Welcome to Flyover Country, the vast and delicious expanse between the coasts. Here is where I work and travel, writing about the ordinary, knowing that it is really extraordinary. Nonstop flights from New York to Los Angeles constantly fly over us:
Silver wings and contrails paint names
Across our sky,
They fly from coast to coast.
Quick gaze at our patchwork land
Once white and black, then green and blue
Glide through, enroute.
Little glance from laptop light
To silent scenes below
They come and in a cutting shard they go.
Yet our fathers left us here
To work the space and
Pump the bounty to the coasts,
And keep the secrets of the land.
We stand, look up, wonder where they go,
Thank God they mostly do.Excerpt from Flyover Seasons
(North Star Press 2012)
Out here in flyover country, I think that the topic of climate change is perhaps more ‘ho-hum’ than it might be in other areas. We happen to live in a region where the weather fluctuates more than anywhere else on … Continue reading
Some of our plants took a trip to the farmers market on Saturday and were asked about the experience. “I have been called many things, from my formal Latin name of Monarda fistulosa, to wild bergamot, to my common name … Continue reading
New York City born and raised, he married our Flyover Country daughter. Yesterday was a fine day for him and me to hike the prairie and explore the beauty of a pristine Lake. Most folks launch their boat at the … Continue reading
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