The Cornhusker State

PhotoGrrl Pictures

“Nebraska.” Peabody waived a hand, vaguely west…. “They still grow them pretty guileless in Nebraska. I think it’s all that soy and corn.”
― J.D. Robb, Witness in Death

Driving west along I-80 I watched weather rolling across the sky. Dark clouds would appear and roll steadily south. The promise of sunlight to the north diminished a few squalls of rain.  At sunset that bright, orange, ball of light would slip down past the farms in the distance, holding on to the edge of the world until the last possible second. In the morning, it would light up the land, bringing stark contrast to the fluffy white clouds and the bluest of skies.

I’m blessed to live in a town nestled within the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. It’s beautiful here, and in my mind nothing compares to the site of Mount Rainer rising up on the rare, sunny, Northwestern morning. However, mountains aren’t the only beauty to see in this country, and what we make up for with mountains, trees, and tangible topography, is weakened by a lack of horizon (unless of course if you’re at the ocean).

PhotoGrrl Pictures

For all that we are an industrialized nation, so much acreage of this large country is dedicated to abundance. Grain silos explode into the skyline in each small town found along the train tracks and highways that crisscross the state of Nebraska. Rolling green crops, and brown earth teeter off as far as the eye can see. Farm co-ops, equipment repairs and sales, and grain and feed stores dominate retail.

PhotoGrrl Pictures

PhotoGrrl Pictures


I Call Him Todd

May Seventh, Two Thousand and Fourteen

May 201407

There is a graffiti artist who tagged several utility boxes, as well as fields, and, most daring, the middle of a road riddled with switchbacks.  I’ve been enjoying watching the cartoonish faces pop up unexpectedly, bringing a bit of joy to an otherwise routine, daily drive.  I especially like the juxtaposition of an urban art style, existing in tranquil fields and farmland.

This particular installment lives at the top of the rise, just as you turn on Lake Moneysmith Road.  I call him Todd, The Wormy Guy.

Seven of Three Hundred and Sixty-Five