A wooded hill on our left, a glistening Mississippi River on our right, and the road stretches out before us.
I am in the car with Alicia, a friend from way back, come to visit her in Minnesota. We’re in Wisconsin at the moment, though, and on our way to the family cabin where her mother lives on 200 acres of woods and apples and crops of soybeans.
The day of our trip south, US President Obama is at the Target Center to talk about his plan for health care reform. It’s a big issue in the States right now and NPR radio broadcasts the speech.
Sleepy towns drift by as Obama tells the crowd about Americans who have trouble with health care coverage –coverage that is cancelled, too expensive, or simply not enough to keep up with medical need.
We’re headed up a gravel road, now, named after Alicia’s family and the grandfather who bought this property to get away from his life in the city. I can see why he did: the land is a sunlit picture, beautiful and silent. Our car finally stops, as does the radio.
Built with full electricity and plumbing, the cabin is the one modern thing in the wild. It has settled in amongst the trees, looking across at green mountains, and stops at the edge of an embankment that continues on down to be swallowed up by animal noises.
Alicia’s husband and her mother come out to greet us. Hand shakes and smiles all round, and I get the tour of the place. Later, there’s drinking beers, grilling burgers and chatting around the fire pit. We hear the occasional chestnut clatter and skip through the trees to remind us that we’re outside and tell Willie the dog that, no, the nachos aren’t for her.
We stay there until the fire is no longer warm enough, then play cards inside until it’s time to go to bed. This first full day away from home has helped me along to full relaxation.
Next morning, the health care issue reappears on TV. Four suits argue about government costs and who’s doing what to whom and, during commercial breaks, attack ads take up the fight. President Obama’s health care plan will raise taxes and explode the deficit, says a silky smooth voice.
We turn off the television and head outside for a Sunday meal. Scrambled eggs, bacon and toast crowd our plates and conversation comes around to squirrels and their need to raid the deck. They keep getting at the bird feeders, which is very troublesome and leads to much discussion about just how to foil the buggers.
After breakfast, we head out on a rambling tour of the property. Alicia and I jump into a golf cart; Sean and Willie the dog, tail beating at miles per second, leap onto a six-wheel ATV and gun the engine. I can see why the dog is excited.
The crops of soybeans are impressive. I never thought they could be but there they are, growing, existing, doing nothing special, but looking impressive nonetheless. They stretch on to the end of my eyesight, yellow as the sun in the full light of day. We bump along the uneven track, circle home and head into town.
Stockholm, Wisconsin (population 97) is a quiet artists’ community. Among other small businesses, it has a café and a little pub, a small insurance company and two art galleries, one of which houses the post office.
I notice the slow pace to everything here. Alicia’s mum chats idly with store owners about the weather, upcoming social events and, because this is the US, church. The weekenders sail along Lake Peppin, really just a wider stretch of the Mississippi, in the warm September weather. There isn’t much more to do, nor would anyone want there to be.
This impression of small town American life is not a façade; the people are far more relaxed that their urban counterparts. They do have their concerns, however, which struck me while I wandered through Stockholm’s pottery store. The woman behind the counter, having discovered that I’m Canadian, asks me a question.
“You wanna trade health care systems?"
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