Green Fields On her first trip to New Hampshire, she saw the White Mountains, frosted tops like icing against a sketched cloudy sky. She couldn’t even see around the next bend in the road, for the trees. She didn’t trust the sharp ravines and crumbling rocks . She wondered why anyone would prefer this to wide open farmland, visions of green fields for miles, dotted with cows and rolling hills, swaying grasses or corn, with lakes, deep blue, rippled in the wind. On her first trip to the ocean, it was bigger than ever imagined. She couldn’t see across; the birds were different, sand and wind coarse, water salty and uninvitingly frigid, warning her away. On the banks of Ontario, its deep green waves slapping the shore of her personal ocean, cooling water refreshed on a hot day, surrounded by sanctuaries of wildlife, it was her refuge too. On her first trip to Colorado, she was told there was nothing as beautiful as the Rockies, but they were similar mountains, with razor sharp peaks like knife blades warding off trespassers. Traveling through the Midwest felt more like home, back to open roads, fields of crops, grazing animals, silos silhouetted against blue sky. Even though this was a thousand miles from home, it was familiar. On her first trip across the desert, desolation overwhelmed her. Miles upon miles of nothing, sand blowing, wind stirring up dust devils, lone trailer with a low slung power line snaked across open space from the road. The openness was vast; she could see for miles, but the lush green was missing. Driving through Nebraska with endless fields moving in unison felt like a dance, a waltz of wheat set to Strauss or Mozart, mesmerized in the motion, its momentum like a repetitive song that she grew tired of from overplay. On her first trip to New Mexico and Arizona, almost carbon copies of previous desert, if not for windswept canyons, the russet red rock formations standing sentinel over small pools of clear water. Riveted by the sight, she stared. If not for the oppressive heat and isolation, it was very beautiful. The final frontier she longed to see in the cold Northwest would be glaciers, frozen tundra and icy blue water of Alaska, but her heart’s desire would always be fields and lush farmlands connecting her to her beginnings. Julie A. Dickson
