Living in the middle-of-nowhere, South Dakota, you find ways around specifying meeting spots. I’ve been asked, by Country Man, to meet at the telephone building, the grain bin, the silage pile, the tree stand by the-one-place-we-look-for-horns-in-spring, the bale blind and the bull pen, to name a few. It didn’t take long before I was forced to learn my basic directions, measure distance by yards and discern who owned what section and what that even was.
Out here, Country Man and I often meet up to exchange or barter. A typical summer barter involves me bringing Country Man food and a pop during the late night harvest season … in exchange, I get a chance to see his handsome face that day.
Sometimes a pup comes along for a bouncy ride, too.
The end of the workday approaches, and my stomach stirs with excitement as I prepare to welcome him home. Soon he will be reaching the end of the driveway, flying his pickup way too fast down that long dirt road. I’ll run up the 1/4 mile driveway to wait for him, and see the dust and gravel flying from the path. He is driving much too fast. I ask him to please slow down, you love me, and he says he drives that fast because he cannot wait to come home.
So I always wait …
Er, I mean we always wait …
… until that pickup comes down the drive. And I see that smile. And receive that kiss. And for another day, all is well as life as a Country Man’s Wife.