Home

As we cruised across South Dakota, I felt my heart lighten as I gazed across the wide open spaces with nary a house in sight. It is home. The place where I lived as a child. The place that makes my heart sing. As the rolling hills welcomed me after crossing the Missouri River again I breathed in the scent of the prairie and relaxed. The tall prairie grasses were blowing in the wind like a freshly laundered sheet flapping in the wind. The undulation reminded me of Willa Cather's writing in O Pioneers. For as far as I could see, my eyes drank in the view of home, and slowly the Black Hills emerged in the horizon.

The enchanting prairie sky was filled with fluffy clouds that call my imagination to life as I study the shapes until they began to transform themselves into dark, rolling, grumbling clouds.

As I eased my load into the driveway, relief flooded me, as I has successfully traveled 1800 miles with a trailer and never had to back it up. However, with an ever watchful eye on the grumbling sky, dad wanted me to park my vehicle under shelter...but there wasn't enough room for the trailer, so he wanted that backed into a barn. I willingly offered to let him tackle the project...but ignoring my request, he instructed me to pull ahead and turn around. My stomach panicked because I knew then that my father was not going to let me off the hook. Of course he stood nearby and guided me through the process. Of course, with that mentorship I successfully maneuvered the trailer into the barn. Though the irony that I planned ahead for days, so I could avoid backing up, and then I arrive home where my trailer would rest, and then dad made me back up...was not missed. Fathers foster independence no matter how reluctantly the lesson is embraced.

“Anyone can love the mountains but it takes soul to love the prairie.”



I love the personality of the vast prairie sky. My soul loves the prairie. It feeds my spirit.

Though my prairie reverie is often interrupted by the roar of dirt bikes and boys.