Recently, I was reading through some of my favorite correspondence and found this note from one of ourÂ friends/guests.Â The red-wings have returned, and the geese are honking along the riverbanks in search of nesting places. Snow still blankets the valley floor, and more comes each week, but we know that spring’s not too far off now–and the time when we get to see our friends again. Here’s the note that got me thinking of summer:
When I was a kid, we used to spend summer vacations at the beach. When I fell asleep at night, my body would have the distinct sensation of riding the waves, the activity that I spent most of my days pursuing. This year, when I returned from our week at the A Bar A I kept reliving so many of the experiences as I fell asleep, much like the save motion had been indelibly inscribed in my mind during those childhood summers.
I cannot only envision, but can smell, hear and feelâ€¦
My fishing fly gently breaking the surface of Big Creek just as I was taught, tempting a big rainbow trout.
“My” horse, Surprise’s, legs splashing through the Platte and later, his gently swaying body under mine as we traversed the aspen groves on Savage Trail.
The inner tube float under me, my body brushing the water-rounded rocks, with my son on my lap, singing and laughing exuberantly as we floated down the river.
The friends gathered at Slim’s Draw on Friday night, under clouds admitting just enough light to ensure a surreal orange glow on all our smiling faces.
My excitement at hitting two clay targets in a row during my first trap shooting lesson (and my family being there to observe it!).
My children on their first horse ride, asking me to “make it last forever,” even after vowing to never ride a horse only two days before as we drove to the Ranch from Denver.
Usually when I return from vacation, I fondly reminisce about the dreamlike quality of the surroundings I just left, but am somewhat pleased to be getting back to “reality.” What was unique about this vacation was that our summer life in Wyoming seemed more “real” to me than the other 51 weeks of the year. I’ll see you in 51 weeks. S.G.