Nana in front of her house in Mobridge.  With the exception of a large carport, it looks exactly as it did in 1928.   We had a nice photo that had been taken in the early thirties and gave it to the owner, who seemed underwhelmed.  (She just bought the house in April and had no idea when it was built or who ever owned it - and didn't invite us in)  Nana knew the neighborhood well and we drove around and noted all the places that still seemed the same: library, Masonic temple, bank, etc.  Mobridge has a pleasant small-town feel-- few stop signs, since there's not much traffic and everyone drives about 15 miles an hour.  

Nana's house on the right.  At its immediate left, the home of Cubby, her ardent swain.  Kathy tells me I got it wrong-- he wasn't ten years her senior, only nine years older.  Mea culpa.  They were unquestionably a woosome twosome.  Nana tells us that she and Cubby liked to cross the river and park on a bluff for extended periods.  When they returned home, they'd park in his garage to say good night.  In Nana's words, "It took us a long time to say good night."  Romance!  We drove by to see the garage.  Nana was disappointed to see that it had been torn down replaced by a patio.  Saara and I now understand with even more certitude why Dr. Sarchet felt it was a good idea to send his 15-year-old daughter to a girls' academy a few hundred miles away....

Eventually we drove by Big Sister's house.  Our family had stopped by in 1995 and met the new owners at the time.  The were renovating the whole house.  It really is beautiful now, the nicest house by far on the central park, but they were not home.

A lovely drive from Mobridge to Mitchell was enlivened by (as Hunter S Thompson would put it) a King Hell Bitch of a rainstorm-- it rivaled any downpour we'd seen in Costa Rica.  We pulled over due to low visibility and high winds.  A few minutes later, the sun returned.  Jean loved looking out the window at the thousands of hay bales and the dilapidated barns-- "I'm feasting my eyes!" she said.  She had the map in her lap and navigated the whole way. 

These towns are on the old Milwaukee Road rail line-- Dr. Sarchet moved to Mobridge to work at their affiliate hospital, and Big Sister's husband Paul Nylen was a brakeman for Milwaukee Road.  Every town has a depot; almost all are shut down now since the Burlington Northern-Santa Fe line uses different routes and ships freight instead of passengers.  Here in Mitchell we dined at The Depot, a nifty restaurant in the old Milwaukee Road depot.  For the last four days we've been eating Midwestern style: in short, TOO MUCH.  So we tried to eat light tonight.  But even the smallest portions are Brobdingnagian.  Nana likes to point out all the very very large people we see.  It keeps her busy.