I'll Race You Home.

I've just returned. Windblown and happy as a lark, I sat down to a lovely late lunch in my breakfast nook after a 3-day excursion to Kansas City. Quality time with 4 of my best friends in the world was topped only by two and a half hours of the most glorious musical experiences of my life - Ray Lamontagne and the Pariah Dogs live at the Starlight, under a clear sky and perfect evening air.

I'm windblown because the 3-hour drive down highway 13 absolutely demanded windows down, music up, and hand out the window. June in Missouri is tough to top - until autumn, at least. The cornfields aren't even knee high, and most fields haven't had the hay baled yet. Tall, rich green trees stand clumped and chaotic or proudly lonesome on the hills. It's the type of countryside that makes you want to walk barefoot, get your hands dirty. I didn't have to think twice when I saw a sign for Gordon's Orchard, just south of Osceola, with a giant hand-painted BLUEBERRIES. Absolutely.

My only regret was that I didn't have more cash with me. Along with fresh produce, the roadside stand was selling the entire collection of a retiring local artist - a man in his 90's who has been creating decorative pots and Indian dance rattles for years. With ten dollars and thirty-two cents and no checkbook, I sorted through the giant bins of simple but beautiful craftsmanship and walked away $10.30 poorer, with a pint of ripe blueberries and my second-favorite decorative gourd.

It's always pleasant to roll back into Springfield (aside from the ever-detoured and slow-moving strech of Kansas "Express"way from I-44 to Republic Rd.) I take pride in my home, and as much as I love being out in the world, the Ozarks are always going to be the true center of mine.

THAT BEING SAID - I had an interesting experience yesterday. I'll preface by saying that last night, Lauren and Lindsey and I watched Crash, the first time for all of us. If you haven't seen it, I suggest it. If you have, you know it's about race. Overwhelmingly so. The characters represent it all - prejudice against blacks, Mexicans, Iranians, Chinese - I could go on. It's not an easy movie to stomach. Especially not after the reality check I had at Best Buy a few hours before watching the movie.

I was wandering through the CDs when someone started speaking to me. I turned around to see a well-dressed young black man, a store employee, my age or thereabouts. We chatted a bit, friendly and borderline flirtatious. Soon Lauren joined in our conversation, and I said something that gave away that I wasn't from the area. Best Buy guy asked where I was from. "Springfield," I said, "you know - the Deep South." He politely chuckled, and casually commented something to the effect of "Well my kind isn't welcome down there." Somehow by the grace of the moment, his comment (unaffected in any way by a change of tone) didn't register with me or with Lauren. Soon he was called away by another employee, and we parted on polite and congenial terms.

But WHAT?!! Wait - what did he just say?? "My kind aren't welcome down there?" It's true - Springfield isn't traditionally known for diversity. With over 90% of the population self-identifying as white and less than 4% black, the following minority populations Hispanic/Latino (2.3%) and Asian (1.3%) Springfield is nearly monochrome. The lack of African Americans is generally attributed to a mass exodus of blacks in 1906 following the mob lynching of three black men. The men were prisoners at the jail, two accused of sexual assault and one of murder, though evidence suggests all three were innocent. The lynching was done in the city center on the square, and they were burned after.

Flash forward a century later, and there I am. Getting hit on in Best Buy. And simultaneously being associated with the white people of the past whose hatred transformed Springfield into a city whose Gen-X and Gen-Y children are growing up with no, or at least less, prejudice against a race that we don't even hardly come into contact with. I had one black friend growing up, literally. And she was even the product of a mixed-race marriage.

You can call it all what you want, but at the end of the day, this country isn't going to be healed until forgiveness prevails. And at this rate, it's going to be a long, long road.