I just finished Jim Harrison's "The Road Home," which in many ways is a love letter to Nebraska--specifically the Sand Hills. Some of my forefathers settled in Nebraska from Sweden, and their farm stayed in the family till my grandmother sold it some time in the 1990s. The story always went that my great-grandfather wanted nothing more to get off the farm, but was obliged to stay, and my grandfather wanted nothing more to get off the farm and succeeded. I could always immediately understand that impulse, and nothing nice about Nebraska ever made it into family conversation. But Harrison makes a strong case for the state, just as Willa Cather did a century before. With the Keystone Pipeline now coming through and grazing the edge of the Sandhills, perhaps Harrison's book (and "Dalva," which proceeds it) should be essential reading. Harrison himself doesn't sound
Unrelated, a poem:
The pine, shrouded in fog, alone in a quarter horse pasture
emitted a frantic transmission of binary tones
The kind old modems used to make
When they were connecting to the world over our long-distant phone line
So rapid it was static to the human ear.
Is this what Crow hears
When listening to 100 humans jabber on a street?