From the time I was a freshman at North Dakota State in Fargo…until I moved to Australia six seven months ago, there were two roads that my car, and my body could negotiate almost by themselves.

The first was the back roads that lead from Fargo to Mahnomen.

The second, the road that lead from Mahnomen to Minneapolis/St. Paul.  It was this road that I started driving during my FFA days.  Taking me to meetings, camps and conferences.  Taking me to visit friends and family.  Taking me to visit girls, see concerts, and explore the world.

After my time at Nnorth Dakota State, I used that road as the jumping off point.  It was the first two hundred and fifty miles on the seven-hundred and fifty mile trip to the University of Illinois in Champaign.  Still, once a month, I made that trip.  For two summers as an intern, I made that trip every week.  When my job took me to Minneapolis, I took that trip back and forth.

And it was a trip steeped in tradition.

As I was watching the local news in Australia Saturday morning, the news that Minnesota - my home state - had been struck by tornado’s was like an electrical shock.  Names of towns and villages that were part of my normal route, part of the landscape and countryside - were mentioned.  Some of them seemingly blown away.

The pictures and images of Wadena, MN.  The little town of 4000 people on the otherside of the world where I’m living, was my stopping point.  How many times did I stop for gas, or for a Mountian Dew for the road.  In bad weather, it would provide a stopping off point, a respite in the storm.  I saw the changes too.  When the Amoco turned to a BP.  The gas wars between the BP and the Holiday.  On more then one weekend, the town provided a chance to stop and stretch my legs.

In many ways, it was the half way point to getting home.

The sight of the destruction and devastation was heart wrenching.

I called family and friends to make sure that all was well.  My brother John talked at length.  The storm had touched down only miles from his little town.  Hitting turkey barns and toppling massive trees, and houses and farmsteads.

He told tales of the highway departments getting the snowplows out, to clear the road of debris.  Pieces of houses, branches, even tombstones ripped from the once quiet cemetaries.

In my mind, I pictured the hundreds of people that waited on me in the gas stations, that greeted me as I waited in line, that waved at me through their windsheilds.  Their lives turned to tumult.

But in their misery, they also hung onto what they hold dear.  Reading the news reports, they exhibited a sense of humor, a sense of belief in bigger things, and a passion to build their town and make it better then before.

This isn’t the first disaster to hit a small town.  But as Wadena and Mentor and the dozens of other towns throughout Minnesota weep, mourn, and rebuild, I hope they know while the buildings may be damaged and destroyed, the sense of community, of love of neighbor is probably stronger then ever.  Regardless if those neighbors are next door…or on the other side of the world.  Thoughts and prayers are with them.