The human race has grown and developed in an incredible variety of ways, and no matter how much technology has succeeded in bringing us together there will always be cultural barriers that keep us apart. I was born in Iowa, and I've lived in Iowa for the past twenty years. Tomorrow I take a frightening first step into unfamiliar territory. As I look out my window at the land that has nourished and protected me for years I'm practically consumed by inner turmoil. Just how flexible is the human mind? Or, for that matter, the human body? Will I be able to sustain the drastic changes Nebraska has in store for me? I did a little research in an attempt to assuage my fears, and instead I've uncovered information that has whipped them into a frenzy. The average daily high temperature in Des Moines, Iowa in the month of July is 84°F. The average daily high temperature in Omaha, Nebraska in the month of July is 85.6°F. The difference in climate alone would be enough to discourage a lesser man, but in the pursuit of art my resolve is nigh unshakable. I wiped the sweat from my brow and delved deeper into the Wikipedia article on Nebraska. What I found next shook me to my very core. There is a little talked about area in Nebraska referred to as 'the Nebraska Panhandle'. It perches shameless on the western side of the state like a malignant tumor. This wasteland, aside from possessing an arid climate and about 5% of the state's total population, has another terrible secret. It would seem that the people of the Panhandle have no respect for the values that our forefathers fought and died for, the values that the citizens of Iowa have been upholding since Iowa was admitted to the union in 1846, 31 long years before Nebraska. The people of the Nebraska Panhandle belong to a time zone they call 'Mountain Time', and their clocks are set an hour behind Iowa's noble, God-fearing clocks. Tomorrow, as I head west across Iowa and towards a state that would dare to steal time itself, I will do my best to remain brave. I will meet this new world with the intrepid heart of the explorer.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Once, in Nebraska, the wind stopped blowing, and everybody fell down. Nyuk nyuk nyuk.
ReplyDelete