This view of the National Elk Refuge from across the highway (at the National Wildlife Art Museum, naturally) makes me crave Wyoming. I always revert back to writing about my home state, especially during times when the winter's forced solitude forces me to turn life over and over to examine. I'm sure I've made the right decision with my permanent move to Minnesota. But sometimes, what I wouldn't give for a vista like this.
Over Thanksgiving, my mom and I met up in Jackson Hole to do work and some play. As I drove from the Art Museum into town, I realized: I miss this place. Sure, my own hometown isn't exactly the Tetons, but the view from my bedroom and our miles of perfect skiing aren't too shabby at all. To experience the raw wilderness of Wyoming (when, for example, driving across the state), one must get to a point where you feel completely vulnerable.
It's imperative to get to a place where you feel so incredibly tiny, it forces you to believe in a larger presence than humanity. To be in nature helps me find spirituality, and staring across the elk refuge in the first few hours after my flight provoked this. Majesty is commonplace in Wyoming. I realized this profoundly when I left these wide-open-spaces (cue Dixie Chicks) for the hilly, treed landscape of Minnesota. I was aware as a kid, but it wasn't so apparent during the high school sports bus trips across the state, or from lookout point on Casper Mountain, or swimming in a mountain-top creek pool after a 7-hour hike. When I moved to Northfield in 2004, it dawned one me: Wyoming, my home, is truly spectacular.
Everytime I go back, I become a little quieter, dress down a little more, and revel in the solitude of my home and the view of Casper Mountain from my bed. We all probably have our own little vistas to keep us cozy.
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