I’m going to that place again. Always I’m there in the winter, as that is my favorite time of year, and certainly when I undertook most of my trips and conducted my explorations, for lack of a better term. There are many emotional ties to that time, as those are the experiences and memories that hold over to this day. Ninety percent of the daydreams I have revolve around that period of my life. The wild places that surrounded me supplied the overall theme and character of these experiences. Even when I remember a “contained” or more man-based experience, Nature still pushes through to take center stage.
An example may be helpful. For all the resentment I hold towards Sierra, their politics, their philosophies, it was one of the best jobs I ever had. Retail jobs, in general, are far down on the difficulty scale, allowing a vast amount of time for introspection, at the very least. This particular memory is always on the third floor of the log building in Cody. During the winter and close to Christmas. My floor was usually empty leading up to the holiday. Downstairs would be a madhouse of people with lists, but my floor was delegated to panic buying. Not many people buy tents in December. This allowed for an amazing experience of solitude. In a log mansion, with the master suite all to myself, I would take spotting scopes from the second floor and glass for elk coming out of the timber high atop Rattlesnake, for days at a time, out of the huge picture windows looking to the gateway of Shoshone River.
But the particular memory that holds the warmest feelings occurred during one of those glorious winter evenings. It was a night we were open late, until 8:00 or 9:00. The sun has been down for quite some time. The museum across the street is decked in lights, and I am looking out my log cabin windows. My floor has no traffic, so I turn off my overhead lights, leaving only the track and Christmas lights for ambiance. It has the warmth and comfort of a room heated by wood fire. The heavy snow keeps people away. Huge globules of snowflakes fall, covering the street in short order, as I watch them fall in the street lamps.
Inches fall in the first hour of the storm. Beautifully backlit by the lights of the museum, the very definition of the artistry of Nature. I drink hot tea, and watch the dance. As the storm and hours draw out, more snow accumulates. Roads are shut down, although cars occasionally creep down Bighorn Avenue, usually behind a 4x4, plowing a temporary jeep trail down what was once a highway. It is situations like this where people can freeze to death in their stuck car, drifting off to a cold sleep. The sheer audacity of nature, and its immediate consequences to humans has rarely been experienced with such vehemency. It has been replicated hardly anywhere else I have lived. There, it was an everyday occurrence.
JFL