These are my ramblings collected from Amtrak conversations, reflections on rural America, a fictional narrative about a Sunday in the park and a walk along Boston’s Freedom Trail. Have you ever seen Malden, Illinois? I bet you $20 you haven’t. That doesn’t mean it’s necessarily worth seeing, though. It’s not the America of movie stars and manifest destiny, but rather rural communities and silos. Two-story barns dot the barren acres. Dead trees border a murky river that isn’t even deep enough to obscure your ankles. But there are barns here, though seemingly vacant; and trees, dead as they may be; and life, though not flourishing, along the riverbed. There is a world out here, just not one we recognize. It’s slower here. More deliberate. Where the glimpse of a man hosing down his tractor is the only clue as to Malden’s prosperity — a cry out in the night that echoes “I’M STILL HERE,” but only if there’s someone around to hear it. Maybe Malden is a first-rate town of friendly neighbors and last first-kisses, cozy campfires with a one-screen cinema and a 24-hour diner that fuels blue collar workers with 5 a.m. coffee and their kids with midnight milkshakes. Maybe Malden is an America time forgot. Or maybe it’s cold and desolate and smells of cow shit and we left Malden behind for a reason. Or maybe Malden is a town of friendly neighbors that also smell like cow shit. Where there is that one-screen cinema, but it only plays “Gone With the Wind.” And if there is a diner, the fries might just be under-seasoned. Or maybe, just maybe, Malden is just… Malden, and none of this matters; but what does matter is seeing this town for yourself and making your own judgment.
