brian boyer

One of my pics from my travels in Michigan is on Slashfood today! Neat!

The plums are from Bargy’s Farm Market in Kewadin, Michigan.

The bowl was made by a good friend and excellent potter, Emily Murphy.

Click the pic for more food porn.

Thanks Marisa!

Interstate highways are perfectly American because they require of the traveler that quality which permeates almost everything American: delayed gratification. Are we there yet? That’s always the question. Here is not important, only there. Suffer now, and you will be rewarded. Never mind the journey. It’s just a distraction on the route to sturdy investments, a happy retirement, and eternal grace.

Traveling on the freeway, you subject yourself to fast food, breakneck speeds, and endless delays. (How absurd is it to be trapped, with hundreds of other cars, in the middle of a vast grassland, all drivers completely impotent to changing their standing?) Instead of seeing the lands, you pass between them, weaving about in a skinny paved limbo, routed to avoid pesky delays like towns, drive in theaters, and other places where people set down.

Avoid the interstate, and you live in the immediate, the here and now. Instead of weaving, you plunge into the hearts of villages, towns, and cities. You can pass through, stop for lunch, or crash for the evening, but no matter how you do it, you in some way experience the place. Do so in a Jeep (or a motorcycle, if that’s your persuasion), and you get the added pleasure of experiencing the air (and insects) through which you are traveling, and become acutely aware of the physical act of traveling.

In my travels through Michigan, Indiana, and Ohio this July, I went to diners, garage and estate sales, and farm stands. I saw a hundred post offices. More importantly, I met diner owners, estate sale attendees, and farmers. I talked to post officers.

You may see people on the interstate. You might even stop long enough to purchase from them a cardboard-wrapped sandwich, but you won’t be meeting those people. You’ll never discuss the growing season or the relative virtues of their garaged trappings. Instead, you’ll talk at them, the unfortunate and homogeneously wrapped fast food salespeople, the forcedly polite gas station attendant, in order to refuel your gut or motor vehicle.

Fuck that.

I want locality back. I demand personality! I will risk disappointment in the quest for excellence!! I will no longer accept mediocrity in exchange for the soothing balm of consistency and brand experience.

I will, from this day forward, take the back highways, state routes, and river roads. I will not rush. I will take my time and enjoy the journey, not just the hallowed destination.

more pics