The Wind Is Rude

One of the first things I learned after moving to South Dakota was that the wind has a personality.

And it’s rude.

Coming from Phoenix, I wasn’t prepared for it. Day after day, the wind would blow. Not a gentle breeze. Not a refreshing gust.

Just relentless prairie wind.

At first, I kept waiting for it to stop.

It didn’t.

Some days it felt less like weather and more like a personal attack. My hair would whip me in the face, doors would slam, and stepping outside felt like entering a battle I never agreed to join.

I remember standing outside wondering how people lived like this. Meanwhile, every South Dakotan around me acted like nothing unusual was happening.

“Nice day,” they’d say.

Nice day?

My hair wasn’t blowing in the wind.

My hair was trying to leave the state.

Don’t let the smiles fool you. The wind was winning that day.

Over time, though, something changed.

I stopped fighting it.

The wind wasn’t trying to ruin my day. It was simply part of life on the prairie. A reminder that nature doesn’t care much about our plans, our schedules, or our hairstyles.

Today, I still think the wind is rude.

But now it makes me smile.

Because after all these years, that relentless prairie wind has become one of the things that reminds me I’m home.