CAPTIONS: A crimson sunset paints the Sunflower State sky; Rosanna playfully clambers on some rocks outside of Hays, and trees in Kansas? Autumn paints a blush on the foliage. And take a look at the egg crates that comprise one week of egg deliveries from the Bauman farm. Photos from Rosanna Bauman
By Kevin Williams
Kansas is a place often dismissed as a snore of a state, a locale where wheat-fields stretch to the horizon, where the land is as flat as a freshly pressed shirt, and just generally a big bore. But I’ve seen the “other Kansas,” the Kansas that Rosanna Bauman writes about often. The “other Kansas” is the one you see off the interstate, where sagebrush flats stretch to a crimson western sky. And if one looks closely enough while standing on a prairie outside Dodge City you can see the over century-old ruts of wagon-wheels in the dirt, a talisman to the time when California exerted a magnetic pull on westward travelers. There are places in Kansas where the vastness, the openness, is as symphonic as the sea: the shrill sounds of prairie dogs, the whispering winds breezing through a barbed-wire fence. And there is a neighborliness about Kansas you don’t too many other places. Business is still done on a handshake and running to the store to get some milk might call for a 30 minute drive. There is also a good-natured playfulness to the antics of Kansans, as if one need a bit of a dry sense of humor to make it in such a land-locked locale. So if you ever find yourself crossing the vast sea of prairie between Kansas City and Denver on I-70 you might pencil in a few extra hours to exit the highway and explore, you’ll discover a world of intense beauty far from the the interstate.