Now I understand what it was like for those lonely pioneers who staked out a homestead on the vast prairie — miles away from the nearest town or neighbor — longing for a friendly face and human interaction.
My husband and I staffed the Democratic polling place for Precinct 6 in Stonewall on Election Day, March 4.
Yes, it’s a brave and lonely job, heading out into the heart of GOP country to man a desolate outpost, but with my stalwart companion by my side, I loaded provisions into the covered wagon (also known as my aging GMC Yukon) and headed out in the pre-dawn darkness.
Oh, I had been warned.
“Don’t go there,” some said.
“You could be under attack at any time,” others warned.
An “old-timer” shook his head in a prophetic warning, “It’s a lonely, lonely day.”