the only home i've ever known
Well, the adventure has begun.
As we speak, I’m on a plane. We’re cruising from Bismarck to Minneapolis, where I’ll be transferring for the second leg to Philadelphia. And, weirdly enough - I never would have dreamed that kissing North Dakota’s ass goodbye would be as gut-wrenching as it is.
Even now, as I look out the window, there’s something strangely beautiful and fantastic about the landscape - flat earth parted by roads and trees, like some mighty patchwork quilt sewn from patches various shades of green and brown. (Occasionally, the rogue river or lake splits up the carefully measured lines, like coffee spills.) The clouds are high and wispy today, so even though we’ve reached the flight altitude, I still have an amazing view of the place where I have lived my entire life, right out the window.
This morning, I got to pilot the TARDIS one more time - for a while, anyway - as my parents and I drove from their - no, from our - home to the airport. The sunrise (which is something I rarely see, given my circadian rhythms) was majestic, painting stripes of pinkish-orange across the gray-blue sky. Being so early (6:00am or so), as we entered Bismarck, there was almost no traffic and, being Sunday, only the bare minimum and most necessary of stores were open. There was something strangely sublime about this scenario - as if the world had ended, and my parents and I were the last three people on earth, the industry of man glimmering in the rays of the early morning sun.
I’ve talked for so long, so often, about my desire to escape “The Giant Farm,” as I called North Dakota during my adolescence. And now, I am on a one way flight, with the earthy tapestry beneath me - and it’s somehow sad to know I won’t be coming back. (Well, of course I’ll be coming back at some point, be it a mere visit or a permanent return.) As the plane was ascending, I could see the spattering of wind turbines that are clustered together just north of Bismarck. They look enormous and distant from Highway 83, but from the air, they’re positively tiny... Weird though it may be, I couldn’t help but think of crosses - a monument of someone or something that has passed.
Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the thing that has passed.
But I doubt it. No matter where I find myself, North Dakota is a part of my soul. Even if it ceases to be my “home,” the things that I both love and hate about the Peace Garden State will always carry on in my heart. As long as people I love live here - there? - the well-being of North Dakota is important to me.
Judging by the increase in lakes, I’d say we’re coming into Minnesota. So let me say one more time, to the only home I’ve ever known - North Dakota. I may hate you sometimes. I may even hate you most of the time. But when it’s all said and done, I do love you in my own snarky way.
As we speak, I’m on a plane. We’re cruising from Bismarck to Minneapolis, where I’ll be transferring for the second leg to Philadelphia. And, weirdly enough - I never would have dreamed that kissing North Dakota’s ass goodbye would be as gut-wrenching as it is.
Even now, as I look out the window, there’s something strangely beautiful and fantastic about the landscape - flat earth parted by roads and trees, like some mighty patchwork quilt sewn from patches various shades of green and brown. (Occasionally, the rogue river or lake splits up the carefully measured lines, like coffee spills.) The clouds are high and wispy today, so even though we’ve reached the flight altitude, I still have an amazing view of the place where I have lived my entire life, right out the window.
This morning, I got to pilot the TARDIS one more time - for a while, anyway - as my parents and I drove from their - no, from our - home to the airport. The sunrise (which is something I rarely see, given my circadian rhythms) was majestic, painting stripes of pinkish-orange across the gray-blue sky. Being so early (6:00am or so), as we entered Bismarck, there was almost no traffic and, being Sunday, only the bare minimum and most necessary of stores were open. There was something strangely sublime about this scenario - as if the world had ended, and my parents and I were the last three people on earth, the industry of man glimmering in the rays of the early morning sun.
I’ve talked for so long, so often, about my desire to escape “The Giant Farm,” as I called North Dakota during my adolescence. And now, I am on a one way flight, with the earthy tapestry beneath me - and it’s somehow sad to know I won’t be coming back. (Well, of course I’ll be coming back at some point, be it a mere visit or a permanent return.) As the plane was ascending, I could see the spattering of wind turbines that are clustered together just north of Bismarck. They look enormous and distant from Highway 83, but from the air, they’re positively tiny... Weird though it may be, I couldn’t help but think of crosses - a monument of someone or something that has passed.
Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the thing that has passed.
But I doubt it. No matter where I find myself, North Dakota is a part of my soul. Even if it ceases to be my “home,” the things that I both love and hate about the Peace Garden State will always carry on in my heart. As long as people I love live here - there? - the well-being of North Dakota is important to me.
Judging by the increase in lakes, I’d say we’re coming into Minnesota. So let me say one more time, to the only home I’ve ever known - North Dakota. I may hate you sometimes. I may even hate you most of the time. But when it’s all said and done, I do love you in my own snarky way.