I whisked into my hometown, Wheatland, wearing red sunglasses and a big floppy hat. I worried that I  would run into someone in this small town and that would set the “restart” button a week early. So, I transformed into stealth mode.  I collected Tango from the dog sitter, washed more clothes, and packed some food.

     I am acclimated to the out doors, accustomed to working in the cool shade of my umbrella and being near a body of water. I still have time. So I head out to my favorite reservoir, the first place I ever camped after I moved to Wyoming and now, probably my last trip out before regular life starts again.

     The day was hot in-town, but I suspected a cool breeze would come up at the reservoir. Right on schedule, around 6 PM, a delicate breeze began to cool us off. Tango and I had walked about 1 mile to the boat dock and were standing out on the edge, close to the water. Is anything more delightful than a gentle breeze floating in over water? This is especially true for those of us who live in windy terrain. A breeze is like a small kiss, compared to the raucous winter winds that send us flying.

     The reservoir is crazy full. I am certain that this is the result of a wet, rainy year. By August, the reservoirs are normally depleted and sorrowful after officials release a certain percentage of the water for irrigation. I like the lower water levels, which leave behind sandy beaches and long stretches where Tango and I walk. Driftwood is everywhere and makes a great campfire.  Another set of dirt roads appears as the water recedes and I can drive out near the water’s edge to c amp. When the water is extremely high, I have to camp in the grasses and shrubs, which means I am in closer proximity to the snakes (rattlers and bull snakes). As if to remind us that rattlers live here, while walking Tango and I pass dead one.

     The area is quiet since I am out during the week. On weekends, campers line up  in a long stretch and zoom around on 4x4s.

     I see that wild sunflowers bloom in my home terrain, the ultimate sign that summer will give way to fall. This morning I see a multitude of small birds and 4 great blue herons who must be passing through. I also see two magnificent hawks who I will identity later, when I can dig out my bird ID books. An occasional flowering shrub interrupts the endless expanse buckskin-colored hills. “My” small herd of deer that live nearby are grazing. 

     Familiarity. I love traveling to new regions. It renews my spirit and brings me much-needed rest and renewal. However, I long now for my familiar high plains landscape and the comforts of home.