By Katie Weber 
Dear Nebraska,
As I lay here in horror at the tragedy that has been unfolding throughout the past days, I hurt. I am sick to see what is happening to you. The wind is howling outside my window, blasting you again and again.
Parts of you are buried under feet of snow. Roads impassable. Drifts climbing high against houses and buildings. Tornado strong winds swirling around and around. Causing havoc.
The rest of you is covered in water. Cold, ice packed, rapid water. Tearing through the land creating deep rips throughout. Bridges and roads washed away. Buildings torn from the foundation. Communities stranded on their own island. Isolated from help. Devastating those who call you home. For miles and miles, all that is seen is water. Angry, swirling water.
And all we can do is watch in horror. As our beloved state is torn apart, right before our eyes.
Your people are aching. Your people are shocked with pain. Your people are braving the elements to save the animals that live off your land. Your people are leaping into action.
We know you are not for everyone. And we like it that way. So we can keep your beauty all to ourselves.
We see the beauty in your rolling hills, the lush greens of your forest, the colorful sunsets on your sandhills. We celebrate your crisp falls days drenched in red. We delight in your warm spring days. We crave your summer air that sounds like locust singing and smells of fresh sweet corn. We enjoy your sweet, soft snowfalls.
Those gentle moments get us through the hard days.
But our love for you is strong.
Our cities and towns may be small compared to the rest of the world, but that is not what really counts.
Our communities are filled with fellowship, friendship, companionship, and when hardship falls upon us, we ban together.
We are a state full of people who work hard, pray hard, and love hard.
And we are not going to turn from you now. When you need us the most.
We will be helping our neighbor next to us even when our own farm is under water.
We will be checking the new calves on the ranch down the road even when our own are unaccounted for.
We will be giving the clothes off our backs, food off our tables, and money out of our pockets for our fellow Nebraskan.
We are just at the beginning of this catastrophe. Early days. The known damage is not complete.
But I will tell you this:
We will rebuild you.
We will pave new roads. Forge new bridges. Construct new homes.
We aren’t going anywhere.
For we know—your people know—
You truly are “The Good Life”.
You are home.
Sincerely,
A born and raised Nebraska farm girl
by Her View From Home 
by Aliette Silva 
by Leslie Means 
