27 Miles East of Tulsa

Driving into the rolling hills, rolling wide and deep and slow in grass and live oak trees...more horses than people, more cows than horses…almost forgot what it felt like to be here to be in this area where, once in Oklahoma, no matter the friendly/enemy rivalry, a Texan is almost home.

I almost forgot about wood and rock houses, homes made from the land, made out of the materials at hand and once upon a time there were lots of hardwoods. Still, there is a lot of rock.

Humanity is on the tollway, going from one side of the state to the other or any point in between. Few side streets, no access roads for miles and miles of Oklahoma. Farm houses and barns dot the fields through which the toll road cuts through. Once upon a time, Native Americans, buffalo and wild horses roamed through this area. Now the buffalo and wild horses have died or been moved to Wyoming and the Native Americans mostly live near casinos, on reservations.

Gone are the three story, two or three brick thick homes and apartments with people on the street at almost any given hour. Gone are the car lined streets with kids darting in and out. Gone are the surprise glimpses of the Arch reaching gracefully, majestically toward the heavens, peeking here and there as one drives through the city.

I am glad to be heading home. But I do know that I am going to miss St. Louis for the short time that we are home. I guess I will just have to bury myself in the sticky hands and hugs of the little ones that are waiting for us.