The family left their homestead in 1938, when my dad was eight years old, and they ended up in Detroit Michigan. For the rest of his life, in many ways, he was trying to get back to Wyoming. He went there at 16 to work on the ranch of a family friend. Back in Detroit, he met my mom at a riding stable, and we lived in Michigan when I was young. We moved to Texas when I was 7, but after six months returned to Michigan. When I was 12 we moved to Sheridan, Wyoming, and my dad worked on a ranch in Montana. There were six children then. I was the oldest, and my sister Mary was the baby. We went to the Catholic grade school in Sheridan. We stayed there for one school year.
We could walk to school–I think it may have been about 8 blocks. One time the weather reported it was 17 below zero. My mom called another mother to ask whether she should send us to school. Just bundle them up! she said. I was in seventh grade that year, and was amazed that the popular kids were also those who got good grades. I was in a drama club and a science club. But it took a while to make friends. By the end of that year, I had gotten close to a girl in my class whose name was Patricia Ann Rhodes. The drama club put on Thornton Wilder’s Our Town. I shared the role of Mrs. Gibbs with another student.
My dad stayed up in Montana during the week. Actually, I don’t remember the exact schedule of him coming home. He did go back and forth. That year we spent Christmas week at a one-room cabin in Montana, which was a lot of fun. Shortly after that, he stopped working at the ranch, and went back to Michigan to work again in drafting. I didn’t know the full story until years later. I had always thought he left the ranch because you couldn’t support of family with six children on a cowboy salary. But really what happened was that he hurt his back in a fall from a horse. Someone unexpectedly tossed him a bag of feed, and the horse startled and jumped away. That was how he fell. It was very physical work, and he was in too much pain to continue.
He told me later how devastating that fall had been for him. He went back to his old job–but felt a deep sense of failure. The year before, this company had held a going away party for him, and gave him a gift, a rifle I think, with many good wishes on this new adventure he was looking forward to. So coming back was to admit the defeat of his dream. Back in Michigan, he found a house for us to live in, and the family moved back to Michigan after the school year ended. I cried when we had to go back.
I am thinking about how much he loved the open range, and longed for the land in Wyoming. He found God in that land. He said once that “people called it a ‘God-forsaken land’ yet even in that naming they were reminded of God.” His longing for this faraway land was a part of my growing up years, one root of my own sense of disconnection and longing for the land.
I have been thinking a lot about my dad these last few weeks because he had a fall at home in West Virginia a few weeks ago and hurt his back. He is now in a nursing home, theoretically to get some rehab and pain management, but he is feeling very discouraged, and not really participating in therapy. He had a stroke in September of 2014, and recovered well at first, but it has been a hard two years. I am thinking about how much I love him, even though my own journey took me so far away from his world. Cowboy, mystic, dreamer… I send you blessings on this difficult chapter. And gratitude to my sister Julie who has been caring for him and my mom close up these last eleven years.