It didn't begin this way. The first few hours into our journey across Kansas made me feel humbled. Small. As if I were a tiny speck of dust floating in the grand scheme of the universe. I could stand on the ground and see for miles.
People in the south talk about the wide open spaces. People in south need to shut up about the wide open spaces because chances are they haven't been to Kansas and therefore have never seen what REAL wide open spaces are. In case there was any confusion:
Wide Open Spaces([wahyd oh-puhn speysez] (noun): Kansas
But oh, how the wide open spaces take their toll! Within hours, time slowed down and the scenery melted into a living collage of fields, decrepit signs that warned me of my upcoming descent into Hell, and the occasional museum dedicated to The Wizard of Oz.
Determined to not let the opportunity go to waste, I would randomly pull over and take pictures of James and myself doing hoodrat things in the road.
Three fourths of the way across, I saw a shining beacon of hope:
"See the world's largest prarie dog?!" I exclaimed loudly enough to cause a one-car accident, "We have to go."
Every other mile brought a new sign foretold us of this magnificently massive dog of the prairie. Unfortunately, as we approached the farm we noticed that it was frighteningly rickety and reminiscent of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. We decided to pass.
That was pretty much Kansas in a nutshell.