In early May, when classes ended and before our graduation, my two best friends and I rented a camper van in Denver and drove it all the way through Colorado, Nebraska, Utah, Nevada, and California to San Francisco. For many reasons I know wholeheartedly that this trip will remain in my mind forever; visiting memories when my mind wanders and my eyes look out the window—always wishing to see a straight horizon, land as far as the eye can see with tall grass blowing like waves on the ocean. There’s a feeling of yearning there that I can’t quite place. Sometimes I feel that this longing for open land comes from the pieces of my dad that remain in me. He grew up in the Midwest: Gary, Indiana. He grew up on a few acres of land with woods he explored and hunted with his collie named Sean and an algae covered pond he fished and swam in. He had horses and drove home from parties with a blue 1979 Duster Volare (it was stick drive too). When he was young, his dad bought a ranch in Nebraska with over 8,000 acres for raising black angus cattle. Nowadays, my grandfather no longer alive, my dad helps run the business remotely and flys to Nebraska once or twice a year, often taking my family and I along. We have a small trailer on the highest part of the land named “Rocky Top” that we stay in during visits; nothings been changed on the inside since the 70s and the sheets on the beds have cowboys printed on them. It’s funny cause I hated visiting the ranch when I was younger. I thought it was ugly and dry and boring. My younger sister and I used to like exploring but after a while it seemed there was nothing else to discover except dark new round pies of cow poop and rattlesnakes hiding in the grass.
On this recent road trip with my friends, we spent 3 nights at Rocky Top. The last time I had been I was around 16; now I’m 22. I remember getting to the ranch really late at night. We had spent too much time at Trader Joe’s getting supplies for the week and miscalculated the drive time. Nighttime at the Ranch can be spooky. There is a silence so great it makes you feel as though you were left all alone in the entire universe. A silence that is boundless and engulfing. It chills me to my core. We joked that a zombie apocalypse could happen and we would never know. The next morning I woke up and stepped out onto the porch constructed around the trailer and took the deepest breath of my life. If the ranch is scary at night, the morning is heaven. The light is different out there, softer and blunts the edges of things. Almost pink with a little grey that brings warmth and reflection. The wind seems to always blow in the same direction. I looked out on that horizon for what seemed like hours. One by one my friends woke up and joined me with sleepy eyes and pjs not saying one word but sitting silently next to me eyes transfixed. The cows grazed shiftlessly in the field, a bunny jumped under the small gap between the ground and the trailer, 3 horses of the neighbouring farm stared at us suspiciously. The feeling of being somewhere where no other people exist for miles and almost indescribable. You forget living in cities and suburbs at how packed in we are. Always waiting in lines, waiting in traffic, waiting for people to walk faster. All these people around you force you to view yourself as a body—one that needs to move about and around these other bodies. On the ranch you don’t have to do that. You exist seamlessly. There isn’t the same distinction, who you are and how you decide to present yourself to the world. The focus suddenly becomes on the landscape—a shift from interior to exterior.
A couple of days ago I watched Bones and All. Aside from many others things I could say about it, the landscape truly caught my attention. It brought me back to this trip and the land that exists out there. These beautiful shots of Chalamet and Russell looking into each other’s eyes with hills and grassy plains under pink and purple hues behind them give the film a sense of intimacy despite its gory premise. Within the film their unconventional love story turns conventional and then back to unconventional again. At the conventional part (spoiler!!) they decide to be “normal people” and move to Ann Arbour to have regular jobs and live together in love. This reminds me (for whatever reason) of broke back mountain where Ennis tries to live like a normal person too, to forget Jack and live with his wife and kids in rural Wyoming. Even though this was a depressing existence for Ennis, one he tries to force unsuccessfully, it brings back this idea of living like “normal people” in the Midwest and for some reason I do see myself in this life. To forget everything and live on the endless horizon of plains with windmills, cows, and wire fences. To make coffee in one of those old diner pots and sit on the porch in my pjs. To be satisfied with a partner and a couple of kids that take the bus to school and ride horses in the afternoon. It’s a draw of simplicity even though reality is never that way. Just sometimes I want to follow the promise of peace and quiet, of friendly neighbours and corner stores with old men in overalls. We’ll see where this takes me.
Till next time xxx
