The long road home

The way back through the midwest was trying, again. I'd either poisoned myself by eating unrefrigerated string cheese for a midnight snack or picked up a virus along my journeys. Either of those, mixed with extreme heat in the mid-western states made me sicker than I'd wanted to be. Somewhere in Ill., with more threats of tornados in the air, I had to lie down on my van bed. After a good sleep of about an hour, I phoned the Palmers in Mansfield, OH, trying to make sense of when they could expect me the next day. Fever dulled my senses, and I was further from them than I'd thought. Another motel stay was in order.

When I arrived at Chris and Robin's, I had to immediately sleep again and all the next day. Robin heated up my request of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. Gradually, my body healed and we were able to share some good laughs like we're known to do.

Now, the following wildlife report requires a warning of possible offensive material. I must report it, though, because out of all my wildlife observations, one in a flower pot hanging under the Palmer's roof overhang was the most incredible and memorable and disgusting. Here it is!

Standing at Robin's kitchen sink, the first morning I felt well, I called to Robin, "Oh, look the mamma Robin is cleaning out the babies' nest. OOh, look she's eating it. Ooooh, my Gosh, Robin look at this." We stood, mouths wide-aghast as we watched each tiny, nude chick raise it's downy bottom into the air, squeeze out a timely blob of birdie poop, as it's OCD mother ever so gently and politely gobbled it up so it would never hit the nest floor. This was recycling at it's best, or worst - you decide.

So, I arrived home in Franklin, ME on June 29th, I think (still time disoriented). It was a great ride! But home is home, and one's own bed is one's real bed. The sunsets and sunrises will look a bit different and the big dipper will be on it's side instead of flat w/the horizon and filled with the Milky Way. There are no Elk or Grizzly bears here, but before I rise from my familiar and cozy bed, a loons laughs hysterically as it flies over my roof, and a black bear has roamed the lane in the night, a red fox yips at dusk, and coyotes with wolf blood awaken me at 4 a.m. with the chatter of excitement over a kill for her pups.

The smell of sweetgrass and fir mingle with the Holy ions of sea air, and I am home.

Goodbye Old Paint

My original plan, after leaving Jackson was to return to Sheridan, WY, await two of Patti Atkins's friends to arrive in July, and lead a Croning Ceremony for Patti. Unfortunately, I was spent and could only invision myself heading home to Maine. Waiting two more weeks was unthinkable at this time. Patti was disappointed but said she understood my decision. So on June 26th, or so (time and dates eluded me on the road), I left Gerry Amadon and Patti Reilly's lovely home that sits beneath the Tetons in Wilson, Wy and Gayle and Lenny Francis headed north for their home in Billings, MT.

I headed northeast, through Togwotee Pass, southeastward through Dubois, Lander, and Rawlins to Interstate 80, just west of Laramie, WY. I had the Wind River Range to my right until Lander. I stopped at a prairie museum, which had a great collection of stone artifacts - my heart sang. There were great outcroppings of red rock formations along the way (see above). Just west of Laramie, in the Medicine Bow Mtns., I camped at a state park and slept among the rock people, that surrounded the camps. I expected to see a Mountain Lion; didn't even hear one. The next morning light had a pink cast, being reflected off the families of rock. I stopped at a pawn shop the next day and admired his rock collection. The shop keeper asked, "Are you a rockie?" I said yes to what I think he meant to be a rock enthusiast. He told me explicit directions of where to find what he called pebble agate. I acted like I knew what that was, to prove my rockie status. My friend in Sheridan had shown me a boulder in her garden by that name. As I drove east looking for the summit of Beaver Ridge (there were so many ridges how would I know) and a sign that would read something like Canadasis. This was after many, many miles of driving through desolate, sage covered dirt cattle ranges. I began to think I'd been hoodwinked (where'd that saying come from?), when, sure enough there to my left was a wooden sign pointing to Cadice Lake. I was to look for a "stream" that ran under the road. Well, the road was dirt, the stream was a gutter, the lake was a nearly dried up water hole, and the agates that were supposed to be lining the road, right there, seemed invisible. I picked up what I thought might be nearly formed agates. They didn't look at all like pebbles. But, I saw more antelope and horses; and I made it back to the main road without being stampeded by cattle, bitten by a rattler, or lassooed by a cowgirl.

I'd really intended to visit the University of Wyoming archeological museum in Laramie the next day, but I got on the road by 6 a.m. and into Laramie way too early to wait around. So, Eastward I continued.

Spotted Horse Ranch Reunion

Exactly 43 years ago, in the spring and summer of 1967, I, Jerry Amadon from Mass., Gayle Boucher of Billings, MT, and Leonard Francis of Saratoga, WY serendipitously landed by the banks of the Hoback River and at the foot of Beaver Mtn, in Jackson Hole, WY. Each has their own story of what brought them here, you'll have to wait for my book to be published about it (once I get it written). This year, 2010, we all met in Jackson to reminisce; recalling how Lenny jumped into the turpid river to save a lost lamb and how Gayle nursed it, how Jerry helped save Dick Bess's life when their raft turned over in the Hoback's icy spring water, how Dian kept us all sane, and how I sang The Hills of Old Wyoming over and over again for the dudes in the ranch bar and lounge. There is so much else to tell so, really, keep an eye out for my book later.

Our reunion was a gift to us all. Dick and Dian are still spunky at 80 and 82. They've been together since they were kids, 15 and 17; though Dian winks at me when she says, pretending she's saying it on the sly, "We had our ups and downs." Gayle and Lenny returned to the ranch the next year 1968, not knowing the other would be there, for they'd been sweeties toward the end of 1967. The second year sealed it; they got married and two children and grandchildren later, have made a good life for themselves. Jerry stayed in Jackson Hole, Wilson, by the foot of the tetons. He developed his own business digging foundations, etc, investing in real estate (very wise), and building his own home. He waited until age 57 to marry when he found the right gal, Patti Reilly, a professional fly-fisherwoman and trip planner. I returned to PA to be with my family of origin, after running through several professions I became a Social Worker/Therapist, never married, but have succeeded just the same. My life is richer having reunited with my old ranch buddies and former employers. We are all so Blessed to have been able to be on the ranch again, together.