Left for Wyoming yesterday morning, back home this evening.
Haven’t had such a strange and wonderful tip for a long, long time. Drove into Casper early afternoon, and headed west for Moneta without stopping. Ate cold ham and turkey sandwiches on the road. Potato chips out of the bag. Cold La Croix water from the cooler.
By the time we reached the turnout to the ranch, a long black cloud had settled over the hills and a light rain had already fallen. Thought we might be forced to turn back when we got on the gumbo road. Traction was awful for a while, and the prospect of high centering in the mud cast a poor light on the prospects. But, as luck would have it, we found a dry patch of road and were able to walk in.
Place looked like a abandoned town from an old movie set. The sheep shearing shed was still standing and the corrals hadn’t aged much since the last time I’d seen them, but the bunkhouse had collapsed and the blacksmith shop and cook house are both worn pretty thin. Same for the barn, which was sagging at the foundation, it's lower logs bowing out badly under their own weight. The house was in sadder shape than the last time I saw it, too, the southern foundation having pulled completely away. By some miracle, the roof is still in place. But the beautiful latillas inside have begun to give way from the ceiling and whatever was salvageable once is now lost, I’m afraid, to whatever fate has in store for it.
A bittersweet visit, to be sure.
Drive home today was splendid, though also bittersweet. Drove the western route and stopped at Independence Rock under spitting skies and wind gusts that were being clocked somewhere between forty and sixty mph, and took a brief walk around, reading the inscriptions, marveling at the countryside. Can’t see that magnificent stone without thinking of my dad. Or recalling A.B. Gutherie’s novel, in The Way West.
Beautiful trip home over the backroads. Amazing colors. Amazing fall light, everywhere.