Our camp-in site at Lac qui Parle State Park
Having grown up in the less-lovable but more farmable plains of southern Minnesota, openness and waving grasses and a clear idea of where I’m going for the next five miles all make me feel most at home. So, my secret confession: the prairie parks of western and southern Minnesota are the most beautiful.
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Photo and story referenced by Mike Belleme, published in The Collective Quarterly, Issue 4.
I've shot guns, and dead animals were a part of my childhood, but I can't imagine scraping the brains from a deer hit by a Ford pickup as my sustenance. And I guess that bothers me, too: that lack of imagination, or rather, my own weakness.
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Our morning view in the driftless
While I'm quite good at names of people - the ones I know, not famous ones - I'm so bad at the names of other things: plants, flowers, birds, streets, clouds. Which is fine. For our mini-moon, we escaped to the driftless region of southeast Wisconsin. For a long weekend, we were surrounded by a field of yellow.
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At 8:30 am, J and I arrived at the Lenora United Methodist Church. I had texted my friend that morning to see if there was an actual address, and she confirmed that "no, you'll just get there and see a sign and it'll be small enough to figure out." Sure enough, we saw the sign when we coasted into the township of Lenora. The stone church was nestled in a lush little grove and dewy lawn clouded with mosquitoes.
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