This is my first post from my new post. We're expecting our first snow tonight. I think that's exciting. I think. It's going to get cold, and I'm unsure my Texas-bred body can handle an extended winter.
Writing for a living has been great. I've already met some incredible people with incredible stories to tell. Considering our paper is only twice-weekly, I've been fairly busy. That's great. But it's clear from those I've spoken with that living here in Wyoming is no stroll.
The mountains looming west and south of town are awe inspiring. They're beautiful, but there is something foreboding about them. I've been up here for less than three months, and already I realize a danger on the horizon.
Just two weeks ago our mountains swallowed a small plane with three children on board. On our first hike in the Tetons we ran into a bear. I've heard numerous stories already of experienced mountain men not returning from routine day trips.
We live on the edge of true wilderness.
"Watch your step, and I will make your life worth living," the Wind Rivers seem to say. "Lose sight, and I will take you. Welcome to the west."
These next few years will make us who we will be for the rest of our lives. Much hangs on the fickle will of the Wind Rivers. God lead us on a productive, sure-footed walk.
P.S. I wonder what any of this has to do with a recent fascination with '70s and '80s punk rock.
In 1933, Four Cows Went to Antarctica
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