Wyoming Interlude
The trick in
following your sister to a new town for a new job[1]
is all in the scheduling. We had to be
out of the duplex by the end of August, Laurel’s job started September 1st
but we couldn’t close on the house until September 15th. This meant that we cleared out the place,
deposited it all in a storage unit except what she took with her to Seattle and
what I needed for two weeks in Thermopolis, Wyoming[2]
and then we went our separate ways.
This was
especially hard on Loki, who watched her kennel go to Goodwill and her “mommy”
drive off while I loaded her in the car and went a different way. She’s usually a great traveler,[3]
but this time she insisted I stop the car and let her out at the first possible
turn out. This is more interesting than
it should be when you have two cats in the car who aren’t exactly thrilled to
be there. And then just walked around
refusing to “do” anything.
Shortly after
that, she knocked Mallory down from where she was perched, letting me know in
no uncertain terms that she didn’t want to be driving. Aside from chasing Mally when Ichabod’s
picking on her, Loki was quite protective of this cat[4],
so that’s a real sign of her upset.
Until the moment she saw Laurel again[5],
Loki did her best not to let me out of her sight. I’m not as good as Laurel is, but I am at
least a fair second best and more familiar than anyone else.
Due to the set up
of my parents’ house, which was, ironically for the ease of the pets we grew up
with, and incorporated a pet flap into the back of the house, the cats had to
be locked in the basement pretty much all the time, unless watched very
closely, and all four of us wound up sleeping there at night.
I alternated
between trying to figure out some way to get myself set up for finding work
when I got to Washington State, without yet effectively being aware of my
inability to present myself well on paper[6]
and revisiting Thermopolis itself.
Growing up there
wasn’t always fun. I was too smart for
my own good and too uncomfortable with myself for anyone else’s. I was one of those girls who looks in the
mirror and sees someone who appears to be reasonably attractive, but because
guys only notice her as someone to help with their English homework, assumed
she must be ugly. This led to some
unfortunate relationship decisions that will not be discussed here, or with
luck, anywhere else.
It was and is, a
small town[7]
which is not always the easiest place to grow up. But at the same time it was safe and secure. I faced far more danger from the risk of
falling off the boulders, hills and trees I spent the days playing than I did
from people. This is not to say those
problems are absent in Thermopolis, but, as is typical of towns that size,
aside from petty theft and drinking, most of the violence is domestic. This doesn’t make it any less sad, but when
you grow up in a happy family, it does make is safer.
The name
Thermopolis comes from the Greek; Thermo
= Hot, Polis = City. It’s not entirely accurate, but I suspect
whatever is Greek for “small town” is probably less poetic. This is because it
lies on the same fault line as Yellowstone and therefore has what is billed as
“the world’s largest mineral hot springs.”
This is not technically a misnomer, as among the mineral hot springs
that make up a significant portion of Hot Springs State Park http://www.thermopolis.com/WebPage33.aspx
is a structure built up of mineral deposits to a height several stories above
the ground. This was one of my favourite
places as a child and teenager. Far from
the maddening crowd as it were, I could be alone without being lonely and
wander through the various formations that have formed as a result of all the
minerals floating around.
The
town has a Buffalo pasture[8]
with real bison – hint, the fences are to keep people out, not the bison in –
with a “Devil’s Punchbowl”[9]
and several other nifty sights. All the
swimming pools in town are warm, mineral springs, which makes for the fun of
being able to swim outside in the winter.
It also meant that our high school swim team prodded buttock in meets.
This
is all relevant because one of the things I did while I was there was walk
Hoagie and Loki down by the Wind/Big Horn River, which flows through town. Because it flows in close proximity to the
mineral hot springs, there are numerous areas where the banks have all the
usual stuff as well as some mineral run off.
As much as I can get nostalgic about the smell of sulfur, when two dogs frolic
in the same water, it leads to two previously very happy dogs under the hose in
the backyard before they’re allowed back in the house. Still, they don’t make the connection.
The
town also has a wonderful little history museum, which is unusually good and
well-put=together for its size, http://hschistory.org/. I really like to visit in when I get the
chance.
In
other words, it’s a great place to be from, even if I can’t really imagine
going back there to live after having lived in Albuquerque, Billings, Glacier
Park, Crater Lake, St. John’s, Newfoundland and now Washington state – variety
seems to make the beauty more alluring, but the fact that almost everything
there closes by 8p.m. harder to bear.
Still, it was very welcoming and warm while we waited until the time was
right for us to go back to Billings and with the – utterly and completely invaluable
assistance of Laurel’s friend Jerry and her brother whose name I can’t remember
– load up the truck and head out the next day for the adventures waiting in
Spanaway, WA.
Before
we left, many funny things happened. One
moreso than most.
Because
this was an unfamiliar area, any time the cats were outside, it had to be under
close supervision. Loki was ok, because
Mom built a fence for Hoagie so that he could play in the whole yard.[10] A fence is nothing to a cat, so there were
steps that needed to be taken. Mally was
fairly easy as she would
very
slowly
explore
the
yard
and be out for about half an hour
before you could see her getting ready to go over the wall. So, she’d get about half an hour outside
every couple of days. Not enough for
her, but sufficient to keep the crying down to a minimum.
Ichabod,
as in all things, is another story entirely.
His first move upon being let outside was to run for the fence and go
over before he could be caught. This was
a lesson learned the hard way the first time I brought him to Thermopolis. Obviously, he came back, but there were some
worrying moments. Ever since then, the
process has been thusly:
I
have one of Hoagie’s old harnesses, which I also use when taking Ichabod to the
vet. The harness itself scares him and
therefore keeps him a little more sedate than usual. Then I would hook up a 100-ft leash I got for
Hoagie before Mom finished the fence to my parents drying line. There was
another rope lead I could hook onto either end, giving him about two hundred
feet. The other advantage of this set up
was that he’d slink around for quite a while before he got used to the
umbilicus, meaning that I didn’t have to watch him every second and could read,
do laundry or make dinner.
One
night while making dinner, I realized I needed to watch him a little more closely than I was. Hoagie and Ichabod were both out in the back
hanging out. I was looking out the
kitchen window every couple of minutes just be sure. I don’t know whether I heard or saw
something, but suddenly I went very quickly to the back door.
Where
I found both animals, looking a little frazzled. Ichabod sans harness. Which was hanging from one of the trees.
I
don’t know. I wish I did. They’re not talking.
[1] Ok, when you’re doing it
for her job with no idea what you’re
going to do once you get there, it’s a little strange, but my ability to sort
out my life is strange at best.
[2]
Which, while a little
unexciting to live in as a person growing up, is really a fairly nifty little
town. Especially if you’re
visiting.
[3]
She’s a dog. It’s a car.
[4]
I mean, actually
coming and getting people and letting them know that Mally is crying at the
door to be let in and no-one has noticed.
[5]
At which point she
promptly forgot I existed.
[6]
The realization of
this has come as something of a surprise to me, as I have always blindly
assumed that I am good at writing due to some awards won as a child and
teenager, although one would think that the lack of accolades as I’ve aged
would have taught me that I needed to make some changes. This applies to both fictional writing and my
CV/resumes. Too much telling, not enough
showing. Still working on that. As you can see.
[7]
One of the standing
jokes about Wyoming towns is that the population is always lower than the
elevation. This is true for
Thermop: Pop somewhere around 3000, elev
close to 5000. Probably only about 10
towns break this rule. One of which is
Casper, which, contrary to popular belief is NOT the capital of WY. Cheyenne is.
[8]
Ok, technically Bison,
but the name has been in place too long for accuracy to outweigh truth.
[9]
Wicked deep mineral
formation where the limestone has sort of swirled down into a deep pit.
[10] This is what I meant about
him being her favourite.
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