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USA250 Journal Project
Personal Chronicle: July 4, 2025 – July 5, 2026
A gift for reflection. A record of now. A story for what’s next.
1. Who am I?
“I’m the old boy who’s never been too far from the border. Grew up trading grain and cattle and stories with neighbors across the line. I watch the weather, listen more than I talk, and pray our amity outlasts our fences.”
2. How did I get here?
“I got here the same way my forebears did—sowing and reaping, taking care of the land and folks around me. Just doing the work. That’s how the world works best, if you ask me.”
Date: July 10, 2025
Entry Title: A Border Gone Quiet
When I was still farming, I used to joke that you could smell a storm coming from North Dakota before it even hit our fields.
That border used to feel like a fence between friends. Not a wall. Not a warning sign.
This week I sat on my porch and read about the new U.S. tariffs again. Wheat. Machinery. Feed additives. Everything a man needs to run a farm or keep a promise. And I thought of Roy Bennett down in Montana—fought through three drought years, finally broke even last season. Now? Bleeding from both ends.
I called him yesterday. He sounded tired. Not angry—just like someone who’s watching the bottom fall out from under everything he’s built.
I didn’t expect to feel betrayed. But I do.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. We used to borrow tools, trade parts, show up with a thermos when the combine went down. Now I hear folks around here saying, “Maybe it’s time we stopped trusting the Americans.”
That stings.
I felt most like myself when I wrote down a line I heard once in church: “A nation that breaks bread with its neighbor shall not go hungry.” I believe that still. But I’m starting to wonder if anyone south of the line remembers it.
I think the story I’m starting to tell is about a man watching the distance between old friends grow wider than the prairies themselves—and praying it’s not too late to close it.
