Ralph Williams
Guest Columnist
I am going to take a paragraph and introduce myself to the readers of the Rural Messenger. I am from the western part of Reno County, live on a small farm with my wife, 3 house cats. It is quiet here this morning two miles south of Langdon and one and a half west on the South side.
Living on Parallel Road you get to see who had a good spelling program in school whenever they ask for your address. Some will write it and go on, others write par then look at us and/or ask about the rest. Some will write it how they think and not ask. Parallel road is also known as the correction line.
As this area was surveyed, the crews surveyed from both north and south, meeting here. They figured out the surveys were off nearly one-half mile east and west, one quarter mile north and south. Rather than start over it was decided to keep it as was. All our north-south roads along the correction line have “T” intersections across the state. The first row of sections south of parallel are one and a quarter long north to south resulting in a long quarter section in the middle of each. For someone who doesn’t know the area it is difficult to navigate to an address here let alone something with no address. Driving from Pratt or Hutchinson makes it worse since highway 61 seems like east and west.
As a service tech in the ag equipment world I have been told where to go many times, pun intended. Directions might read “north to the correction line on 281 east one and a quarter, south one quarter southeast to the well, engine has a miss.” You won’t find that with GPS. I have been a direction person as long as I can remember, getting directions mixed up in a city drives me insane, that being a short trip.
This leads me to using directions inside as well: it’s on the north side of the couch, push the front of a tractor to the north a bit when joining an engine to a clutch housing. I had one helper say “Don’t give me direct ions in a building.” I feel sorry for ones who don’t know directions well it seems like a handicap. Don’t get me wrong I have been lost many times but bailed myself out eventually. I have been sent to one machine with the next repair being four miles north from that location east five miles two north and a quarter back east without benefit or signs at intersections. I have called for parts in those instances having to tell them to let drive a bit I don’t even know where I am, when I figure it out I will give you directions to meet me.
I had a young man with me once who was pretty sure we were going to have to camp for the night, me being me, I told him it would be okay, it would be a nice evening under the stars and we could start a fire with the cutting torch. That didn’t help his anxiety a bit. We kept driving east and found our way back to 281, all ended well.
I can’t win in towns with directions but get along pretty well out in the country. We were coming back from the state FFA convention in Manhattan Ks., I was navigating and Enola was driving when I missed the little intersection at I 70 and I 135. About 5 miles away from the turn I told everyone in the vehicle we had missed our turn, resulting in four cell phones switched to navigation and a scolding from my wife. We had a friend and classmate to my son with us, with me being the only one sure we would get home. I got out the paper map and went to plot a course while the rest fretted with their phones. I told Enola we will be ok as long as we head south on the first paved road off I 70. We went south for a while then had to go either east or west, I chose west thinking that would get us closer in line with
Langdon. We saw a few towns we hadn’t been in Geneseo for one, we zigged and zagged always finding another road south with me saying as long as we keep going south we will make it. My wife and the extra boy with us seemed concerned. I told them we just gotta keep heading south. Enola finally snapped “Just because we go south doesn’t mean we’ll get home.” A few miles of dirt road were involved at one point which made the doubters even more concerned. I clung to the paper map, darned if we didn’t wind up at Alden. The woman in the phones had given up hope trying to tell us our route and adjourned to a virtual bar I guess a few miles and turns back. The neighbor kid was sure we weren’t getting home that evening, even though he lived just two miles west of us. Of course, from it was indeed straight south to Parallel Road. Our running joke is as long as we keep going south after that adventure. One thing for sure, no matter where you’re at there you are.
