Day Two: The Outstretching Space of the Midwest

Day Two of our NDMRT feels more like Day 22. Is it just me, or does time now move at lightning speed? The news breaks come so quickly; we hardly register one alert buzzing in on our phones before the next news shock shakes us again. Feeling beleaguered, I find myself reacting viscerally to each incoming bit of information. Sometimes my heart races as I read aloud from my phone to whomever is nearby. I have no control over my body now as it regularly seeks either to fight or to choose flight. 

Even in such a state, I still have control over my breathing. Deep breaths help slow my heart rate. My state of mind usually follows my heart. Worrying for all our safety, I feel that I can’t get home soon enough. 

Slowly pulling away from Beloit College this morning felt surreal and so very sad: there were no students or faculty in sight. The moods of our small moving crew were helped by our sense of accomplishment for getting all the boxes and bins and people to fit into the ginormous van. I’m not sure any of us thought we could pull it off, but somehow we did, playing a complicated game of real-life Tetris. 

After that, with a mix of personal relief and public dread, we drove 678 miles through rain, through Iowa, and through most of Nebraska to reach a deserted hotel in Gothenburg, population 3,574, home to The Sod House Museum. Looking around the hotel, and around the town, we felt socially distanced. The kids went for a swim, which seemed safe, what with all that chlorine and not another soul in sight. The water seemed to feel like such a fun and soothing way to end a long day. 

Just before turning in, I look around and see that the pizza has been eaten, the many devices are charging, and everyone is asleep but me. Tomorrow we head for the mountain states and Salt Lake City, grateful that we missed the earthquake by a day.