Hopping the Border

On the first day we drove through Wisconsin and Minnesota, finally stopping in Fargo, ND. We had a cooler packed with dry ice from the Philippino ice cream store in Chicago where we kept our chicken salad sandwiches. We had three kinds of chips, apples, peanut and regular m&ms. We needed nothing but the miles to pass under us. We tried to stop at Culver’s twice, both times unsuccessfully. Fargo sucked.

Driving during the second day was unexpectedly beautiful. I had envisioned North Dakota to be a wasteland of dead grasses and shrubs and the bones of once roaming ungulates. Instead, outside of my window I saw brightly juxtaposed green and yellow farmland. Soybean fields marched right up to the edge of golden wheat; a ground layer in deep contrast with the dark, threatening to rain sky.

 

The border crossing happened. In short summary: I got my student visa. Lizzie and I learned that if we had lied just a tad bit more about the length of our relationship then Lizzie could have received an open work permit. They didn’t let my plants through—not even my Kalanchoe tubiflora which I had been raising from seeds for over a year. We had to take them back to the U.S. side. The border official there said he would put the plants in the new office and, provided that he would still be working there, that I could collect them in two years when my grad program ended. I will be taking ND Rt. 52 S on my way back into the states. If those plants are still there…well that would be hilarious. 

The mile marker said 223 to Regina. I said,"Holy shit! Google maps was way off!" I was now on the metric system; a first of many reminders that I was no longer in the states. Well, the third reminder. The first was those goofy accents at border patrol, and the second was that everything is also printed in French.

They call Saskatchewan "The Land of Living Skies." These two photos show that, I think.