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)
My dad loved windmills. He was born in the early 1900s and was around during the heyday of windmill use here in Minnesota. Windmills were used primarily for pumping water for livestock on area farms. I still remember windmills or … Continue reading
Returning home from a trip to another part of the state, I set my GPS for home. As I began the return trip I noticed that my faithful canine companion (our chocolate Labrador retriever) began to react to our route. … Continue reading
Thanksgiving here in flyover country can include a wide range of activities. I have seen the rare Thanksgiving when we have actually barbecued on the deck in short sleeves. This Thanksgiving was not one of those. Our high temperature was … Continue reading
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