When you approach Mandan from the south on Highway 6, and you're anxious to get back to town, this is a welcome sight. To me it's always meant that, for all intents and purposes, I'm back in Mandan.
This farm belongs to my friend's family. The last time I was out there was probably in high school, where we had an amazing dinner - one where the roast is slow-cooked underground - and I nearly eviscerated myself while playing on the trampoline without dragging it away from the wire fence.
I don't know where she is these days; I lost track with a lot of friends when I went incognito for a couple of years back in the late 80s. I went back to my beloved Rocky Mountains and dropped off the radar for a while in between television jobs. When I came back, it had become hard to find some of the old gang. Facebook is helping me get in touch with people from years past, and that's proven to be quite fun. Hopefully some of the people I knew from high school (or my notorious high-adrenaline days after college) find their way back to this site and get a glimpse of the ol' stompin' grounds.
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