I recently drove to Iowa to visit my friend Karlene. She fosters rescue animals, so my mutt got to go along.
If not for the highway signs that say “Last rest stop in Missouri” and “Welcome to Iowa,” you would never know that Iowa is not Missouri.
We spent the first afternoon at a farm that has a petting zoo, gobs of gourds, and a gift shop. It seemed like a good idea to buy fall décor, and lots of it, to haul home. After all, the nearest farm to my house requires traveling about a mile.
The next day we drove into Des Moines, to shop at World Market and Whole Foods. Kansas City has these stores, but I bought wine and soap and chocolate croissants like I might never have the opportunity again.
On Saturday we hit the garage sales. I bought old Mason jars and ironstone pitchers and an antique baby crib, because there isn’t already enough crap in my garage tagged for future projects.
Before transferring all this treasure from Karlene’s car to mine for the trip home, I had to do some figuring. Figuring out how to flatten the back seats and fit all that stuff in, along with my regular travel stuff, and all of the dog’s stuff.
After loading, rearranging, unloading, reloading, it all fit with a little room to spare. Little room meaning exactly enough room for a small animal crate, complete with a rescue cat.
Like we can't get those in Missouri.