sorry for the snide remarks.  You are wonderful to me.

Pretty sure I'll always be a country girl.

Today I stepped out of my mom's truck after a 2 hour long flight from Salt Lake City to Kansas City.  I stepped out onto the driveway of our 80 acre farm, and let me tell you what... it was PERFECT!
The weather was about 70 degrees, with humid air and a good breeze.  That breeze blasted me with the scent of blossoms, grass and fresh dirt as my bare toes sunk into the soft, freshly rained on yard.  It was incredible.  I had actually forgotten what it smells like here. 

After dropping off my bags, I picked up my little niece and took her out to the rope swing, where I spent a few minutes rocketing her in her little baby-swing between myself and my dad.  After the novelty of flight had worn off a bit, we walked around the orchard.  I had to step carefully that time - that grass is filled with sticks and even a few stray raspberry branches, and my callouses aren't what they used to be when I was a kid.  Over by the cherries there was some wild spearmint growing, so Sophie and I picked some leaves to smell.  Then I carried her to a little patch of weeds and showed her what poison ivy was, telling her not to touch it.  She probably didn't really get it - poison ivy looks remarkably like clover when all you're doing is counting leaves - but it was still fun.

A little later, Barry came home.  I haven't seen him in over 2 years!  He took me out to the pasture and taught me how to shoot his rifle at an empty oil jug (which I hit at 75 yards away... not bad for a first time) until we got in trouble for spooking the horses.  Then we sat in his room and talked for hours.

When evening came, we sat on the porch and watched the storm roll in.  About the time the wind picked up it was sunset.  Beneath the thick, grey clouds, there was a line of brilliant orange across the horizon, and a pinkish hue to the north.  Around the barn and above our heads the clouds were roiling and spinning as lightning bolts shot sideways across the sky.

Now I'm sitting at home, having scriptures and prayer with my family while thunder rumbles in the background.  I've spent the whole day basking in the memories, the smell of the farm, and the warm, humid air.  When I'm in my little apartment in the middle of Provo, I know I miss home, but it's not until I come back and actually feel myself in it that I remember all those little details.

I love the country.