Tuscola, Il.
is a goodforgiven town I visited some years ago. I stayed at a windy motel,
met the Sheriff, sat by the road and made this aquarell.
This once was a fertile, grassy praire, I was told, where indians dwelled.
Mr Mayer lives over there. Or did in 1986. Besides being a farmer
he was keen on collecting old cars.
Spoke of the corn, the market, and the weather.
The land he looked out over was owned by a lady living in Germany.
Eventually I filled the car, went north, approaching Chicago.
I will probably never se Tuscola again.
