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You can take the girl out of Nebraska
by Geraldine Kilgore
I have been gone from Nebraska for many, many years, and one would think I would get it out of my system. But I haven't.
When I first moved away, back in 1953, I missed the wind. Yes, you heard me right! We moved to Memphis, Tenn. where the wind seldom blows. You may get a little breeze now and then, but not that vigorous Nebraska wind. I would hang sheets on the line and if I did not shake out every wrinkle after they were on the line, they dried wrinkled and unsightly.
I missed the bright blue Nebraska sky and the millions of stars at night. I missed the song of the meadowlark and the scent of the wild rose, not to mention the goldenrod, the daisies and the wild sweet peas.
I missed the miles and miles of open land and the hay meadows with their haystacks, standing like guardians, out there on the prairie.
I missed the friendly people, so sociable and neighborly.
On one of our first trips back home, our children, too young to remember Nebraska, were watching the countryside roll by. We passed a field in which a farmer, on his tractor, was nearing the end of the field and he lifted his arm in a big friendly wave, as we drove by. The children waved back and then asked "Who was that?" We told them we did not know the man. "But he waved at us!" they exclaimed. Thus, their first lesson in friendly Nebraska people.
I missed the cattle bawling in the corral when Dad brought them in from the big north pasture, in the fall of the year. The calves were separated from the cows and the bawling went on day and night. I missed that sound for years.
I missed the Northern Lights and the rainbows, with colors so bright and sharp they could have been painted out there in the heavens.
As a youngster I would rather be fishing than anything else in the world. My Dad made me a fishing pole out of a little tree branch and string. With a sinker and a hook I was ready for the creek bank. Of course, I had to dig worms first. Minor detail! My Dad told me many years later, that when spring came, one of the things he missed most after I moved away was seeing me with that fishing pole headed for the creek that was close to our farm buildings.
I often think of all the experiences my brother, sister and I had as farm children. We each had our own chores and knew that it was our responsibility to see that they were done. We messed up now and then but we never made the same mistake but once! We were taught responsibility and accountability at a very young age. It has served us well.
I have lived in some very nice and lovely areas, each with their own claim to fame, you might say. But none will ever take the place of Nebraska.
You just don't get over Nebraska!
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