Whenever I’m asked the question, “Where are you from?” I mutter a quick “Midwest…” and pray the conversation moves on without me. It’s not a lie, exactly, but the whole truth is far worse to admit. I am from the middest west of all: South Dakota. The state’s so empty that half the population could vanish into mist and our governor wouldn’t notice until the next election. Being the optimist I am, I try to find the bright side of any situation, but even I can’t put a positive spin on winter break in my hometown. 

My journey started at the airport. As far as I know, there are only two airports in the entirety of South Dakota, so if you’re from the village of Nowhere, just left of Completely Lost, then enjoy your five-hour drive back from the airport! Luckily for me, I’m from the tiny village of Almost Nowhere, so when my mom came by to pick me up in our horse-drawn wagon, it only took half an hour. My mother told me that the fields were barren and the cows were sickly, which meant we were out of milk and mom needed to stop at the grocery store. 

When we arrived at home, my father presented me with a deer pelt, just in case the winter coat we’d purchased from Walmart last harvest wasn’t warm enough. My family was so overjoyed to see my return that we broke out the salted butter (freshly churned) and each had a spoonful. 

Within days of my arrival, the entirety of the state was swept into a great winter storm, which shorted our Wi-Fi and prevented our wagons from getting out of the driveway. To pass the time, my brother and I rolled a hoop around the lawn and swatted it with sticks. 

After a month of failing to find interesting things to do, my family trundled me off to the airport and back to Walla Walla, the biggest city I’ve ever been to.