|Storm clouds over Sandwich, Illinois, May 2006|
For some reason, whenever I'm traveling or away from home (meaning the place where I was born and raised), I seem to get this hankering for Annie Proulx stories. If you're thinking I'm now about to tell you about the Annie Proulx stories I'm currently reading, well, you're wrong, because I'm not reading any. Nor will I get into why I think I crave these stories while abroad. (Erm, ok, maybe a little - it has to do with cowboys and stoicism and the landscape and the beautifully crafted sparseness of the prose. Can't pinpoint it beyond that at the moment, I just know I want an Annie Proulx story the way I sometimes get this desperate urge for peanuts and Coke. It's nothing I was raised on, not specifically, and yet it's often exactly what I need to fill the space in me calling out for home.) Anyway, I was just thinking, and I decided to share. So. That's that.