Original Pony Express

Driving through the heart of the midwest, flat mile after mile, has got me thinking about the pioneers. I can’t imagine jostling over the grass, little mounds of dirt, the increasing scrub brush, in a wagon. Unwashed, sunburnt. Weeks long journeys. I’ve also thought a lot about imperialism and Manifest Destiny, as I mark my own way across the continent. The major conflict generations behind, the aftermath still felt in many places, the tension the backbone of our history. And the root of our fascination. I saw a sign on I-80 for the original Pony Express post and couldn’t pass it up. I came to this squat building in the middle of a lush park and sleepy neighborhood. Not the dusty plain I imagined. Actually had a conversation about opera with the state parks volunteer manning the shop inside.

Win and hold The West.

Must be willing to risk death daily.

Orphans preferred.

                

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