I love when something happens that forces me to stop and realize I am living in a place so far from stereotypical America. My darling and I traveled up river yesterday to bring home a new (used) snow machine we had flown into the airport at a nearby village. As we neared the runway- which is merely a dirt road that is now a snow-covered dirt road, a tiny plane flew not five feet above us. I could have stood up and touched it. Of course, I did not do that. And I realize that the safety of such a thing is probably not a story to be proud of. But to me, the fact I live in a place where rules barely exist and a freedom still lives on, is really a magnificant thing. A truly magnificant thing.
