Maybe you are a weather channel fanatic, or maybe you caught a 10-second piece on the news about the two-day blizzard that paralyzed Wyoming last week. If not, let me explain. On Tuesday morning we learned about the impending storm: "supposed to be as bad as '84." It was difficult to imagine what that might mean. On Monday, we could sun ourselves on the patio looking out at clear skies. By Tuesday afternoon though a certain kind of storm rolled in. The sky turned dark gray and the rain began. It rained and thundered all night until about 6am on Wednesday. At about 6:30am, it was snow. It was beautiful.
We left for our weekly grocery run at 9:30am (a day early in case we got shut in). We didn't get shut in. We got shut out.
By the time we reached town some 40 minutes away, the interstate was closed. That meant all those big trucks were driving down our road that headed home. The snow fell harder. There was a lot of snow. Our drive back was slow and then it was stopped. Trucks, cars, a schoolbus with kindergartners still aboard and a cattle truck had overturned and blocked the ONE road back to our compound. We were stuck. Luckily, we made the decision to turn around and go back to town early enough. Some folks didn't and were stranded in their cars for nearly full two days waiting to be rescued.
Yon and Robert had walked a few miles in the snow once their truck got stuck in a ditch and they assured us the road was impassable. That's when with Yon and Robert also in the Surburban we headed back. Our amazing, wonderful program director Lynn Reeves sheparded us for the next several days. First a stop to get necessary toiletries for the night, and then a stop at the Last Chance bar. The power was out but the place was packed. As promised, Yon--freshly shaven--was there and bought us a round. Note to self: at a place called the Last Chance, don't ask whether they serve white wine. The answer may be yes, but . . . No matter, I enjoyed my white zifandel in a Bud Light plastic cup. It all seemed surreal at that point. Here we had been in this idyllic place. Tons of space and light and privacy. And suddenly we weren't able to escape each other.
For the next two days, eight people and four cats slept in a 780 square foot house with only two beds. Our grandest amusement was going to Wal-mart and buying fresh undies. The next two nights we stayed at the Holiday Inn--four people to a room.
What I can say is that I love these people. As "refugees," I think we have bonded for life. Though we each had a temporary breakdown or two--mostly because the expectation of our time in Wyoming was different than what was our experience--we got along fantastically--shared so many laughs and we will have fantastic memories.
We were able to move back to the Ponderosa yesterday morning. It's an amazing sight. There is an 8-foot snow drift blocking our front door. The ground is white. Walking outside means walking on at least five foot drifts that I seem to sink into too easily. But it is beautiful--I see the rabbits scamper (yes, scamper) along the snow banks outside of my window. Birdsongs and calls seem louder as if the snow has quieted the earth a little.
Today, I'm hoping to get back to the work I set out to do when I came to Wyoming. I'm not sure that I can. I am feeling a kind of separation anxiety from these folks as we have all retreated to our studios again --as that was what we all came for. So maybe I wasn't meant to come here to write the Great American Novel finished but learn more about myself and these wonderful people.
Whatever becomes of my writing these last days here will be a bonus. I'm really grateful for having had these days with such cool folks.
