A while back someone from here, that no longer lives here, made the rare trip back here for a funeral. He hasn’t lived in the Midwest for more than fifty years now so he’s forgotten much. When visiting with him, he openly marveled at how the people of this particular region so easily pick up and get on with the business of life after the loss of a loved one. I’m not sure“easy” is exactly the proper word for how that grief is handled, but I know what he meant. There’s truth to what he said.

Out here where the wind blows and the roads close and there’s no triple-A to call, you learn early on how to fend for yourself, do what needs to be done, and when to pull over and help your neighbor. What it all boils down to, whether it’s a flat tire, a horse with a broken leg, or the death of a loved one, is practicality.

Being practical is like a refined art form around here; so prevalent that most don’t even know there’s any other way to be. The solid predictable nature of such stoic pragmatism, to some, can feel a lot like safety. Part of being practical means you don’t draw attention to yourself so surprises are few and far between, and you won’t see any great displays of emotion or carrying on (there’s no need for all that). So people with highly sensitive constitutions are better off moving on. Go somewhere where there are doggie daycare centers and men get their eyebrows professionally groomed. Where impractical things are tolerated and even venerated.

If at fault for being too much the Marlboro Man culture out here, we at least have the practical factor to thank for the fact that there still exists a strong sense of community. For in truth, we probably inherited that habit from relatives who banded together as a community, not out of a sense of noble generosity, so much as practical necessity. But whatever the history, that kind of beneficence prevails yet today.

The kind that gathers to console a grieving widow, filling her counter with cream-based casseroles, because that’s the practical thing to do. And when the food is long gone and the flowers too, there will be a handful of faithful friends that call to fill the long stretch of quiet hours the dead one left in his wake. There will be no talk of the dear departed one, or the bewilderment in being left behind. No one will mention the dilemma of how long to let his coat hang by the door. No, they will talk of the weather, and how to keep the lettuce from bolting, and who’s bringing cookies to the council meeting on Wednesday. Because life, in all its practicalities, does go on.

Lisa Hare is a former AP journalist and member of the Society of Environmental Journalists, as well as an author. To see more of Lisa’s work, or to contact her, visit: www.lisa-hare.com .