When we were in the sixth grade, Wyoming celebrated 75 years of statehood. We staged a grand pageant in its honor. Most of the other students were like me---parents and grandparents had spent all of the their lives in our little valley in the Rocky Mountains, there on the western edge of Wyoming. I even wore a dress that was hand sewn by one of my grandmothers when she was a teen. (full disclosure...technically, she grew up on the Idaho side of the highway in her little town in the northern end of our valley...but she went to church and school in Wyoming!) Anyway, CoolGuy dressed in his cowboy hat, fringed jacket, and boots. Plus, he brought a neat old rifle to complement his outfit. Yes, he brought a fully functional gun (unloaded) to school for our program. Several boys did. It was a different time. Plus--it was Wyoming.
(I've had to crop it a little to make the people big enough to see.)
You can see CoolGuy with his fake mustache in the center, rifle balanced on his legs. I'm seated on the second row, about four girls over to the right. I'm dressed in a blue gingham dress with a large white lace collar. You can see a couple of other boys holding or wearing their guns, if you look closely. It was an awesome pageant. I was part of a group of singers who performed "Springtime in the Rockies."
You can see CoolGuy with his fake mustache in the center, rifle balanced on his legs. I'm seated on the second row, about four girls over to the right. I'm dressed in a blue gingham dress with a large white lace collar. You can see a couple of other boys holding or wearing their guns, if you look closely. It was an awesome pageant. I was part of a group of singers who performed "Springtime in the Rockies."
Here is the state flower: Indian paintbrush. My fourth grade teacher taught us a song about it. I think she composed the tune to go along with a poem she knew.
"A strange little flower with a sunkissed nose; without any perfume, yet red as a rose..."
Here is an excellent example of the Wyoming state tree: the cottonwood. This one used to tower over our house when I was the little girl in between the two big sisters toward the back of this patient horse. It was actually two trees growing from one base and it loomed over the yard and provided shade, autumn leaves and a pretty cool climbing trunk. Unfortunately, its roots were pushing at our house's foundation and wrecking the basement walls, so it was cut down when I was about ten years old.
State mammal: the American bison. No, it is not a buffalo. It is a bison. I know, I know, it is often called a buffalo. I mean, there's a city in Wyoming named for Buffalo Bill---Cody, Wyo. And there is another city--Buffalo, Wyo. However, the actual name of this formidable beast is American bison. They're very cool and very crotchety---don't try to pet a wild one.
The state bird is the Western meadowlark. The warbling call of this bird still evokes my childhood. Their bright yellow breast, with the black chevron, made it easily visible as they perched on a fence post and called out, "[EarthSignMama] is a pretty little girl." Well, that's what my mom said it was saying. Turns out CoolGuy's mother told him the same story---not my name, but his name was being whistled loudly as a "good little boy."
The nickname is "Equality State" for giving women the right to vote before any other state did that. But it is also known as the Cowboy state, and the car license plates all display this bucking horse symbol, along with the number identifying which county you hail from. Bucking horses always mean Wyoming to me.
Here we have the fabulous flag of the 44th state. I've always been glad that the designers chose something graphic and really distinctive for our fabric symbol. There's no mistaking what this represents. We share the colors with Old Glory, but that bison makes it ours.
Here is a very typical Wyoming view from my part of the state in winter--lots of snow and mountains.
(P.S. When I took this photo, it was in the afternoon, and it was 3 degrees.)
And here is a really great representation of a summer evening in June.
But, lest you think I am romanticizing the place, or have my youthful memories clouded by the dimming abilities of age, I present you--
Spring Time on the Farm
It's melting snow mixed with...bovine effluent. It's slippery, it's smelly, it's on everything. Under this ankle-deep goo is a surface of melting ice, which adds to the treacherous footing, and keeps the sliminess working for weeks. It's warm and sometimes rainy during the days, and goes back to really cold at night. Summer is a fleeting event in my beloved home state---spring is erratic and temperamental and endless.
However, I'll still sing a chorus of Happy Birthday, and raise a glass of milk in her honor---Wyoming, Land of my Youth; state that I love; place that I try to visit only in the summer!
