Posts Tagged ‘Wyoming’

The new house feels more like home now that we’ve had three visitors.

Yes, we’ve only been here one month. But remember, I had 10 visitors in my first year here. And people say Casper is in the middle of nowhere…

1) My sister who lives in Colorado helped me move in the first weekend. Unfortunately, we didn’t have much time outside of putting away my kitchen and running to Walmart/Menards/Target. We did have enough time to stuff our faces with sushi.

2) Two weeks ago, my brother stayed for a few days after a bachelors’ weekend in Vegas. He spent the first day on my couch, nursing a hangover of the magnitude you’d expect from a group of frat brothers celebrating three upcoming weddings. Once his stomach settled, we ate well and made it up to Casper Mountain for a mini hike.

3) Last Thursday and last night, Eric, a high school friend, stopped in Casper during his 48-state motorcycle trip. Casper was a little out of his way, but I’m glad he stopped in. He’s documenting and reflecting on his travels in a blog worth checking out.

Only after taking him to dinner at the Wonder Bar did I realize I took all three visitors there.

Another high school friend might stop in on the way to the Tetons in July. Who’s next?

Now that it’s been a month since the biggest change in my life to date, it’s only appropriate to blog about it.

Nearly two years later and I finally get a picture in front of the welcome sign.

Josh, my boyfriend of three-ish years, moved to Casper three weeks ago. The Star-Tribune hired him to produce videos, piece together photo slideshows, find enterprise stories around Wyoming and cover breaking news. Basically, he was hired to be a super journalist. Only a few weeks in, he’s covered flooding, Wyoming’s drum and bugle corps and a legendary bucking horse outside Pavillion.

He’s been here a month and it really hasn’t felt strange any step of the way.

Although we lived 14 hours apart for the last two years, we saw each other quite a bit — at least once a month for the first year, a series of coincidental days off and vacations. It worked, we thought, but knew it was far from ideal.

But when Josh finally left academia for a photographer job, we lost that flexibility. Finding time became more difficult. More of our trips involved at least one of us working.

So he decided to move west and start something new.

Everything about the move just worked out. I found a house to move into the weekend he arrived.

We were so excited for the move, you’d think we would be all unpacked by now.

But we’re not.

We got rid of about half the boxes after we bought two bookshelves but the second bedroom is still full of boxes marked “office.” Only a few pictures have been hung — the rest are leaning against walls behind doors so we don’t accidentally knock them over.

We’ve been in Colorado for three of the last four weekends and working almost every day we weren’t gone.

We say we haven’t had time to settle, but maybe we haven’t because we don’t want to. Hanging pictures and finding places for every little knickknack admit that we’re here, and we’re here to stay for a while.

This is my ninth address in four years and his third job in two years.

We do well with change. Permanence is another story, one we’re writing every day.

I have a hard time getting back to the grind when I miss a weekday. No matter how relaxing the time away, I feel like I always miss something, have to play catch-up.

Which explains why I finally unpacked and am posting about last weekend tonight (got back Monday).

Last weekend was wonderful. Josh flew into Casper on Friday night and we drove to Jackson on Saturday morning. We shopped, ate, shopped more, warmed up in the heated pool, hiked, ate, hiked again and ate a couple more times.

It’s been unseasonably warm, in the 50s and 60s. Jackson is in off-season mode until Thanksgiving, which meant we got a killer rate on a four-star hotel and ate very well for very little.

We arrived in time to see the Capitol Christmas Tree leave Bridger-Teton National Forest and begin its 20-day trek to D.C. [Nov. 6]

The timing really was perfect — right after an election week, warm, off-season, dry weather for driving — except the road to Jenny Lake was closed for between-season maintenance. We thought about renting bikes for the 8 mile trek, but the rental shop was closed.

We settled for a 1.6 mile trail to Taggart Lake. A little more than a mile in, we met some moose on the trail — seven to be exact.

Yes, we were this close. [Nov. 7]

I was a little nervous. I’d heard stories about angry moose and I didn’t want to take my chances. But, when you travel with a photographer, running from beautiful wildlife set against the background of the Tetons is not an option — at least not at first.

After a few minutes, we walked toward the lake only to be stopped by a bull who had been eating further down the path.

He stared at us. We stared at him. And then we turned around.

Now we were surrounded by the herd. So we stayed and took more pictures. Eventually, they moved south of the trail. The last two — two large bulls — walked right in front of us and locked antlers. We swore they paused at one point to look at us. This wasn’t their first show.

We finished the hike and made it to the lake before there were too many late-morning ripples.

Quiet. Beautiful. [Nov. 7]

We refueled over a large brunch at homey Cafe Genevieve. With the Sunday New York Times covering most of the table and jazz oozing from the ceiling, I felt like I was brunching in New Orleans.

We passed on the bottomless mimosas (which we wouldn’t have done in New Orleans) because we had another hike planned west of where the road was closed. The afternoon hike wasn’t as eventful as the first but full of scenery and sounds of nature.

Another perk of the off-season: Few tourists in the park and none visible on the trails. For a few hours, the Tetons belonged to us.

I grew up with guns in the house. My dad and little brother hunted ducks, pheasants, deer on occasion. I took gun safety classes but was never interested in picking one up myself. I also wasn’t too thrilled about waking up early to sit in the cold and be silent. (Anyone who knows me knows all three of those aspects of hunting do not jibe with my personality.)

Then I moved to Wyoming, where guns are everywhere — in truck beds, on political billboards, in my neighbor’s closet. I’m not afraid of guns, but I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I were to pick it up.

So when my friend Carol suggested we attend a ladies’ shotgun clinic in Casper, I said, why not? We’re both (kinda) Wyoming girls now. It was free. The weather was supposed to be nice. And I was curious who would show up.

We were two of about 20 ladies who showed up for the clinic sponsored by the state Game and Fish Department. A few were seasoned hunters. Many wanted to feel safer around guns owned by spouses. Others wanted to take out rattlesnakes, skunks and other backyard nuisances. One woman had no desire to shoot anything but wanted to learn how to make the sound of pumping a shotgun to scare off intruders.

We learned basic parts and how to safely handle several types of shotguns. We practiced loading, switching the safety on and off. We sized up several types of shotguns and found ones that fit. We suited up with protective eye wear, ear plugs and, in some cases, pads that fit over bra straps to protect against recoil.

Then we went out to shoot.

Have you ever shot a gun before?

I actually did pretty well, and it was fun to blow the targets to pieces. (Dad, settle down, please don’t run out and buy me a gun.)

We got some pointers from the bronze medalist in the Beijing Olympic games, Corey Cogdell. She only practiced competitive shooting for two years before making the Olympic team.

Corey shot targets and then shot the pieces. Whoa.

Then we went out and shot some more. I did better the second time but relaxed my shoulder on the last shot and took a little recoil in my upper arm. Two rounds was enough for me and Carol.

The closest I’ll get to holding an Olympic medal.

I’m not joining the trap club any time soon, and I have no plans to hunt, but I feel better knowing I could if I wanted.

Wyoming is the first place I’ve lived where the heat index is usually below the air temperature. Example: Right now it’s 79 degrees, feels like 78. The sun shines and a small breeze blows 90% of the time. The average temperature for the summer was likely between 70 and 80 degrees. At night it dips down into the 50s and 60s. If I had a porch, it’d always be perfect porch-sitting weather.

90 degrees, perfect day for tubing on the North Platte River. (Photo by Dan Cepeda)

There have been 95-degree days. I avoid them by running in the mornings and evenings and soaking up the way-too-cold AC at work. The hottest temp I ran in this summer was 70 degrees. 70 degrees!! You bet I was dying from the heat. Even when it’s 90 degrees, I’ll still walk down to the library or to the corner store instead of hopping in my car. Usually I leave the pool or beach because it gets too hot. This year, I left because I got bored.

The warm weather we’ve had (I refuse to say, “It’s hot” after living in New Orleans) hasn’t been fun for people without AC. I understand that because the AC in my Corolla is no better than those personal mini fans.

My apartment doesn’t have air conditioning. Or fans. Actually, my electric bill is about $2 cheaper in the summer because I’m not running a space heater.

Even on those 90-degree days, I routinely change into sweats after work because I’m — gasp — cold. Basement apartments have their disadvantages: little light, spiders, stuffy without a way to circulate air throughout. Those same disadvantages (except maybe the spiders) make my place a perfect summer hideout.

A porch would be nice.

If this post made you pine for Wyoming and want move west. Don’t… it will be snowing by the time you get here.