Some people dream of big cities and coastal skylines, but my heart belongs to the wide skies and open fields of Nebraska. It’s not just where I live — it’s where I belong. Nebraska isn’t flashy. It doesn’t try to impress. But if you look closely, you’ll see beauty in the details — in the honest labor of its people, in the changing colors of its prairies, and in the quiet rhythm of a land that never pretends to be anything other than what it is. I’m Tristan Alvaro, and Nebraska is not just where I’m from. It’s who I am.
Growing up in a small town near Kearney, I learned early on the value of community. People here wave when they pass you on the road. They check in on their neighbors. They show up — whether it’s to help with harvest or to fill the bleachers on Friday night. It’s hard to feel invisible in a place where everyone knows your name, and your grandparents’, too. Some might call that nosy. I call it home.
Nebraska’s land teaches patience. I’ve spent countless afternoons walking through fields that stretch farther than the eye can see. The horizon out here doesn’t come with skyscrapers — it comes with sunsets that bleed red and gold across a canvas of blue, with thunderstorms that roll in like giants, rumbling and cracking their power across the land. There’s something humbling about standing still while the world reminds you how small you are — and how lucky you are to witness it.
Farming and ranching are more than occupations here. They’re lifelines. My father works long days on the farm, and from him I’ve learned that there’s pride in sweat and calloused hands. The weather doesn’t always cooperate. Crops sometimes fail. But the people here rise early the next day and keep going. That grit, that loyalty to the land — it’s in my blood.
People often ask me if I plan to leave Nebraska. Maybe for school, maybe for work. And yes, I want to see other places. I want to learn and grow and understand the wider world. But I also know this: no matter where I go, Nebraska will always be part of me. The way the air smells before a summer storm. The feeling of a worn-out cap on my head after a day outside. The sound of coyotes in the distance at night. These are things you carry with you.
Nebraska is not perfect. No place is. But it’s real. It’s grounded. It holds memories for me — bonfires with friends, county fairs, snow days, and long drives with nowhere particular to go. These moments form the roots of who I am.
So, yes — Nebraska is my home. Not just by birth, but by choice. And I, Tristan Alvaro, am proud to say that wherever life may take me, this land, this state, and its people will always be the foundation of my life
