I’ve lived on either side of Wyoming for 16 years. A Mid-West girl who spent her youth dreaming of the West, who slathered her bedroom walls in Rocky Mountain calendar photos and pretended to see mountains instead of low clouds on the flat horizon.
My introduction to this wild place happened when I was 22. I had fallen in love with a Wyoming cowboy and was making the journey from southern Colorado to central Montana to visit him at college for the first time. The natural halfway spot was Wyoming and he had arranged for me to stay with his dad, a cowboy through and through with an avid appreciation for and knowledge of Wyoming history.
The drive was unlike anything I had experienced. 13 hours didn't sound so bad when I started out, but I had no idea what I was getting into. By hour nine of my solo drive it began to grow dark. I have never been anywhere where you actually needed to preplan fueling up when your gas tank hit 3/4 full. They would be a gas station soon....right?
Wrong. On this initial drive, I was informally introduced to ghost towns, along with "towns" boasting a tiny population density. Welcome to Middle-of-Nowhere pop: 9. Not to mention no gas station in sight. While I didn’t run out of gas, the sky did run out of light and I ran out of energy. I didn’t even pull off the highway when I needed to use the bathroom, too scared of what was in the dark. The fact that I hadn't passed another vehicle for what felt like eternity was also a factor. The worst part of the story was when I accidentally ran over a giant snowshoe hare and ended up dragging it underneath my car. For miles I could hear the bam bam bam of it's sad carcass being carried down the desolate highway. Rest in peace snowshoe hare. I am so sorry.
After the ghost towns and the hare, I eventually drove through the Wind River Canyon in the pitch black. Now I know how stunningly beautiful it is in the daylight. The water seems to flow uphill and I'd love to float down it someday. But it was twisty in the dark with multiple old tunnels to pass through. Bleary-eyed me made it to the other side but it was definitely by the grace of God.
A few missed turns into dead-end fields of sugar beets and one spotty cellphone call later, I finally arrived at my future father-in-laws house. A gorgeous log home, lit up like a scene from a classic 1000-piece puzzle. His family welcomed me in and fed me dinner. I had absolutely no trouble falling asleep.
That was the beginning of my experiences in Wyoming. Over the next dozen years we would flip flop between Montana and Colorado, always stopping in the middle to see our family, say hello to the Big Horn Canyon and once in a while take a dip at the local hot springs. After time spent there, a certain ease follows me home. An expansive, peaceful and quiet feeling in my heart. Like I high-fived the Old West and it told me everything is going to be just fine.
I’m going to make a few sweeping generalizations about life here, the most vivid being this: People are nice. Everywhere you go, you get the wave. Old timers, youngsters, and everyone in between seem rather delighted to see you and they wave in acknowledgement. Even the dogs smile at you from the back of the work trucks. Different colored eyes and plain old happiness just to be alive as they fly along the roads, taking in the scents. Folks at the grocery store stop to chat with you. Kind drivers let you in. The pace of life feels natural. Some might say slow, but to me it's truly just natural. Were we meant to fly around, hurrying, stressed, frantic, late? I sure wasn't.
Here people are down to earth and I think it has something to do with the rugged wild beauty all around and the agricultural landscape within it. Another thing that jumps out is the importance of community. It’s in the air. It’s in the dirt. And it’s in the history. I love that my husband was born here and I love that Grandpa still lives there. From my outsider point of view, the small towns feel tightly knit and people seem to show up for one another.
Life feels safe and honest and good.
Sometimes we go exploring with Grandpa. The badlands are an anomaly, where you can’t find water but you sure can find fossils. So many questions pop up in my mind while adventuring around in the dust, in the valleys, in the canyons. The past feels so long ago yet so close you can touch it. And the sheer expansiveness of the sky makes you feel your humanness for sure.
There is a quality to the air that might evade most if you’re not paying close attention.
It's in the depth of the silence. The background to life is quieter than anywhere else I've been. The hustle and bustle of the busy eludes you in Wyoming. Instead, your ears hear the individual feathers of a bird as it flies overhead. The sun has a sound to its beaming rays. The earth crunches it's own melody under your feet. The peace of nature envelops your senses, leaving you more in tune with yourself and Mother Nature. And have you ever witnessed a Wyoming sunset? Tops the charts. Golden hour here breathes life back into even the weariest of bones.
While not a native myself, Wyoming recharges my spirit and has gotten into my blood.
I love how time slows down. That food tastes better and that whiskey always sounds like a good idea. It ignites an adventurous spark of my past. A part of my pioneer spirit calls from long ago to say hello. I think this might happen for others, too. Some hear it and some answer it. The weather weathers your skin and expands your soul.
Those with the most wrinkles know.
Maybe, if you get the chance, you'll be able to drive through.
And maybe, just maybe, the past will grasp something that has laid dormant in your soul, too.
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