Prairie Voice Speaks

Accessing the Braided Prairie

Although it may be impractical to introduce a new paid access point for those interested in moving beyond the ballyhoo and into the quiet moments of thought and reflection — those odds have never stopped me before. If there’s one thing that is always proven true, it is this: Nobody ever went lonely reading the words of another.

Another stone truth is that if people pay to play, there is something greater than identity at risk — there is intention and meaning that prove something beyond the clicked “like” and the insubordinate social media post masquerading as action.

And so begins this Prairie Voice. Here are some of the early touchstones that helped create this new endeavor in an attempt to continue to connect.

First, I was born in the Midwest. Lincoln, Nebraska. Some 60 years ago or so. For the last 37 years or so I’ve lived on the East Coast, mainly in New Jersey and New York City. It is that differential between birthplace and upbringing that informs the structure and intention of this Prairie Voice.

As a good son of Nebraska, I spent a lot of time outside of Lincoln and in the braided prairie, and the Sandhills, and the rivers of Midwestern Nebraska. North Loup, Grand Island, Ord and St. Libory were all important pins on the geography of my childhood.

When I was a student at the University of Nebraska, I had the honor of being the first undergraduate to work on the editorial staff of Prairie Schooner — a literary quarterly published by the UNL Department of English. It was there that I learned how to edit and author and review and critique. It was words under fire and thoughts ablaze!

You can leave the Midwest, but Nebraska never leaves you — even if you try; and that can be both good and bad. Good in that your morality and values stick with you; bad in that, outside the Midwest, few people keep their honest word, and a handshake is nothing more than a greeting, and is never considered a bonded promise or a kept contract. That distancing between intention, upbringing, and the real world is where inner conflict begins and an endless turmoil can begin to boil if you aren’t careful to remove the self from the ego.

As a graduate student at Columbia University in the City of New York, I was fortunate to have another good son of Nebraska as one of my instructors. He didn’t use my name, he just called me “Nebraska” in a way others found condescending, but I understood meant something deeper than a label because we both knew that to get out, to escape the braided prairie, to stand together on the hallowed bricks of Columbia University, takes more than talent or ability, it demands desperation, and a gambling upon the end of the world.

So that’s where we become in the pause of this shared moment.

The intention of this Prairie Voice will inevitably change over time, and progress into something different, or perhaps, if we’re lucky, something greater than what you’re reading right now. That’s the challenge of today and every day. Change what’s important and keep what’s impervious. That is the beginning to understanding, but not solving, the fate of our human condition.