I woke up to the wind howling this morning.
It’s not an unusual occurrence. After all, this is Wyoming. Nary a day goes by that the wind doesn’t make its presence known.
And just like the buffalo that adorns Wyoming’s state flag, we Wyomingites lean into the wind. We face it. We lower our heads and trudge forward.
Because you have to be tough to live around here.
Wyoming dances with Mother Nature as if they had not a care in the world. They kick up dust as the wind sashays across the plains. They whip up thunderheads and toss out hailstones like they were candy in a kid’s parade. They’ve been known to ignore snowflakes long enough to allow them to stack as high as the fence posts and then, tickle them endlessly until the drifts scurry away. They can turn the thermostat up so high you’d think you will melt in a matter of moments and disappear in the cavernous cracks in the dried-up soil. But with a giggle of thunder and a slam of lightning, the two of them can cause the sky to pour with a roar. And then, like children with a palette of paint, they splash the evening skies with colors that make your eyes hurt.
That’s why we who live here, live here.
We are not faint of heart. Our skin is hardened.
But our hearts are not.
We live to fill our lungs with the stinging frigid air in February so that we can dip our toes in the chilly creeks in July. We rake autumn’s harvest with gratitude and we glean with pride as we revel in spring’s beauty.
The best place on Earth, hands down.
Even when the wind howls.
God blessed Wyoming long ago and He keeps blessing her. May the next 132 years be the best ones yet.
Happy birthday, Wyoming!
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