A dusty little wide spot in the road. Many people gasp when I announce my home town. “Say, Where????”
“NOOOO!!!!!!!”
“There’s nothing but sand, sage, and snakes.”
“NO CULTURE?!?!?!”
Well, those are all reasons I love it here, minus the snakes, of course. There are drawbacks. I never know when I’ll need to shovel horse poop off my sidewalk or re-rake the brand new DG in the front yard to remove hoof prints.
There’s one thing that I’ve found in no other place I’ve lived. A hint of Wyoming. The biggest bluest sky. As a young farm girl from California, I read about fluffy clouds in the shape of dogs or dinosaurs. I could never quite understand, although I liked the concept. Central California has very boring sky, I can tell you that. In my experiences of over six decades, there are two types of sky there. Foggy or smoggy. The color never changes from a light grayish blue. No dimension other than flat which mirrors the contour of the land. Clouds and real weather are very, very rare. The sky is boringly static.
Winterpast changed my experience with clouds. The lush green grass of Summer 2021 was the perfect place to lay and watch the clouds passing by. I’m quite sure I saw VST and his golf clubs giving me a High-5 as he headed East on the jet stream. On most days above Winterpast, the color of blue sky will electrify the saddest day making it come alive with possibility.
Nevada sky isn’t the Big Sky of Wyoming which tugs at my heartstrings in dreams. I’m not so sure its memory won’t yank me back to live there for a summer or two, someday. Here, the high desert sky of Northwestern Nevada has a playful spirit. I can wake to the night sky extravaganza of a million stars as I grab a morning soak in the hot tub. Then, slowly, the clouds come out to play throughout the day. Big puffy ones, boiling and transforming into all kinds of shapes. More towards this time of year, the clouds turn into sassy little shards of white, as brittle as my heart on some days. Ice. Floating ice. The texture aloof and business like. Crisp and inelastic while moving East, the sky and clouds behave as two uninterested and masked strangers at the produce aisle during Covid.
These days, clouds bounce along their windy way, signaling conditions aloft. A pilot once explained information the different cloud formations held. Once aware, I could read a story about from where the clouds had come and to where they were headed. Another dimension of which many people are oblivious.
Being up there with the clouds. Who could ever, in any situation, walk away from flying without feeling profound loss? Health worries would dictate that for some. But, once I met a person that never shed a tear. Just took off his wings and went on his way for no real reason. There is very little in my life that has compared to flying.
Once, VST had to attend a meeting in Santa Barbara. Teaching 2nd Grade at the time, I couldn’t leave my littles. What to do? The owners of the company had requested my presence at a big weekend party, and frankly, so did VST. What to do? What to do?
A private jet was ordered just for me.
I remember the morning I drove to the airport while ignoring the parking lot for normal passengers. Continuing to the back lot, another world opened up. The company jet was waiting for me and me alone. A little red carpet was positioned right by the short set of steps. A cute uniformed pilot helped me with my bags and we were off. No TSA. No lines. No waiting for rows to be called. Just like that, I was in the air in my own private bubble. With no distractions, I migrated south like the birds. Having the ability to fly through the blue over a carpet of clouds is something from which I could never ever have walked away.
In Virginia City, The Dunmovin’ House had the most wonderful view that went on for hundreds of miles. There were the secret mountains that were only revealed in the winter after a snow. So far away, they were invisible with the least amount of pollution or smoke from fires. After a snow, they appeared, pristine and proud. But, that view was only in one direction. To the west sat the imposing base of Mt. Davidson, into which Dunmovin’ was built. The views to the West, North, and South were rock. So, in reality, we experienced no Big Sky there.
Big Sky exists where you can stop the car, get out, and a vast expanse of sky can be seen from an area of open land in any direction. The key here is OPEN LAND. In Central California, there is very little open land. Trust me on that one. Even though my childhood was spent in a sea of vineyards, totally flat by design, it didn’t qualify because every inch was developed. And besides, there is the grayish faded blue color going on there.
I first fell in love with Big Skies in the fall of 2010. The unexpected death of a close family member caused need of a road-trip to North Dakota. VST and I had just purchased a brand new nifty little Jetta. After ten days of travel, we took it to the dealer for its 5,000 mile service. The skies on that trip had me. If VST would’ve agreed, we would’ve moved then. Of course, responsibilities pulled us back home. The yearning for Big Sky never left my heart.
This week, the weather is unseasonably warm, almost irritatingly so. Add the sunshine and it’s still shorts-weather for another ten days. All to the good. I need to make some trips West before the snow curbs my activities a bit. It’ll be the perfect time for garage cleaning and leaf patrol while I put things in order for the next adventure just around the bend. This desert gal never knows what’s next. One must be prepared for anything around here.
To those of you deep in snow, don’t worry. I’ll get mine. Just not in the next ten days. More tomorrow.