Ribbons By The Highway
When I climb out of the Mississippi River valley at Dubuque, Iowa, either east or west on Highway 151, the cliffs always intrigue me. I must have photographed them dozens of times. Traveling to Wisconsin with Daughter #1, this year, was no different. So, I photographed them, again.
We were going to see Grand #2 graduate from high school. And, to help with her celebration party on the next Sunday. It’s hard to believe that she will be going to college in the fall. Still age seventeen, she won’t be eighteen until August. A young college freshman, I think. Then, I remember that I was only two months older than she when I started my college freshman year. And, I survived, met the man I would marry a year later, and start my next life as college student, wife, and educator.
As you know, I am a poet, and I write a poem every month for the Denver Gem and Mineral Guild’s newsletter, Tips and Chips. The poem below appeared in this year’s July edition of that newsletter.
Ribbons
A Haibun
by
Marj Becker
Climbing out of the town of Dubuque, Iowa, into the State of Wisconsin, I’m always struck by the beauty of the road side decorations. Miles and miles of stone ribbons line Highway 151. Browns. Yellows. Reds. And, black. Layer upon layer of these stones. As if someone has taken mayonnaise and ketsup and mustard and smoothed these sandwich decorations between two pieces of bread.
Red and yellow. Black.
Stone layered between the grass.
Meal for a giant.
The highways from Wisconsin to home stretch out in front of us. Ribbons of highways in front of us and in back of us. Sometimes, straight. Sometimes, curly. Sometimes, four lanes across. Sometimes, only two.
This is where we’ll go.
Over hill and over dale.
Ribbons take us home.
As little girls, we had long hair in braids. And, always had ribbons at the ends of the braids. Dresses were frilled with ribbons at the neck and sleeves and around the waist. Sometimes, curled. Sometimes, sewed on straight. But, always ribbons to adorn the plainest of dresses. Occasionally, around the hem.
A new dress for me.
Mom made one for each of us.
Mom knew what to do.
Be Safe and Be Well.
The Cranky Crone
Thoughtful comments are appreciated.
6 replies on “Ribbons By The Highway”
Mom, I am so happy you and Daughter #1 were able to come be here for Grand #2’s graduation. It was a special time for us. Just remember, those highway ribbons will be there waiting for you the next time you come. 💜
Up until mid 9th grade, I had pigtails with a colorful set of ribbons, enough for two weeks without wearing the same set twice. They were a badge, a layer of identity—not one I favored in those last months before I had the bravery to request a new hair style! Big kid into young, inquiring woman. Now ribbons are layers of memory—yes I have kept most of them.
Beautiful photos, beautiful poems. Congrats to the young woman who inspired the trip.
“Cool” poem. I have so many photos of rocks, vegetation, trees. I am always amazed when I am on a trip and we are touring on a bus (or even a train) that others on the same bus, the same journey as I, are SLEEPING. I will sometimes doze off for a short nap but wake up abruptly and worry about what I have missed.
I enjoyed the drive to and from Wisconsin with you, ma. It was great listening Fannie Flagg read her book I Still Dream about You. We laughed for miles and miles. I really like the scenery from Denver to Appleton. There is always something to see (well, accept the boring part between Omaha and Lincoln. I could do without that).
Fanny Flagg is one of my favorite authors! I actually visited the Whistle Stop cafe in Georgia where Fried Green Tomatoes was filmed.❤️❤️