Mayo and Burgers...NO!

Mayo and Burgers...NO!

What is it lately with Burger chains putting Mayonnaise on all their hamburgers as the default condiment? Twice today I had to scrap the stuff off my sandwiches in two different national chains...it just isn't American. Either leave off all condiments or mustard or catsup...but NOT mayo. Its a French food conspiracy, I am sure of it.

Today was Day three of the trip and we made it across Kentucky, Indiana and into Illinois. I would have traveled slower but for two things. Thing one, it rained like a biblical flood, and thing two, much of Western Kentucky, all of Indiana and what I've seen so far of Illinois are long endless expanses of corn fields unbroken by so much as a frustrated Scarecrow. For variety the farmers would treat us once in a while to a field of soy beans to break the monotony, but elsewise it was an all cornfield holiday.

Backing up to the morning, we did take a side trip to Boonesboro, as I had suggested in the last entry. We arrived early with great excitement seeing the fort. I was a bit surprised to read it had been erected in 1981 with all the names enshrined of the Chamber of Commerce who paid for construction. I was further dismayed when I read the sign by the entry. The fort was not there to keep out Indians, unless they each had with them six dollars.

We peeked in and decided we could see in about as well as we could wander around and held back the temptation to lose 12 bucks to Daniel Boone's sneaky descendants.

On we drove through the deluge
trying to see the road and not at all interested in the passing cornfields. Into Indiana and things got only worse. The distance between stops got farther and farther and the road was so-o-o-o boring my narcolepsy kicked in. For a while I let Tokie drive, but this only made Sean nervous.

So instead once again I pulled over and took a quick nap to forgo a close encounter with a passing truck or plowing out some hapless farmer's cornfield with my out of control asleep at the switch driving. Refreshed and with the rain finally starting to stop, we pressed on across boring Indiana.

I would write the entire state off as a loss but for one accidental discovery, off the road, not advertised that we found at mile marker 25 of Interstate 64, just north of Evansville.

It was HIPPS Nursery, the finest attraction in all of Southern Indiana by my reckoning. Never has there been a plant farm with quite so pixilated a tilt to it. This greeted us at the gate. It only got better and better as we ventured in.





The security for the place was provided for by a live chicken.



The front gate was guarded as well by a life-sized hallucination.