70 Nebraskaland • March 2022
THE LAST STOP
By Jenny Nguyen-Wheatley
FREEDOM OF THE ROAD
I took this photo in April 2013, on a county road somewhere
in northeastern Nebraska. The caption says "Weeder Ranch
strange mailbox" — not much to go on nine years later. I can't
recall where I was that day or whe re I was headed. Probably
nowhere in particular. The land was thawing. I was thawing.
I just survived the longest winter of my life, and it was time
to get out and become familiar with my new home.
When editor Jeff Kurrus offered me a position with
Nebraskaland, he told me to stick it out for a couple years. If
Nebraska didn't fit, I could just pick up and go back home. No
big deal. I was 23 years old, toting a shiny English degree from
UCLA — and not much else. Lots of people, including myself,
had doubts.
In my little rented apartment in Norfolk, I was lost at sea,
but on the road, I felt the least alone. Every road I traveled,
every person I spoke to, every strange, new thing I saw that
made me pick up my camera — my feverish need to see the
state was a way to give myself anchor, to give myself a sense
of place. I wanted to know Nebraska, because only then could
I make it home. That first year, I put 57,573 miles on my work
vehicle, lots of it on gravel roads like this one.
Today, I am 32. I've changed. The job has changed.
Becoming a new mom last year has rocked my world again.
But I've put down roots. This photo is a reminder of a specific
time in my life — a moment so fraught with uncertainty, yet
so much freedom and possibility.
