I stared into the hotdish--casserole, as they'd call it down here, and looked with distaste at the little legged insects they called crawdads. To be fair, they were actually not insects, but I couldn't get over how they looked. Back home, hotdish was just noodles, or potatoes and veggies, and a can of cream of mushroom soup, topped with french onions. Crayfish--racoon food!--Did not belong. I took a deep breath to try to steady out my out-of-control emotions. Engagement or no engagement, I was beginning to think I didn't belong.
I went out with my meal to sit on the front porch swing and think. From here I could see the live oak tree, the different varieties of grass and flowers, and the red dirt road winding away into the hills, and I felt suddenly homesick for the vast flatness of the northern prairies. The black earth and wild smell on the wind. For the birds and air and plants of my first love--the land.
Nathan found me a few minutes later and sat down next to me. We sat there a long time, not looking at each other, neither of us knowing what to say, not knowing what the future held for us, just knowing that we loved each other, and somehow knowing in our hearts that I was going back.
Forget
Onion
Over
Suddenly
Page