Driving Through the Beautiful Flint Hills of Kansas

A tree grows on a rocky hill.

There is a tree on top of a lonely hill on the side of the highway in the middle of the Flint Hills in Kansas.

Actually, there are a handful of trees in the area. Even those not familiar with Kansas probably know that the landscape is mostly wide open, somewhat flat, and certainly not heavily forested.

But this particular tree has always been special to me.

The Flint Hills of central Kansas are mostly devoid of trees, even by Kansas standards. The area is covered in grassland and largely used to raise cattle because it is too hilly and rocky to grow crops as efficiently as the wheat fields of western Kansas. To me, the Flint Hills are beautiful to behold.

So, why is this tree significant to me?

The tree is not especially large or old or majestic. I have never touched the tree or sat under its branches.

To be honest, I am not even sure what kind of tree it is. I have never been close enough to it to determine that.

The tree is situated so that when you are driving north on Interstate 35 through central Kansas, you can see it a mile away, perched upon that lonely hill.

I first noticed the tree during the 1980s while on a three-hour drive from Wichita to Lawrence to go to the University of Kansas when I was just 18 years old.

I had everything I owned packed in the back of a used Toyota Celica that I had purchased for $50 that summer. I was nervous and anxious. I was moving out of my mother’s house and going to college. I had no idea what future lay in front of me.

As I topped the hill somewhere around mile marker 99, I was in awe of the view that I had of the Flint Hills. Mile after open mile of nothing but grasslands and the occasional tree or fence line to break up the scenery.

The view was amazing. The grasslands stretched as far as the eye could see. It was gorgeous.

On top of a rugged, mostly treeless hill, a tree grew on a rocky edge. The tree had no business being there. It was exposed to all of the elements.

The soil beneath it was filled with rocks. The Kansas wind blew it from side to side mercilessly. Yet, it survived and somehow rose from a sapling to maturity.

I would drive by that tree again on my way home that Christmas, excited to see my family that I hadn’t seen since I left that summer. The Flint Hills were covered in snow. There were no green leaves left on the tree. The cold wind beat at the branches as snow blew across the plains.

Yet, the tree survived.

I would pass that tree dozens of times while in college. It always stood strong and consistent. I began to look forward to seeing the tree to break up the endless drive.

One time, my old clunker of a car broke down within view of the tree. As I sat on the side of that hot road hoping someone would stop to help, the tree waved at me, letting me know that this, too, would pass. Someone eventually stopped, and I got a ride into town.

The city of Lawrence became my home, even after I graduated from college. I met my first wife there. I drove past that tree when I brought her home to meet my family for the first time.

One day while working in Lawrence, I got a phone message that my dad in Wichita had fallen twenty-five feet from the top of the house. I hurriedly set off from Lawrence, speeding back to Wichita to see him in the hospital.

I hardly noticed the tree as I sped by it in the dark. But, it was still there. My dad survived the fall but would succumb to M.S. nearly a decade later.

Years later, when I found myself working on the road and traveling all over the United States, we drove down that stretch of highway when our path went through Kansas. I was happy to see the tree was alive and well. Living on the road had been lonely for me, and the tree was familiar. The tree represented home.

When I got back to Lawrence, I started a business there, and my life changed dramatically. My first marriage ended. I had to move back to Wichita to help take care of my dad, but I kept my business in Lawrence. I found myself on that road and passing by the tree almost weekly.

Over thirty years later, I am still on that stretch of highway at least once a week, and the tree continues to thrive. It lost a section of branches during an ice storm a couple of winters ago, but for the most part, it seems as healthy as ever.

In that time, I have remarried, fathered a wonderful daughter, became a high school math teacher, and watched my grandparents and parents die.

That tree has witnessed so many changes in my life. It grows in a place where it really should not be growing.

Yet, it thrives.

It exists in the face of cruel winters and hot, windy summers. Tornadoes have passed near. Thunderstorms have bent it as they saw fit. Snow has weighed its branches down.

Yet, it survives.

And so do I.

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