660 Miles of Meat

road

Imagine yourself standing on I-57 at the exact point where it intersects with Rt. 13. You are facing south. Right behind you stand your Mother and Father, behind them stand their parents, and so on, and on for 660 miles. To Chicago and back again to the spot in which you stand.

That line of people made every conceivable effort to get YOU where you are right now. The women died in child birth, the men killed each other. RINSE and REPEAT. People prayed for a cure to the Plague, Measles, Chickenpox, and Smallpox. They didn’t get it, you did. They cried and they died, bad things and cold winds, and deserts conspired to kill them.

Many miles of your line would not recognize most of the food we buy and take for granted, or toilet paper or running water, radio, a juice box, a life expectancy over 35.

Some of the 660 Miles of Meat is both yours and mine. Some of mine killed some of yours. They probably deserved it. We are some mean mothers when we’re mishandled.

660 Miles of Meat and Muscle that we are now responsible for, running from here to Chicago; that is quite a sight. They wanted to be happy, safe, warm, and in so doing, made babies, and the miles of meat grew.

But now we find standing in front of us are our daughters and sons, facing south. Will they make it to Memphis? It’s a mere 220 miles.

Don’t you have a sense of expectation at the thought?

No Pressure.