My First Friend In South Dakota
Sometimes, the people who leave the biggest mark on our lives don’t do it through grand gestures. They do it through simple acts of kindness that arrive exactly when we need them most.
When I moved to South Dakota in 2014 with my two adult children, I wasn’t just adjusting to a new state.
I was trying to rebuild a life.
I had recently lost my son, and while grief is something most people recognize, what it did to my mind was something I never expected. My confidence was gone. Everything familiar had been left behind in Arizona, and I found myself in a small rural town where I knew almost no one.
I had taken a job at the local convenience store because it was something I knew I could manage while I slowly found my footing again.
What I didn’t know was that job would introduce me to someone who would change the way I saw South Dakota.
His name was Mike.
A Familiar Face
One of the things I quickly learned about small towns is that the convenience store wasn’t just a place to buy coffee or fuel. It’s where people caught up, checked in on one another, shared a little gossip, and stayed connected. Honestly, if your town has a convenience store like ours, you probably don’t even need a newspaper.
And if you’re new in town, it’s one of the fastest ways to get to know your community.
Mike became one of those familiar faces.
He always seemed to have a smile, a story to tell, or time for a conversation. He had a way of making people feel comfortable without ever trying too hard. There was nothing complicated about his kindness.
It was simply who he was.
The Girl From Arizona
There was one problem.
I knew nothing about farming.
Or cattle.
Or life in rural South Dakota.
Growing up in Phoenix, I had never been around agriculture. Everything about this way of life fascinated me, and I had questions about everything.
Mike never laughed at those questions.
He never acted like I should already know the answers.
Instead, he explained things in a way that made me feel comfortable asking the next question.
Looking back, I realize that gift is rarer than we sometimes appreciate.
Lessons at the Sale Barn
One afternoon while sitting at a local sale barn.
While buyers watched the bulls entering the ring, I listened to what Mike was saying.
Before the auction started, he pointed out what experienced cattlemen were looking for. He explained why one bull caught someone’s attention while another didn’t. Then he smiled and told me to watch the bidding because that often revealed just as much as the animal itself. And to never make any gestures with my hands unless I was writing the check. lol
I probably asked more questions that afternoon than I could count.
He answered every one of them with patience.
Never once making me feel like I didn’t belong there.
As the years passed, I learned that Mike wasn’t just sharing facts about cattle. He was sharing pieces of a lifestyle that had been handed down through generations. Every conversation gave me a greater appreciation for the hard work, knowledge, and dedication behind South Dakota’s farming and ranching communities.
More Than Cattle
The funny thing is…
Those afternoons were never really about learning how to buy bulls.
They were about learning a way of life.
Mike introduced me to traditions that had been part of South Dakota for generations. He helped me understand why agriculture wasn’t simply an occupation—it was family, history, responsibility, and community.
Every conversation gave me another piece of a world that had once felt completely foreign.
The Gift of Being Welcomed
When people ask what it was like moving from Arizona to South Dakota, they usually expect me to talk about the weather.
Or the winters.
Or how different everything looked.
But that’s not what I remember most.
I remember the people.
I remember the conversations.
I remember the patience of someone who took the time to help a newcomer feel welcome.
Mike probably never realized what those conversations meant to me.
He probably thought he was simply answering questions from the new girl who worked at the convenience store.
But looking back, I see something much bigger.
He reminded me that kindness doesn’t have to be extraordinary to change someone’s life.
Sometimes it looks like answering one more question.
Sharing what you know.
Saving someone a seat beside you.
Or simply making sure they never feel foolish for not knowing what everyone else seems to understand.
Looking Back
South Dakota eventually became home.
I met my husband, Joe, and together we’ve built a life rooted in this community. Looking back now, it’s hard to imagine there was a time when South Dakota felt unfamiliar. But before this became home, there were people who helped me find my place here.
Mike was one of the first.
He introduced me to a way of life I knew very little about. Through his stories, his patience, and a few afternoons spent at the sale barn, I began to understand not only farming and ranching, but the people whose lives revolve around it.
When I think back on those early years, I don’t first remember how different South Dakota felt. I remember the people who welcomed me, the conversations we shared, and the friendships that slowly turned a place I had moved to into a place I truly loved.
Whenever I think of those first years, I always think of Mike.
He probably never realized that by answering one more question, sharing one more story, or saving me a seat beside him at the sale barn, he was helping a woman from Arizona believe she belonged here.
Sometimes, the smallest acts of kindness become the memories we carry with us for a lifetime.
In loving memory of my friend Mike. Thank you for your patience, your kindness, and for helping a woman from Arizona discover the beauty of South Dakota—one conversation at a time.
