We have arrived in Clark, the namesake of this blog, and our home for the next month. Here’s my view as I write this post. 

We will cover the events of the past several days in the next blog(s). For now, I want to discuss the trip from Wyoming into Clark. 

Our trip a few days ago was the second longest day of car travel I have ever experienced, by distance. The longest was St. Louis, MO to Cheyenne, WY- 900 miles. Yesterday we traveled 710 miles. That’s a little bit longer than driving the width of France and slightly shorter than driving the length of Italy.  For those in Washington, that’s Bellingham to Spokane and back. 

We departed from A Bar A- the guest ranch Jessie worked at three summers ago and the first talking point of our relationship. We had an amazing two days there (more details later). Our visit ended with a “jingle.” Over 100 horses were lead by two wranglers- 3 more at the back- at full gallop from the pasture to the stable so that guests can ride them throughout the day. It’s quite a sight!

Before we hit the open road, we visited Cowboy (every single person refers to him by this name), one of Jessie’s good friends from her summer at the ranch. I had heard much about him but to meet him in person was a privilege. The dude has traveled to every state at least twice, lived and worked in several countries, and now- in his 90s- he works 7 days a week, either at the visitor center in town or at the Howdy (Welcome) Gate for the ranch. He was weed whacking when we arrived at the visitor’s center he works at. He’s awesome.

I’ll spare the details of eastern Wyoming. The experience of our trip quickly changed as we crossed the border into South Dakota. We entered just north of the Black Hills. The landscape is quaint and beautiful; rolling hills flank the east-to-west highway and extend southward. Ponderosa pines litter the slopes, getting denser with elevation, and recent rains have greened the grasslands reminding us of home. Our first stop in South Dakota was Sturgis, home of the big Motorcycle Rally, an event where upwards of 500,000 travel through the town of 6,900 over ten days on motorcycles to enjoy good food, music, and everything motorcycle. For us, it was a quick gas stop before the open prairie.

Feelings can range as one enters the prairie and becomes enveloped by it. I asked Jessie to describe her impression…

“When I was a kid, outer space films used to frighten me terribly. There is something unnerving about never-ending space stretching onward in every direction without end. So as the prairie landscape became flatter…flatter…flatter…. tears began streaming down my face as the feeling of panic began to set in. In a flash, I was triggered by the overwhelming sense of being lost in space. The realization sunk in that this wasn’t just a passing part of our journey, this actually was our end destination. With my hands cupped around my eyes to block the view of flat foreverness, I questioned whether or not I could come to appreciate this unfamiliar terrain.”

I have experienced the prairie several times. I’ve visited Clark twice before, once by car and once by plane. I’ve driven the length of Missouri and Nebraska in one day. And I hold sentimental value toward SD because of my family’s history. I was happy to be traveling across the prairie. When Jessie started feeling the way she did, I felt defensive. What do you mean you didn’t expect this? Then I felt responsible for what she was feeling. So we sat in quiet for a while as we processed our emotions. I wanted to try and fix her feelings toward the landscape or dispel her concerns at the least. Over time I felt like God was saying, “There’s no comfort you can provide except the comfort of your touch and the affirmation of her fear.” So, we slowly settled in.

Some noteworthy things.

One, we were feet from hitting a deer at sixty-five miles per hour. At about 10:30 pm, a deer came bounding across the road. I had to slam on the brakes and swerve onto the shoulder to avoid it. All our years in the Pacific Northwest and we finally almost hit a deer on the plains. Go figure.

Two, the last several hours of travel included the accompaniment of a constant sound like light rain. If it was rain, we might have considered it a very soothing white-noise, but the light pitter-patter was actually the constant collision of the car with several mosquitos every second. Observe our winged victims.

For those of you from this area, you’re laughing that I even call this out. For those of you in the Pacific Northwest, you just verbally expressed your disgust.

Three, Anna and Dean, the ones we’re staying with, are awesome people. We arrived just before midnight and Anna joyously welcomed us, showed us to our room, and let us sleep as long as we wanted. It was just what we needed. They have been so kind to us, and it’s a gift to be staying with them for the next month.

Four, there was a big thunderstorm the night we arrived. Despite going to sleep well after midnight and being dead tired from a long day of travel, I needed to get up at 3:45 am to watch the storm come in from the west. I have never seen anything like it. I learned something, though. I’m in a place where interest in weather has much more to do with function and livelihood than hobby or recreational curiosity. Clark, like much of the North and Intermountain-West, has had above-average rains this Spring. Now it’s hay season, and the rains keep coming. According to Dean, if the hay is to dry out and become edible for the cows, the rains must stop. What I understand is that I’m finally in a place where I can see some ridiculously powerful storms and scratch my storm-chasing itch, but I think I’m required to hope for sun. Okay, fine. I suppose livelihood is more important than recreation.

In the next few blogs, we’ll try to recap our travels and talk about Clark. Sunny and hot is the forecast until Sunday afternoon. Stay tuned.