I remember - many years ago - while in my early days of carrying a microphone and notepad, I was working a story on a farm. I was in the Midwest at the time. I was following a farmer around, gathering information and in following this man who was kind enough to let me keep up with his shadow, you go where you need to go. And - on a farm, that could be in some rather dirty places. All of this didn't matter much, as we were getting ready to leave and a meal/break was in the near future. Only, we never made it to the meal. Got a call from the office to head to the governor's mansion. The governor was available for comment on a number of subjects. While we were waiting for entrance into the inner office, we began to notice we had a lingering trace of the place we had just left. Yes, the pure essence of farmland had left its mark and was embedded into the leather of our shoes, giving our pedi-covers a new aroma all its own, cloaked with Midwest farm musk. Just as we thought about a quick trip to the restroom for a shoe-brushup, we were whisked into the inner office and we carried on. To his credit, the governor did stop only briefly, as I recognized a quick sniff, yet he carried on like nothing bothered him. I think, perhaps more than anyone, this was the Midwest. Farm country. With all the smells, tastes, earthy fragrances and the daily, ongoing challenge to feed a populace. Just part of life in a great place. After all, this was America.