It's taken me seven months to reach the point where it would seem strange to leave. Prior to this I dreamt of going home, jumping ship, returning to my life of ease and familiarity. But this weekend I finally felt that, when I am called away from here (as will probably happen in a year's time), it will be difficult to say goodbye. I understand that this is premature, but I think it is important to note that I am at last putting down roots (or, as any respectable South Dakotan would say, ruts) in a land that I once found foreign and distasteful.
Oh, prairie people. I love you even if you are three years behind the times. I love your vast knowledge of farming equipment, livestock handling, and crop maintenance. I love that you are patient with my ignorance in these areas. I love your innocence and the fact that you have no real concept of rush hour traffic, pickpockets, airport security, or the ocean. I love that you are comfortable in your own skin and that you don't think twice when jamming out to country twang or riding your four-wheeler down the street. Mostly, though, I love that you are fiercely loyal to your family and that, once you have found the pearl of great price, you desire more than anything to share it with those you love the most.
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