loveCuriously, each time I've crossed the state line back into Minnesota, after a few months of being away, I experience the same sensation. There's a part of me that relaxes, like a breath that I didn't know I was holding, and unbidden, the thought comes in, "I can die here."
Not that I'm so very focused on death. But this is my home. Seeing the things of home, it's a safe place to die, if that makes sense. There are trees all over the place, in surprising variety. The land is so green and full, because prairie soil "could grow grass on a cross-cut saw." The water is everywhere - there are lakes, and streams, and random little ponds where the ducks and geese hang out.
Crossing South Dakota, you come to Chamberlain, which is just about the halfway point, and sitting on either side of the Missouri River. Dad and I hit this area about suppertime, so we went off a bit to track down something munchable. As we were driving over the causeway, I was watching the waves move, and almost teared up then and there. This is the first time in months that I've seen that sign of the water breathing [1], and it says "home" to me. There's a peace born from the water, from watching it, then listening to it after the sun falls and you can't see it anymore. There's a joy and a reassurance deep inside you, when you immerse yourself and take the long strokes to remember the water. There's a fierce exhilaration of life, in the instants between you leaving earth and hitting the water, as the rising mist brushes past your skin in whispered promise of what is to come.
I have something of a love affair going on with the water. I love the woods - absolutely love them. Have to spend time in the woods to be whole and happy, I think. But, very likely as a byproduct of where I grew up, the woods don't seem complete unless they somewhere touch the river, or the lake.
If I had to make residence somewhere out of state, I could live in this little town [2] in the middle of South Dakota - as long as I could come to the water sometimes.
[1] I know, I know, it's just how I think of it. I was a kid before I was a scientist.
[2] I actually don't know if Chamberlain has a hospital where I could really be of use. One of the advantages to Mayo is that it's like working on the Death Star - it's so huge, there's got to be somewhere that they'll need you.
Not that I'm so very focused on death. But this is my home. Seeing the things of home, it's a safe place to die, if that makes sense. There are trees all over the place, in surprising variety. The land is so green and full, because prairie soil "could grow grass on a cross-cut saw." The water is everywhere - there are lakes, and streams, and random little ponds where the ducks and geese hang out.
Crossing South Dakota, you come to Chamberlain, which is just about the halfway point, and sitting on either side of the Missouri River. Dad and I hit this area about suppertime, so we went off a bit to track down something munchable. As we were driving over the causeway, I was watching the waves move, and almost teared up then and there. This is the first time in months that I've seen that sign of the water breathing [1], and it says "home" to me. There's a peace born from the water, from watching it, then listening to it after the sun falls and you can't see it anymore. There's a joy and a reassurance deep inside you, when you immerse yourself and take the long strokes to remember the water. There's a fierce exhilaration of life, in the instants between you leaving earth and hitting the water, as the rising mist brushes past your skin in whispered promise of what is to come.
I have something of a love affair going on with the water. I love the woods - absolutely love them. Have to spend time in the woods to be whole and happy, I think. But, very likely as a byproduct of where I grew up, the woods don't seem complete unless they somewhere touch the river, or the lake.
If I had to make residence somewhere out of state, I could live in this little town [2] in the middle of South Dakota - as long as I could come to the water sometimes.
[1] I know, I know, it's just how I think of it. I was a kid before I was a scientist.
[2] I actually don't know if Chamberlain has a hospital where I could really be of use. One of the advantages to Mayo is that it's like working on the Death Star - it's so huge, there's got to be somewhere that they'll need you.
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