Before I go further, as Nevada is often in the news these days, please pay attention to the correct pronunciation. Nevada is pronounced ne-va’-duh NOT ne-VAHHHHHH’-duh. Although, according to phonetic rules, you’d need to disagree, trust me on this one and learn to pronounce our state’s name correctly.
There are so many names in our area that have unique pronunciation. Take, for instance, the little town of Genoa. Nestled at the base of the eastern slopes of the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range, this little town is one of the area’s oldest towns. And no, it’s name isn’t pronounced as it would be in Italy, but rather Gin’-oh-ah.
There is Moana, which isn’t pronounced as it is in Hawaii (ma-wha’-na), but rather Moe-AH’-na. And then, Kietzke Lane, which I still haven’t mastered.
Being a swing state, we’re in the news a lot these days. Every time a tv-talking-head decides to pronounce our state in a more exotic way, such as Ne-Vahhhhhhh’-da, it’s like nails on a chalkboard. It causes lots of eye rolling among the natives. So, now you won’t make that mistake when visiting!
There are so many beautiful places to see in our state. Having grown up as a neighbor in California, I never knew what I was missing. Although, I almost became a Nevadan in 1979.
With a two week old son in my lap, a little family of three set off to look for work in a town named Winnemucca. Located on a huge farm, we would’ve lived in the middle of the wide open plains not far from where I live now.
Once in Reno, the rancher picked us up at the airport to fly us to the ranch. Buzzing antelope and wild mustangs, we flew through the big, blue, beautiful sky. I envisioned a chickens and garden while watching my little boy grow into a rancher. The truth of the matter was that it was just too remote for that little family. We declined their offer of employment.
Looking back today, I wonder what my life would look like now if I’d been more adventurous. Maybe that little boy’s mother would’ve become the rancher. I’ll never know.
Whatever name our state is called, I wake up under the most brilliant blue skies in wide. I’m surrounded by a circle of mountains that tower above us. In my heart of hearts, I know I live in God’s country. All’s well that ends well. Taking an extra 35 years, I’m finally home. And around here, we all know, Home Means Nevada.
More tomorrow.