In these parts there are many small towns or villages really, defined by a small grid of streets, some as small as maybe 10 streets with a population of around 20. Whatever the size most have a railroad running through it beside which looms a massive grain processing plant.
The rest of the town consists of houses spread wide and the main street will have series of run down buildings, some closed down, many dilapidated, a small supermarket, a few other shops maybe. There will, however, be at least one church, in immaculate condition, set in well tended grounds, green lawn and flowered garden.
The number of rail lines is surprising and the fact they are still in use. Some are defunct and many removed but what remain criss cross the region connecting the towns but for freight only. The clue of course is in the grain plants the dominant architecture and centre of commerce. The towns grew from the railroad bringing people to the region to settle and farm and developed further still to take the produce away. The grain plants to me are like the cathedrals of the land, the symbols of commerce in this region.
My accommodation is the old railway depot next to this huge and active plant. One week the truck traffic increased dramatically, dust flying as they rolled in delivering their produce; I think wheat as it was harvest time for that. One day, on my return to the depot, a line of wagons appeared alongside the plant. They gradually disappeared down the line as each was filled. Then I only saw a few remaining, and thought the remainder had been hauled away when I was absent until one morning I was surprised to see a seemingly endless wagon load trundling away. I hadn’t realised they had all been backed down the line, hidden from sight by the plant.
