10/05/2026

Going Back to What Matters

February, on the highway between Lemoyne and Lewellen. My mom pulls over, turns off the engine, and rolls down the windows. Thousands of sandhill cranes fill the field, calling in concert. I didn't know then that this moment would become a calling of my own. For nearly 40 years, this corner of Nebraska has been my place of joy, family, and belonging. Now it is the heart of the Heritage to Horizon Program.

Going Back

Migrating between my home in Colorado and Lemoyne, Nebraska, and later Grant, Nebraska, over the last 39 years has always felt intuitive. Natural. Like being guided toward recreation, sunbathing on the beach, joy, belonging, and fun. Toward family and home.

Driving to the lake was a respite, a simple way just to be. The beach, countless cookouts, sitting on the beautiful deck my dad built, sipping coffee. Mom's breakfast. All of it was a normal part of going back. Rush hour there was when the turkeys crossed the road. Deer visited the yard, and a never-ending stream of birds came to the feeder: cardinals, blue jays, cedar waxwings, goldfinches, chickadees, and more that Mom could name for you. Every season at the lake house in Lemoyne was something to behold.

After the three-and-a-half-hour drive from Colorado, turning onto the road to my folks' cabin (turned custom home) was always so exciting. The sound of the trains in the not-too-far distance. The crisp, fresh air, noticeably sweet. And, of course, Mom and Dad, with their dogs, Millie and Penny, in their arms, waiting for us in the driveway every single time we arrived. There to greet us. Waving enthusiastically, ready to help bring our bags in.

Maybe we would stay for the weekend, maybe a week. Five to seven days at a time was a luxury. Some years we made the trip three times; other years we were lucky to get out to the lake once. Each visit was as precious as the last, no matter the weather.

In summer, we went to the beach every day in some form. Stay the day, stay the morning, walk or drive. It never disappointed. Even when the winter cold was too bitter to stand, we found a way to see the beach. One special year, I captured the most magnificent pictures of ice shards heaved up in a stately display of grandeur. Really. Like the ice castles you imagine. Except these were real, and the crystals glimmered in the sun.

Winters at the lake were no less captivating than summers. Nebraska winters, brutal as they are, can be exhilarating too. In every season, the wind is a contender. The wide-open plains hold nothing back from its rush. In contrast to calm, the wind always reminded me who was in control. Mother Nature. The lightning shows, distant or near. The clouds, like no others. Vast is a small word for the openness you can be present to in Nebraska.

What This Place Holds

As a native Coloradan and lifelong mountain lover, I'm surprised to be won over by the plains at this point in my life. And yet it makes sense. From the mountains, to the prairies, to the oceans white with foam. Wow. This all matters!

I had never really contemplated how much meaning this place has held for me over nearly 40 years. Now, as I reflect, I see clearly why it means so much. The threads of every meaningful experience come together here. Such strong diversity in nature. Such bold dedication to the strength of the people, the land, and the artistry found everywhere. I can't think of a better story for the pillars of sustainability than communities that have known how to steward their own land and genuinely care, at their core. Clearly, biodiversity is not second best. The native grasses, the water, the animals, and the scenic drives to Ash Hollow, the tiny village of Lewellen, and the town of Ogallala. Grant, Oshkosh, and others.

Capturing these memories is special, especially as I think back to the days when I didn't know what I had when I had it. Driving with my mom along the highway between Lemoyne and Lewellen in February, and Mom pulling over to watch the sandhill cranes in the field. Turning off the engine. Rolling down the windows. And then. The sandhill cranes singing. In concert. Greeting, courting, organizing. What? Planning, possibly? Thousands of them. And then off we went, back to the cozy lake house. That was it. I would be lucky to see them again three years later.

Over the years, my interest grew stronger, and intention settled in. Now is the time to reflect on witnessing such a journey, and on the familiar pull of going back. No matter what. To make the trip. To cherish the memories. To remember that sentimentality is a deep human experience: full of longing, love, and sadness for the loss of that special time, and gratitude for having known such a treasure.

And so I go back. To fill my heart and my cup of joy, and to renew my appreciation for the simple things in life. Be still. Find appreciation, celebrate, and stretch! Learn by being. By listening to the stillness, or to the wind. Be glad when the wind lifts my hair and burrs grab hold of my socks. For these are the real things, sourced from my experience, from my love of this life, these times, and everyone whose path I have crossed. For the smiles that come, knowing how much better off I am for having this true-to-me loveliness as my go-to.

The cranes host my experience of going back to what matters. And that is where this story turns from memory to mission.

Heritage to Horizon

Wanting to share this with others, I see the potential being missed in this region. No crane festivals abound here, no massive tour buses. Just this. A special quietude to be preserved for generations to come. Shhh!

And now I am inspired to share, to show, and to offer ways into this mindset of abundant appreciation for everything I see as true sustainability. Retreat to quietude. Nourish, sustain, and create. This is the Heritage to Horizon Program.

I have been inspired by the Headwaters River Journey museum in Winter Park, Colorado (https://headwatersriverjourney.com). Borrowing from that concept, I imagine a museum, retreat, and event center integrated into a small boutique cottage lodge, centered on preserving the Ogallala Aquifer. All of it would bring focus and awareness to the biodiversity, the sacred landscape, the pristine water, and the delicate, vital ecosystem of the native prairie grasses. This is a time to celebrate Lewellen, to respect the migrating birds of the area, and to honor the heritage of those who have been stewards and citizens of the small village of Lewellen and of Garden County.

With this, I invite you to step boldly into the conversation with me and see the value of honoring what matters most as we bridge to where we are headed as a human species.