For the Love of Small Towns

You know you're in a small town when you can't go to the post office at noon because she's out for lunch. You see, although Rapid City is a bustling and growing city (70,000 people, 100,000 in the "metropolitan" area), we don't live there.  We live in the suburbs, sort of.  We live in Black Hawk, population 2,500.  Actually, I think we live in the suburbs of Black Hawk.  I don't even know.  There's not a comparison I can make like, Maple Grove is to Minneapolis as Black Hawk is to Rapid City - the boundaries are less defined and certainly less important around here.  It seems like everyone is just happy to be from the hills, whether or not you're even FROM here.  If you're here, you're one of us.  If you're not, you should be, and we like you anyway.

I always wanted to live in a small town, but in the country, but with a bigger city that has community and good Asian food.  This combination didn't seem likely, but as it turns out, I got just what I wanted.

Small towns consistently make great storytellers.  While not a great storyteller, I'm able to identify one from a mile away.  Janna's fiancé, Dan, is from a small town in Wisconsin (life is easier with another Sconnie in the house).  His storytelling has excellent delivery, great attention to detail, and amazing Sconnie dialect to boot.  Here is one of his stories, paraphrased and reproduced without permission.

Well, my grampa had diabetes and when he was 80, the doctor wanted to take off one of his legs.  He said, "The hell yer taking my leg!  Goddamn doctor..." and he wouldn't let the doctor take his leg.  So some years later I took grampa out huntin'.  I think he was 94 or something.  I pulled him in on a toboggan to his spot, ya see because the snow was up to here.  We got him all set up and then I went to my deer stand a ways away.  Awhile later, I hear 'boom, boom, boom,' and thought, "Geez grampa's, losin' his touch."  Ya see, Grampa never had to shoot more than once to get a deer.  So I waited a bit, got down and headed over to his spot, but when I got there, he was gone.  But I could follow his steps in the snow, ya see, and it led me to Grampa kneeling down, guttin' a deer.  I said, "Grampa, I heard you shoot THREE times.  Finally got it, eh?"  "Yup, " he said, "and there are two more over there so get busy."    

This is how I've always imagined my life; good stories, comfy nap spots for all, and a warm fire.  All taking place in a small town, sort of.

Things to do at Rockin' J Ranch

Instead of telling people I live with my in-laws, I'm going to tell them I live on the Rockin' J Ranch.  It's true, and it sounds super cool.

This week will feature what there is to do at the Ranch.  Here are your guides:

Tugs (novice ranch hand)

Katie (master chicken killer)

Mia (deer chaser, extraordinaire)

Hank, who is still pouting over the arrival of other dogs, is currently keeping his distance from the camera.

Play hide and seek with new friends to keep your senses sharp.  

Chase as much stuff as you can.  The deer are aplenty but Tugs will do for practice.  

Check on the horses.  Don't chase the horses.  

Although it must be tasty, eating too much horse poop will get you in trouble.

 Run whenever you feel like running.  Take care when running through fences.  

Enjoy the sunshine.  Be joyful, always. 

Depressing post with a hopeful ending

When I signed up to move to a new state, I was hoping for an adventure but was skeptical.  When moving into your mother-in-law's basement, how crazy can it really get?  I should have known better.

Adventure:  noun.  An unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity  

Hazardous?  Until last week, "adventure" just meant something fun.  Probably should have Googled it earlier.  Here is how this particular adventure went.

Friday - day before moving
- find out Rosa is sick, nothing we can do until we get to South Dakota
- on the phone with Matt:
"Matt, so I went to check our UHaul reservation before I picked up the truck today and guess what?  YOU SCHEDULED IT FOR TOMORROW!'"  (crying ensues)
"Oh, whoops.  Sorry honey."
"I can't do this alone anymore!  I need you here!" (more crying)
"Ok, I'll call them.  It will be ok."
"ARE YOU SURE?!" (more crying)
"Yes."
(it was ok)

Saturday - moving day
- lots of rain, pack a chicken coop into a UHaul & chickens into the car, leave our first home.  (no crying)
- more rain
- detour
- snow/blizzard
- headache/runny nose
- 8 hours of driving = half way (total distance should = 9 hours)
- take 2 dogs, 1 cat, 3 chickens to friend's house to spend the night

Sunday - 2nd moving day
- blowing snow
- fishtail and spin off road ('whippin shitties' as we call it Up North) into ditch against the guard cables
- crying
- more crying
- conversation with Matt who has to turn the UHaul around to get his wife out of the ditch:
"I don't want to move here any more!  I hate this State!" (sobs)
"Oh honey."
- reevaluation of previous statement after stranger runs through the snow to help push us out
- State doesn't seem so bad
- Matt insists I drive the UHaul.  It's loud, wobbly, and big.
- 2 hours worth of crying
- blowing snow continues (still evaluating the State)
- sky turns blue, air becomes warm
- arrival at new home
- chicken coop unloaded with love by smiling family
- State seems a little nicer

Monday
- Rosa passes away
- lots of crying
- State definitely has it in for me

 Fast forward to Thursday (Tuesday and Wednesday were boring and contained a fair amount of crying).

Thursday
- wake up with the house for smoothies and coffee
- feed horses alone during sunrise
- walk with mother-in-law and doggies
- no crying
- person and State accepting one another






It's been said that what is important is the journey and not the destination.  I call shenanigans!  While the journey here kept getting worse and worse, the destination is getting better and better.  And that is where we find the hope, as promised.