Heartland
I'm from the small town of Waunakee, one of the most forgettable places on planet earth. The place is so forgettable, that I'm ninety five percent convinced that there are at least several unrelated towns with the same name. No, I've never looked it up. When I first toured a big college, my mom told me to say we're from Madison if anyone asked. If I said where we're really from, I'd have to answer many questions. And those questions would lead to a detailed disscussion about how most country folks in the midwest are used to smelling cow manure every week of the summer and how most of us only become aware of it when a non midwesterner brings it up. Everyone in a diary state is tough when considering our resilence to horrible smelling elements. The only thing we can't stand is the stench of nutrient digesters, that brings even the most hardened native citizens to puking.
Hopefully, I'll never be asked about the scenery. Whenever I think of the scenic elements of the town, I think of the deer. They're the only local alternate to beef. They bound graciously across the hayfields, pulling up their cute white tails when you pass them in your car and taste amazing. They also have chonic wasting disease. A couple years ago I went on a field trip to a testing station for the conditon. Several men where dissecting deer carcasses, slicing off their heads to take brain samples. One of them took his bloodly glove and rubbed it against his nose. The cuddly creatures were reduced to nothing but miscellaneous quarters of flesh and severed heads spread out in trays across a concrete room.
This is where I'm from. Waunakee. A quaint wasteland.