Wyoming Spring

It is springtime in the Rocky Mountains. Songbirds have been arriving, the sun shines more often than not, it is April . . . and a blizzard arrived that dumped 12-16 inches of fresh snow over the course of three days.

Where is this spring about which I’ve heard so much???

Okay, I grew up here. I know very well what the winters are like. They’re cold, harsh, and filled with snow. Honestly, that’s a part of the reason I moved away to begin with. Perhaps I forgot that spring can also be like that. That’s on me. But it really does feel like the weather said, “Welcome back! Let us remind you of all the things you just love about this place now that you’ve been home for three months!”

Thanks, Wyoming. You’ve really made me feel so special and welcome.

In all seriousness, there is something beautiful about fields and foothills and mountains covered in a blanket of new, fresh snow. Everything falls silent in the snow; as if the whole world slows down, long pauses between each breath, everything waiting in peaceful repose for the sun to return and melt away the frost. In Bellingham, I felt like that when it rained. Now that I have returned home as an adult, I’m starting to wonder if I will learn to love the snow as much as I loved the rain.

Of course, for all its beauty (and necessity—the snow runoff provides much-needed water during the spring and summer months), the snowfall did come with some aggravation. I am planning to build my home this spring, and with renewed snow on the ground, that just means longer wait times before we can break ground. Ohh the stress. Sometimes I do wonder if I’m a little made for the decisions I made back in December . . .

Still, I have no regrets. Stress, snow, and uncertainty aside, this is where I need to be. It is where I belong. Here in the wild Rocky Mountains, the nearest city about two hours’ drive away, a place where I can drive to town and pass not one single automobile on the road. A place that has blizzards in April.

. . .

Yes, I’m a little mad.

Sarcasm aside, spring in the Rockies is spectacular. When the snow melts and all the brown gives way to green and the riot of color from wildflowers, you would be hard-pressed to find a place more beautiful. The Rockies are young and rugged and wild, and I live just a couple hours away from the Wyoming side of the Grand Tetons. I need not travel very far to find those wild places where I can feel I’m the only person on the face of the Earth. Here, where the quakin’ aspen never stop their trembling, where the wild roses and Indian paintbrush bloom, where the mountains rise behind my house like watchful sentinels, I am home.