Lighthouses, Bungalows, & Dreams

Dear John,

 

I found this photo today, and remembered that day we drove west through Iowa into that storm.

Remember? We were on our first trip to the Great Plains. We went west into Illinois, then south, then west again. There was road construction on the Iowa interstate, which was fine with us because it gave us an excuse to take the state routes. As we made the turn to the west, we saw a storm coming that filled most of the western horizon. The sky was getting blacker and we could see hard rain ahead of us.

 

So we drove west down a two-lane road through farmland, into a fierce thunderstorm. By the time we met the front, the sky looked like this. Farmhouses were few and far between, and we talked about how lovely it would be to ride out a storm in an old, tin-roofed farmhouse.

 

That was us - on the back roads and loving it, and, introverts that we are, loving the thought of spending a storm in an old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. We used to talk, too, about how we would have made good lighthouse keepers if we'd been born a century earlier. And you would say that you could see me staying on like so many keeper's widows, managing the lighthouse alone. And you were so right about me. All we ever wanted was a little house and each other.

 

I still look at lighthouses and metal-roofed bungalows, and dream. Tonight I'll remember that Iowa road that led to the thunderstorm. And I'll think again about how wonderful it would be to weather a storm with you.

 

Adore you,

Joan.