I’ve been on the road for a few days. A work assignment.

The project found me headed to DeSoto, Missouri. If you’ve never heard of it, and kind of like Fontanelle, Iowa, you probably haven’t, it’s about an hour southwest of St. Louis.

With an eight-hour drive each way, I took the liberty of making it a three-day affair, something I rarely do. I can usually drive to my destination, conduct my interviews, and get back home in two. But coming on the end of a long, hectic summer – it made for a nice break, a chance to catch my breath.

I’m usually good for a road trip. I get my cooler, music, and maps in tow, then just hit the road. What I don’t have planned I make up as I go. That’s the fun of it.

I pulled into my motel in Festus, about half an hour from story territory, mid-afternoon Friday, in time to settle in before heading out to the farm.

Friday night found me victim of southern hospitality at the Henry Meat Company. By sheer accident of timing, my visit coincided with a congressional farm tour. So I joined a bevy of politicians, Missouri Extension folks, and friends and family of the Henry’s. I immediately felt right at home. New friends Amber and Jamie Henry and the boys are great people, marvelous hosts. I can’t say as I necessarily agree with all of U.S. Congressman Jason Smith’s politics, but he’s certainly a down-to-earth, likable guy, who very obviously has genuine concern for his constituents. After many years in the news biz, I’m used to all kinds. And the rest of those gathered at the farm made me feel right at home.

The farm tour was great. The people wonderful. But the food – oh Lordy, the food…

You know you’re in the South when…

Oh, man.

First, let me say, it takes a Southerner to fully understand cooking “low and slow.” Free-range pork is one of the Henry products, and in the hands of a local smoker it was absolutely divine. So was the potato salad (home-grown baby red potatoes, of course), cucumbers, and an array of other goodies. Then there was the peach pie. Homemade. Three inches thick. Real, fresh, southern peaches. By now, I’ve died and gone to heaven.

Who needs an eight-hour drive home? I may never leave. Milini, sell the house. I’m good right here.

I spent a very pleasant Saturday morning at the DeSoto Farmer’s Market with Amber. More good folks and good conversation about the state of ag. I even left with a meat gift in hand – along with honey, black walnuts, and homemade beeswax & coconut oil hand lotion – all from local vendors.

The market entertainment was a folk-singer gem by the name of Ed Null. Check him out if you ever get a chance. His PR says he’s “What happens when you give an old goat a guitar and he decides to go all Newport Folk Festival on yo’ ass.” Loved it. Simple guitar with captivating lyrics.

By Saturday night, for some strange reason thinking I hadn’t yet had enough to eat and drink, I ventured out to a local establishment. It was an unassuming place in a strip mall not far from the motel. Taytros Bar & Bistro. The owner spent years in Louisiana learning to cook from the locals, and brought his talents back to Missouri. The place was comfortable, with the crowd at the bar lending a local bar feel. The ambiance was New Orleans, but not overdone. The background music made me quickly regret I was there too early for the live music.

I ordered a house special – the BBQ Shrimpalaya – a mix of BBQ shrimp and jambalaya with – as the waitress claimed – the “best sauce ever eaten.”

As for that waitress, Allysa, she made the night. Just one of a team of incredibly friendly folks. A sweet girl with a quick smile and the bearer of impeccable service, she even went the extra mile to steer me away from the house specialty poppy seed salad dressing because “it’s better when it’s hot out, and it’s cool and rainy.” She led me to the made-from-scratch ranch instead. A good move.

I regrettably left the digs and drifted back to the motel to spend the evening typing notes, processing photos, and repacking. Sunday morning I headed for home. On the road again.

And this (along with getting to work some days in my pajamas) is why I love my job. It makes all the midnight writing, editor demands, and wondering if there will be enough work next month to pay the bills worth it.

When I travel, it is usually off the beaten path – not the usual tourist stops. I get to eat home-cooked meals on people’s front porches and discover little holes-in-the-wall like Taytros.

I get to compare farm stuff with farmers in other parts of the country.

And I get to meet the most amazing people – and make great new friends.

Good country, good food, and good folk. Who could ask for more?