It’s Monday evening and I’ve worked over 20 hours this week. Granted, this weekend was my turn to work for The Gazette, so the 20 hours is expected. In any case, I didn’t sleep enough and left work at 7:15 p.m. tonight, feeling cynical and ready to crash. The CD mix in my player, made by Bea Burchill and titled “Songs of Home and Adventure,” began to play this song. Bea made the CD in preparation for my semester studying abroad in Bulgaria. (Don’t worry, this is the cheesiest this post will get.)

I chuckled as my mind flashed back to the summer of 2008, when I heard the song while driving with my brother, Bill, to Montana. He had graduated high school a week earlier and was already hired at in a university lab in Missoula, Montana. Smartie. Since this was his first solo road trip, my mom sent me as bodyguard.

We prepared for the 20-hour drive by going over our route and itinerary and packing bags of snacks. Our parents had to reserve hotels for us since we were too young to do so ourselves.

Bill had three jobs for this trip:

1. Program the GPS
2. Drive half the shifts
3. Find good CDs

He definitely succeeded with #2. Navigation was iffy on both our parts. But Bill kinda bombed #3. He didn’t have CDs of his own, and as I opened our CD book, I found two Johnson County Public Library CDs. (We later returned them, as we’re law-abiding citizens.)

1. “These Are Jokes,” by comedian Demetri Martin (props)
2. The single “Candle in the Wind” by Elton John (no props)

Bill meant to grab an Elton John mix. While Elton isn’t my favorite, anything would’ve been better than a single of “Candle in the Wind.” I mean, who loves Princess Di enough to pay Elton $5, knowing full well they’ll just feel sad and start buying collectible Princess Diana beanie babies on eBay?

Thankfully, we had our sister’s CD of Elton John’s greatest hits on hand. We listened to “Tiny Dancer” when the road was dark and we sang along as the sun went down. Instead of counting sheep due to road hypnosis, we could’ve counted the headlights on the highway.

Instead, Bill played “Tiny Dancer” over and over and over again. The chorus is difficult to understand, which should frankly be the least of Elton’s worries about this song. Seriously, all I heard was:Or

Lay me down and she’s so blanely

(Or “Lay me down and sheep still play me”)

You had a fill today to dane?

Not knowing the lyrics bothered Bill, and we didn’t have Smartphones to look up the words.Two hundred gold stars if you figure the whole song out without Google. Bill likes understanding things, which is probably why we were on the 20-hour road trip to jump-start his successful career in biochemistry. I, on the other hand, cared very little what the chorus says and still do. But I still  sang “Tiny Dancer” at least three times in 4-7 different keys.

—–

I still think about road trips past when I drive through the Flint Hills around Emporia, which is coined as “The Front Porch to the Flint Hills.” I’ve been good friends with these hills since I was 12 years old and traveled to the Walnut Valley Festival in Winfield with my bestie, Mintra, and her family. Then there were violin competitions and later, a college visit to Wichita State University. Once every month during my first three years at WSU, I made the trek to Overland Park for orthodontist appointments.

I could write on and on about what the Flint Hills mean to me. Mostly, they mean big sky. A half-hour drive to Bazaar Cattle Crossing after a hard day or on a lazy Sunday wakes me up to the spaciousness of sky and land. The hills stretch out for more miles than I can see, but they’re comforting because I can believe that, unlike anything else in my life, they will be there when I die. A Flint Hills thunderstorm is frightening and invigorating. I can watch lightning stab down from the sky, and the hills survive.

Kansas is beautiful. Many people don’t understand this. They haven’t been through the Flint Hills, trying to remember the words to a chorus.

Oh, Elton. Let’s here one more! (Sorry, Bill.)