It probably shouldn't have struck me as odd that a people whose only contact with the America of little brown churches is some faintly remembered trip to a grandmother's
farm or an
occasional dose of television's «Little
House on the Prairie» should mourn the passing of an age and lifestyle now deemed better than this one.
When I was a teenager, you wouldn't find much out there other than turkey
farms, Christmas tree nurseries,
houses set far into their fields, and the
occasional business that surprised the side of the road with a few muddy parking spots.