North Dakota Sky

I’ve been a poor blogger these past few months, so bad I’m not even sure anyone will read this post. Hopefully I still have some readers out there. Since my last post I’ve seen effigy mounds in Ohio, enjoyed fried pickles in North Carolina, met my new niece in Chicago, and heard the tasty squeak of cheese curds in Wisconsin, among other things. Now I’m amid the open spaces and flooded fields of eastern North Dakota. Driving east from Missoula in January we crossed the Red River at Fargo and I remember looking down and marveling at its frozen state. Frozen rivers are not something I am used to seeing. As we crossed it on Sunday I again marveled at the river, only I didn’t have to gaze down to see it, just out. Three months later its muddy, swollen waters rush just a few feet from the bridge, still about 20 feet above its usual level.

As we merged onto I-29 and drove north from Fargo, it was easy to think North Dakota was a coastal state. On all sides floodwaters submerged the fields making the slightly raised roadways look like floating bridges. Some sections of the southbound lanes still had water on the roadway, but our side was dry. We took the exit for Argusville to find my home for the week, a temporarily waterfront small town with a bar, a few houses, and piles of leftover clay and sandbags. My homestay family is kind but quiet, the freight trains shake the house as they rumble by, and the sun shines cheerfully during the day.

The school we’re working at this week is a consolidated school serving a number of surrounding towns. It’s about a 20 minute drive to the school and another 15 beyond to Arthur, where J.D. is staying this week, making for a long commute, but the shorter route is closed due to flood damage. The roads are straighter than a razor and seem unending, making 55 mph feel like driving on a treadmill. Along the horizon, the red blinks of radio and TV towers add a bit of sparkle to the sunsets every night. Far on the horizon to the north is the KVLY tower, the tallest man made structure in the world, at least for a bit longer until it is surpassed by the Burj al Dubai.

The world here is simultaneously dreadful and spectacular. It’s empty, still, flat, worn, and drab. Excitement isn’t abundant, nor are people. But the sky. O the sky! It begins at the horizon and stretches above you, behind you, ahead of you, beside you and reaches and reaches and reaches and reaches, continuing on forever. Land is an afterthought here, a mere base for the titanic celestial canopy spreading above. During the day it dances with clouds, at dusk it glows with the sun, and at night it grows heavy with inky-black sleep. A furrowed field, a row of trees, a lonely highway--they all become beautiful works of minimalist art painted on a canvas of sky. The sandbags may be keeping back the river here, but looking across the rippling flood water it’s hard to imagine anyone trying to keep the sky back. Not that anyone could.