Murders, Rocks and Grilled Cheese Sandwiches

December's adventure has taken me to none other than the lovely town of Marienthal, Kansas. Unlikely as it may seem, I understand that some people may not be familiar with this destination, so let me quote what is quite possibly the shortest entry in the history of Wikipedia:

Marienthal is an unincorporated community in Wichita County, Kansas, United States. The post office was established March 18, 1902. Its ZIP code is 67863. The town was founded in 1892 by a group of immigrant German Russians from Marienthal, Russia. Marienthal now consists of roughly 100 people, a Catholic church, a post office, an acclaimed organic flour mill, a bar and a CO-OP grain elevator

That's it. That is the entire entry. I just wish that I had read it before going because although I saw the church, drank at the bar and most likely met all 100 people, I had no idea there was an acclaimed flour mill to see (organic or otherwise). Lucky for me, Shawn who grew up in Marienthal (back when the population must have been 101) and whose family we had gone to visit knew of some other landmarks for us to enjoy. First, he took me to Holcomb, where we ignored a series of "no trespassing" signs, so that I could gawk at the Clutter house, the scene of the In Cold Blood murders. Then, he led me down a dirt road in Scott City to some really impressive rock formations known as the Monument Rocks, which his friends inexplicably insisted on calling the Pyramids. He also had the best of intentions of also showing me the country's shortest highway, but when his father pointed out that it was now only the 2nd shortest, my enthusiasm was considerably dampened.

Along with all the sightseeing, I got to meet many of his friends and relatives, who revelled in telling me of his many youthful exploits. They, in return, got to meet what I assume is the first Cuban, tree-hugging, liberal vegetarian to ever come through town. I got this impression when, on our first night we went to dinner with his father, Jim and a group of his friends. The gentleman sitting next to me was insistent that I order the "Cattleman's steak sandwich". Not wanting to drop what I suspected would be a bombshell, I politely told him I was looking for something a bit lighter. He kept pushing the damned steak sandwich, so finally I told him that I was a vegetarian. His response? "Don't worry about that, Jim is paying." Apparently, in beef country a vegetarian is either a tightwad or a poor person, I'm not sure which. The only veggie-friendly item on the menu was a grilled cheese sandwich, which I ordered that night. And again at another restaurant the next day. And also the following evening at yet another restaurant (although this one was a quesadilla, which is just a cheese sandwich with different bread). Fortunately, his friend's girlfriend took pity on me the third day and took me to a health food store in the larger town of Garden City, where I was able to snatch up a box of frozen veggie burgers and another of soy chicken. Had I also known then what I know now, I bet I could have also gotten a heck of a deal on some organic flour.