Nostalgia

There was a night back in early December when I was still at Big Creek I was restless. This was when the temperature kind of hung right in the 0 to 10 below range for about a week. It was fantastic after the brutal week of 20-40 below we'd had previously. Anyway, it was about eight o clock, right around the time football came on. It must have been a Monday or a Thursday, because it was one of those stressful days during which you do absolutely nothing productive and feel like you've been walking around since seven in the morning and done nothing but drink coffee and talk about all the things you had to do. Anyway, I went and ate dinner in the cookhouse; more than likely some three week old pot roast leftovers that I dug out from underneath the moldy green beans Jane should have pitched back in September. When I was done, I moseyed back over to the bunkhouse and stood just outside the front door for a few minutes. Directly overhead I could see the stars behind a wispy cap of fog- everything else was tucked away out of my sight by the milky, cold fog that had just rolled in. Having not really left the ranch compound in a month or so save for a few trips to Laramie for a Papa Johns pizza, I tucked my hands deep in my pockets and began walking. Past the ghostly reflections of the vehicles in the small parking lot I went. The huge open door into the garage/warehouse/bird **** collection room loomed like a giant cave. Dark, silent, and terrifying.



I hurried along, prodded by the workings of my own subconscious telling me I should stay away from there. It's funny how when in the dark, alone and under dressed, the things you see and do every day will catch you off guard. Forget I just watched an exorcism movie an hour ago; I swear that hay rake just moved. Despite my imagination fabricating things out of nothing, I kept going. My own knowledge of the mountains spurred me on. Almost nothing moves in the dead of winter in Carbon County- the bears are hibernating, the lions don't come close to the ranch, and coyotes don't bother humans. Even with my own reassurances, I was still jumpy. I began wishing I'd brought a gun for a comfort handle.



The fog grew deeper. As I passed through the overhead into the First East hay meadow, I turned to look at the compound behind me. The light over the gas pumps that normally would blind a person that just crossed the state line seven miles away was a dim candle a mere sixty yards away. I took a false comfort in the fact I could still see the stars above me, and walked into the meadow. I knew I was in a wide open field, but the farther from the gate I walked, the more I felt entombed. The fog seemed to be getting colder and heavier as I walked. I followed the tracks made by the feed tractor. Eventually the tracks would take me out to the herd and the stack yard. My goal was to go all the way to the stack yard and climb up to the top and see if I could get above the fog. Only a few minutes later I felt the cold drop another few degrees. My bare hands couldn't hold up much longer, even buried in my coat. All I had were some uninsulated Mechanix gloves that seemed to amplify the cold rather than cure it.



I stopped and breathed the damp, frigid air for a moment, taking in the silence. I closed my eyes and thought back to how many night's I'd spent laying in the north pasture with that special someone, just listening. The coyotes would eventually start their nightly chorus, the nighthawks would swoop about eating the mosquitoes that ate us, and the occasional hardcore trucker would light up the night with the distant sound of a hundred miles an hour. It was that silence that brought us together.



The cold nipped through my coat and hastened my return to the bunkhouse. I chanced a glimpse in the return direction; even though I could only be a hundred yards or so out of the gate there was no trace of light to be seen. I picked up my step, eager to return to my seventy five degree house, a shower and a few pre-bedtime shots of whiskey.



My ears detected the far off echo of a coyote pack. I smiled, wondering just how many coyotes lurked out in the Big Creek hay meadows right now. The small moment of wonder was soon smothered by another pack, a hundred eighty degrees from the first and a heckuvalot closer. A third pack struck up a song directly in front of me, probably just off the corner of the main ranch compound. A fourth chord was added to the mix directly behind me.



Knowing the likelihood of being attacked by coyotes is slim to none is absolutely no consolation when alone and encompassed in thick, cold, blinding fog. It is at this point that a normally placid brain begins calculating just how many winter-starved scavengers it would take to overwhelm a single person.



My long legged trot served me well- I hurried past the giant evil mouth of a garage to my doorstep. One last glimpse at the stars above and I dove into the semi-not frozen entryway, then at last into the house kept warm enough one could bake a chicken on the kitchen counter. And the Donkeys (broncos) must have lost again, because Jered is watching Family Guy.

I have been in Foco for a whopping four weeks, and have been reduced to my typical winter activities- coffee, work out, try not to puke, start drinking at three pm or so, go to bed. A small little distraction fell into place though- my dad fell of a ladder and broke his leg last month, so I have the occasional chore of babysitting him when my ma isn't home. Much as I dislike having to babysit someone who doesn't want to be babysat, it gives a small respite from the otherwise dull existence of Skinny Ben. And when things get really hard to deal with, all I have to do is think this: It's not a two hour drive for a case of beer! I'm working really hard to stay positive!