Living in Wichita

posted by Nancy Boothe at 2007-11-08 11:05:59

June 10, 1997
Nancy Boothe

Living in Wichita

Every so often, people ask me why I live in Wichita. They say things like, “What’s there to do in Wichita? “ Or, “I drove through Kansas when I was a kid. It sure is flat.” Or the tired jokes about Dorothy and the Wizard, which, after hearing them too many times, takes a little grace to simply smile.

When I’m in the Arizona desert watching a January sunset deepen the purple hills to royalty, I also wonder why I stay in Wichita. When I walked on old cobblestone streets in Eastern Europe and tried to absorb the centuries of history all around me; I wondered again. When I smell the salty spray and hear the crashing waves, screeching gulls, and barking seals in Monterrey, I wonder why. When I’m fascinated by the night lights of New York skyscrapers, or walk down any Manhattan street and feast on the intensity; museums, theaters, delis, shops; I wonder why. And my favorite...when I hike through pine needle paths high in the Colorado Rockies, climbing way above timberline, and the hawk gliding overhead is closer to me than the mountain tops below, I really wonder why. (That’s when I go window shopping in front of real estate offices.)

Maybe it’s just because I was born here and my roots reach deep. Mom is 81 and not only does she deserve some family around, but I want to be near her. I like her. Although I have good friends all over the globe, my friends in Wichita will always be among the very closest. We have been through all the highs and lows together. We have traveled the paths of the everyday, through the births, the deaths, the surgeries, and the children’s fund-raising projects. We’ve come through the maze of the ordinary and we’re still friends, tougher friends, and we have reached a depth of relationship most evident by - - the practical jokes we dream up and think are so funny.

Tonight I went for a brisk walk at Sedgwick County Park. No sea gulls, no pounding surf, no forested mountains. Not much history to speak of. A guy and a gal inline skating so fast , so close, and so synchronized that I marveled. Another group of roller bladers I knew from a nearby college. After they clumsily and laughingly passed me going the opposite way I looked back to see them all in a heap in the middle of the path - a tangle of arms and legs. A dad biking with his tiny daughter sleeping in the tandem child’s cage, lulled to slumber by silent rhythm and the hum of tires. Another dad racing around bends and curves followed by 4 young boys trying to catch the stronger biker, the youngest wearing a t-shirt with the phrase “Working mine off to kick yours.” An older couple holding hands, not caring about speed or pace, just enjoying quiet companionship. Then the family with 5 children, 3 on little bikes, one in a child’s seat behind mom, and one roller blader. Mom and Dad trying to teach them the etiquette of parks. “Say, ‘ On your left ‘when you pass. You need to stay on the right. No, Amanda, that’s not your right, that’s your left. “ “OOPS, sorry, please excuse us.”

Near the end of my walk the path led under deep canopies of tree limbs. On my left at the ball diamonds, a pair of young girls practiced throwing and catching. “Way to go, Julie!” Parents cheered their kids playing games on ball fields nearby. Blackbirds, cardinals, and mockingbirds nearly drowned out the players, chattering with gusto. The sagging sun beamed a thick yellow mist of evening light through filtered leaves and across the path , washing everything in a golden glow.The jeweled fragrance of wild honeysuckle drifted upward, permeating air, light, and sound. My fingers were stained purple and the taste of mulberries was still on my tongue. I know where the sweet trees are and the bitter ones too. I was sweaty and out of breath. My hip and knees throbbed. But tonight I will sleep deeply and rest well. This is home.