Next-year country

Sept. 1, Hoven-Highmore, 66 miles, N wind, 55/45—A cold front moving across South Dakota brings the north wind I wanted (OK, begged the higher powers for). I wait out a pre-departure rain and the ride to Highmore totals only 15 miles of drizzle.

Central South Dakota is sparse. After stops at a bar in Lebanon and communty center in Seneca, there's about 40 miles of grass to Highmore. Lebanon's bar is the social heart of the town, and 8-10 people come and go while I hang out. The farmers are talking about the rain, of course. The last three weeks have brought all the rain of the entire growing season, and it's too late to help the crops much. "It's a next-year country," one farmer says, meaning one can't count on this year but only hope for better the next. If he came up with that phrase, he should consider writing the great American novel if farming doesn't work out. Hazel, the bartender and newspaper columnist, asks me about my trip for the Potter County newspaper. That afternoon the big north wind pushes me hard down highway 47, and I make camp, an enclosed shelter in Highmore's city park, 30 minutes before a steady, soaking rain.