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Jamie Ennis jamiedeb0 — When I first arrived in Indiana in August 2004, I didn't know what I was expecting. My ancestors had first arrived in that Midwestern state in 1820, when it was still comparatively wild and unsettled. They were the true pioneers, but nonetheless, as I got out of my little Corolla to stretch my legs, I felt like I was a trailblazer, too. We had stopped at a little gas station and truck stop just beyond the Indiana state line. I took a moment to call the relatives, let them know I was two hours away...and then I took a good look around. On all sides, we were surrounded by late summer grass, burnt yellow by a typical lack of rain, undulating in an afternoon wind. I thought it was beautiful. Later that evening, I would sit on a porch and watch fireflies and the lightning from a late-night storm light up the night sky, and know the meaning of the words, "My cup runneth over." Such was my first exposure to Indiana. I never stopped thinking it was beautiful, and even now, after I have lived in California for almost a year, I feel lonely and heartsick when I contemplate my Midwest, now left in the past, in so many ways. I read My Antonia soon after moving here, when I was in denial of how homesick I was, and the words of Willa Cather destroyed all denial: "The old pastureland was now being broken up into wheatfields and cornfields, the red grass was disappearing, and the whole face of the country was changing. There were wood houses where the old sod dwellings used to be, and little orchards, and big red barns; all this meant happy children, contented women, and men who saw their lives coming to a fortunate issue. The windy springs and the blazing summers, one after another, had enriched and mellowed that flat tableland; all the human effort that had gone into it was coming back in long, sweeping lines of fertility." Yes, Cather's words are of the great plains of Nebraska, and my memories are of the lands of the Midwest, but both are Middle America, both are the same in my mind, in my heart, in my love of the land there. My Antonia is a story of people, and love, and land, and love of the land, and it is a story of the pioneer stock who came to North America and formed the backbone of those whom I still call "farmer stock." It's a romance, but not in the sentimental, lovey-dovey sense; it's a romance in a sensual, timeless manner, evoking eternal beauty through lyrical narrative.