Fuel Crisis

My pulse quickened as I glanced at the indicator on my gas gauge, sitting in the red just above the big E. I had overshot the greenhouse I'd been looking for, and now, I realized, I needed to find a gas station. Soon. It wasn't like I was in danger; it was full daylight on a well traveled stretch of highway in north central Arkansas, in about as friendly of a place as you would ever find. Still, who wants the inconvenience and embarrassment of running out of gas? Before you start recalling blonde jokes, let me mention that the last time I ran out was about 1987.

I estimated that the town ahead of me was closer than the one I'd left behind, so I pressed on, praying that my fumes would carry me to Gassville. With a name like that, I figured they ought to have plenty of gas stations.

It wasn't long until I saw one. I rolled in on fumes, put more gas in my car than I thought it could hold, and got directions to the greenhouse.

On the way back, I stopped to take pictures of a dilapidated barn by the side of the highway. It shared the shade of the nearby oak trees with the cows that grazed nearby. Apparently, this old structure ran out of gas quite a while back.

Linking with Rurality Blog Hop.

Thanks to Kim Klassen for her texture, Pourvous.