#46 – Liz Sharp Griffin
I remember driving from Fargo, North Dakota to Columbia, Missouri all by myself one year heading off to college. I had tears running down my face as I saw just how beautiful— for the first time, really— the flat, desolate prairie was. It was absolutely magnificent. It’s hard for me to imagine that this young Saskatchewan girl won’t one day feel that way. She probably does already. This picture really says it all. Here are Liz’s words:
Barb wire fences, flat hay land and skies that never end. My prairie born farm girl loves it all!
Excerpts from “If you’re not from the Prairie…” book by David Bouchard:
“If you’re not from the prairie, you don’t know the sky, you can’t know the sky.
The bold prairie sky is clear, bright and blue,
Though sometimes cloud messages give us a clue.
Monstrous grey mushrooms can hint of a storm,
Or painted pink feathers say goodbye to the warm…
If you’re not from the prairie, you’ve not heard the grass, you’ve never heard grass.
In strong summer winds, the grains and grass bend
And sway to a dance that seems never to end.
It whispers its secrets – they tell of this land
And the rhythm of life played by nature’s own hand….
I’ve lain on the prairie and heard grasses sigh,
I’ve stared at the vast open bowl of the sky.
I’ve seen all those castles and faces in the clouds,
My home is the prairie and I cry out loud….
If you’re not from the prairie, you can’t know my soul,
You don’t know our blizzards, you’ve not fought our cold.
You can’t know my mind, nor ever my heart,
Unless deep within you, there’s somehow a part…
A part of these things that I’ve said that I know,
The wind, sky and earth, the storms and the snow.
Best say you have – and then we’ll be one,
For we will have shared that same blazing sun.”
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