This is something I entered in a writing contest. The title was supposed to be My Kansas Shoes Were Made for Walking, and this is what I wrote. :)

The Sunflower State, the Heartland, the Breadbasket of the United States. These are nicknames given to the great state of Kansas, and become extremely proud of in the process.

My little town of Alexander is the oldest in Rush County. Some may know that it was originally a trading post on the crossroads of the Fort Hays and Fort Dodge trail. The post was built on the north bank of Walnut Creek in 1869 where it served as a refuge for travelers. Surrounded by a stockade, it was well protected from outlaws and Indians.

The first pair of shoes I remember were a couple of pink cowgirl boots. Wearing these, my mom and I would walk through my tiny hometown of 70 people, visiting neighbors, getting to know just about everyone, and having just about everyone know me.

We moved to the farm a couple years later, and just about every inch of that place has been tread upon by either myself or my four younger siblings. We play cowboys and indians, build forts, hide Easter eggs, and in the evenings walk through the rows of trees that form the shelterbelt, protecting our cattle and our house from the blustery Kansas winds. We run through the pasture, hide in the tall grass, and hike out to the cherry tree growing on the opposite end. We even walk to the end of the road to get the mail, we’ve been over it all.

For ten days every June, six members of my family walk through the wheat stubble to reach our designated machinery. My dad, grandpa, and I on a combine, my brother and sister on their grain carts, and my uncle on his semi. The mothers watch as the five youngest cousins step fast to keep up with Daddy, or Uncle Adam, or Grandpa while they pack up the supper eaten on the side of the road.

Life would not be complete without a ride with Dad on the combine. Hours seem like minutes as he explains how the machine works, how the wheat progresses from simple sprouts to a waving sea of gold, and the journey the grain embarks upon from the field to the dinner table. It’s crazy how these simple explainations seem to always contain a lesson about life.

Years ago, my great grandma started the tradition of bringing supper to the harvest field. As a young child, I looked forward to our little picnics on a dusty dirt road in the shade of a tractor. Today it is a means of taking a thirty minute break from the long hours in the harvest field to spend a bit of time with my family.

My tennis shoes are made for running. Be it volleyball, basketball, cheering, softball, or track, my shoes have taken me hundreds of miles all while staying close to home. Plenty are still covered in red dirt, scuff marks, or have holes peeking through the sides. A definite rule is a pair of shoes must be completely worn out before it is necessary to buy new ones.

My highschool of 40 students hasn’t had much success in sports for the last few years, but the bond of teammates is stronger than the pain of losing. Walking onto the court with hands tightly held to honor the flag during the national anthem shows we are proud of our country, our state, our town, and our school.

In March, my shoes took me around and around the Ness City track, in honor of those fighting and in memory of those who lost the battle with cancer. This is the first year Relay for Life was held during spring break, and while pretty cold, everyone was provided fuzzy socks to keep feet warm and toasty.

This Relay was the third I have ever attended, and was also the most difficult. My aunt lost her battle with breast cancer in September, making this the first Relay I have attended without her. In the past, I would walk laps throughout the night with friends. This time, I took in a couple laps alone. It is amazing what a little quiet time will do for the spirit.

This April, my shoes took me all the way to the Kansas pillar at the WWII memorial in Washington, D.C. Talk about the trip of a lifetime! As a guardian on Honor Flight, I was accompianied by a very special person. My veteran’s shoes also took him to D.C., though they carried him very slowly. But while his feet were slow, his tongue was quick. He shared countless stories from his 88 years of life, all of which I will never forget.

While D.C. was amazing, and the change in scenery was incredible, I’ve got to say I was glad to come home. There’s something about life on the prairie where I can see for miles, where I can watch the grass wave in the wind, where I can see every single star in the night sky.

The world is filled with wonderful and beautiful places. Someday perhaps I will get to visit them, perhaps not. But for now and forevermore, I’m proud to call Kansas, the Heartland, the Sunflower State, my home.