When I first moved to the Goshen County area, I was rather resentful. As a child, it was not an easy decision for my young mind to understand when my mom and I pack all of our belongings and left the Snake River Valley in Idaho. I had been to Wyoming one time before I moved here, for my grandfather’s funeral some months before. 

Mom said there were “mountains” and “lakes” where we were headed so I tried to keep a positive mindset when I arrived at the end of a dry, hot summer. I wasn’t really expecting to stumble upon a lake as grand as the Flathead Lake in my home state of Montana here in this part of Wyoming, but I was still looking to find “the lake” here in Goshen County. I was a little shocked when I learned here, we call reservoirs “lakes”. Our scenic trip from Cheyenne to Torrington gave my mom opportunity to point out “Bear Mountain” and “Mount 66” but after spending years growing up at the foot of the Flint Creek Mountain Range with the highest point of elevation over 10,000 feet, I was a little confused. I thought plateaus were a more appropriate name by the definition alone…Websters defines a plateau as “a usually extensive land area having a relatively level surface raised sharply above adjacent land on at the least one side.”

So…you get it…I felt like I moved here under false pretenses.

For years, I struggled to come to terms with the fact I had moved from the mountains and valleys to the plains. Wyoming was like a passage from the history books I read as a child in school. It reminded me of the Little House on the Prairie, my sister read to me…populated but somehow, wild and free once you hit the outskirts of town. It took me a long time to appreciate Wyoming. The cotton candy skies Chris LeDoux had sang to me about for years finally became home. I have come to appreciate a cool-off dip at our local lakes and I can finally admire the beauty of our cute little mountains. 

This morning a small snowstorm ran through Goshen County and it left the most beautiful winter skies in its path as the sun peaked over the horizon. Even in the dead of winter, it’s beautiful here. The land, dry and hibernating for the cold season sat as still as night while the bright hues of yellows, oranges, pinks, and blues swirled in the storm system before finally being muted by the briskly blowing snow….How can you not find beauty in a canvas so colorful and apparently effortless?

It has taken me a long time to get to this point where even my most dreaded time of the year is still beautiful. It’s taken me some time to get used to living in a place where the air hurts my face but I don’t think I could give up the sunsets and sunrises of Wyoming.