Ohhhh, what a joy this was to watch. It made me literally want to just take a quick shower, pack a few things in a bag, and blaze back to my native Nebraska…tonite! But…this is October, and the place wouldn’t look like this at all right now. I’m M-60, and due to a brother’s extreme asthma as an infant in my native Lincoln, Nebraska…..our family quickly pulled up stakes on the Doctor’s orders (get him to a drier climate NOW or the kid’ll be dead within a month) and moved to southern Arizona. A happy ending with that, brother healed beautifully and became a star athlete, etc. My late parents were Native Nebraskans too. Mom was from the town you mentioned…Norfolk…which you pronounced “nor-fuch”. The old timers like my late grandparents and parents pron. the town Nor-fork…which is correct due to the town being named that for being founded on the north-fork of the Elkhorn River. (even the new folks from Norfolk nowadays mis-pronounce it Nor-Fuch! No biggie…at all. Dad was born on the farm in Boone Co….maybe 2 hours south of Monowi. Although I live in Arizona, I’m a very hard-core long-time storm chaser that takes a month each spring to return to tornado alley and chase storms with a team…AND solo too, with a cousin as a storm-chasing partner. We are in Nebraska quite a bit seeking and often finding tornadoes each spring. This past June I actually drove past this old church in Monowi. There are not too many things besides storm chasing that I do that give me such pleasure, but one of them for certain is poking around old abandoned buildings in my Nebraska, on days when we have no storms and no travelling. Scenes like you’ve depicted in this wonderful video just take me back to my childhood in Nebraska. I recall my beloved Paternal Grandpa, who would take me on a short drive thru the huge Cottonwood Groves used as shelterbelts from the constant wind in Nebraska….to a tiny little gas station in the unincorporated little town (Loretto-Boone Co.) near his farm…..where the men would drink hot coffee there and then wander outside from time to time to play a game of pitching pennies against the side of the building. When he died in ’75….he was eulogized in a small little church just like the one in Monowi…..I was a 20 yr. old pallbearer. Talk about disappearing Americana…..it soothes my constantly-uneasy soul that silently begs to Divinity for relief just from watching the world and our country unravel when scanning the nightly news or listening to the radio about world affairs. I yearn to be a kid again for a few hours….pitching pennies with the big guys against the gas station wall, while smelling the fresh-cut alfalfa that permeates the air and listening to the Meadowlarks as well as the wind whip up on the tops of the Cottonwoods nearby. At night it would be so silent…..you’d never hear another engine….and sometimes you wouldn’t see a car pass by on the road next to the farm for several days. Well…this post is wayyyy to long. Kudos to those of you that have decided to keep reading along. And my sincere thanks for you fellas that made this video…..as you can tell, it solidly took me on a trip down memory lane in my beloved rural Nebraska. God Bless you all.