Amanda: Chez Joni

My drive to Bowman was slow and tedious with a couple of notable exceptions. I have crossed the Mississippi in many settings, in Louisiana, Memphis , La Crosse. It a western trip’s milestone. The mark. The river of so many legends, so storied, so sung about, so much beauty of lore. I made the error of following the garmin’s directions into the St. Paul Whole foods Market for supplies. The trip might have been ok in a car but with a thirty seven foot rig it was a nightmare, through surprisingly small streets. I always expect northern cities will have big streets to accommodate the winter snow. Not St. Paul. It had stuck to the horse-and-buggy-sized streets that it got from its forefathers. Quaint but awkward for me. I turned a forgettable corner but the sight that presented itself was anything but forgettable—I was on the bridge over the shining Mississippi, stopped in the sunlight. There was some kind of fund raising walk in the oncoming lane and cops had stopped the traffic. There it was, with the view of the swirling dark water, not muddy here, with all its hopefulness of motion, its bold ride to the gulf, past and bridges spanning it and the big bluffs. None of the walkers appeared to acknowledge its glory. They seemed to be discussing fundraising. But I was star struck.

The sign marking the continental divide is a quiet affirmation of progress. The land gave way from intense cropping and occasional livestock to big herds of black cows, some mega flocks of sheep and miles of blooming sunflowers, a startling crop to see full frontal. I have never made a secret of my enthusiasm for the prairies. I have a favoured painting in my office—a prairie landscape, a field of blooming flax. Yesterday, I rounded a bend in I94 and there was the flax field, cool, blue and waving gently in the light wind. I took a picture with my phone that cannot possibly do its beauty justice. But maybe you can get the idea.





I pulled into Joni Swanke’s to a trio of dog enthusiasts thrashing out basics with some youngsters. Shannon Fritz, and Jan Stebbins. I turned loose Feist for a little entertainment.

The dogs were free and relaxed and we happy houred it, and had a great dinner that included tomatoes, surreptitiously entering the United States, from my own garden.

This morning we got twenty fresh rambouillet lambs for some high powered dog running.