34 NEBRASKAland • JUNE 2015
Last light of a crisp autumn day makes the Sandhills appear like rolling waves of grass
in a prairie sea.
I
remember waiting on the edge of my seat, peering
through the windshield as the landscape began to change
to familiar territory, scanning the distant horizon for the
"Nebraska - The Good Life" sign. Once my eyes locked on
they would not waiver, and somehow Dad would always
time it just right and honk the horn exactly at the moment
we would speed by it with a sudden rush of wind. With us
safely back in the Cornhusker State, I would breathe a sigh
of relief. We had made it. We were home.
I still feel that way about Nebraska today. As a father, I
am pleased to have passed the tradition onto our kids. And
to be honest, even when I am traveling alone I still honk
the horn.
As a photographer I travel a lot. I have been lucky
enough to spend time in many places and with many
people across the Great Plains and beyond. But there is
always just a little more skip in my step when I cross back
into the state where I was born and raised. Nebraska never
is far from my mind.
Most of us have our own habitat of the heart: a place
where we have set our roots deep, whether it be the woods,
the mountains, the coast, the desert or the prairie. In a
sense, the land shapes who we are and what we value. For
those of us cut from the fabric of the Great Plains with its
wide horizons, Nebraska is our home. But few can truly
appreciate its beauty or value from the interstate or from
an airplane window seat.
