WHYoming

On clear days, Wyoming’s blue sky reveals the Grand Tetons above Jenny Lake. But on this day, you could only feel their presence. A forest fire thirty miles away choked the air with so much smoke it felt like a foggy morning back in Maine. Nine of us gathered by the shore, mulling around its rocky edges on an October afternoon. The water temp was in the forties. I didn’t want to, but I knew I was going to get in that lake.

This time last year, I left home to help finish the final phase of my friend’s project in Jackson Hole, one we’d been working on for three years. Part of me resisted coming back for one last push. I knew what lay in store.

The days were rugged, even by stonework standards. We spent days breaking down rough slabs of limestone into usable chunks. We flipped them, rolled them, and dragged them into position. We smashed them with sledgehammers. I lost six pounds in eight days.

But the hardest part wasn’t the work. It was the leaving. Leaving Eliza, leaving the ongoing projects I’m excited about, leaving home. Why leave all that?

The people.

I want to help Bryce from Massachusetts see his project through. I want to catch up with Matt and Jabez from Connecticut and hear about their projects. Has James from Kentucky found any new arrowheads? How is Jessea from New Zealand? How are things with Nels in California? How did Ursa, half my age, already get so good?

I’ve been lucky to work with these folks and more from all over the country. There’s nothing like shared hard labor to form deep bonds. These are my people. That’s why I go to Wyoming.

Near the end of the trip, we gathered at Jenny Lake. The smoke was thick, the water frigid. I’m not one for cold plunges, but I knew I had to go in. My breath caught in my chest from the shock. By the time I got out I was calm, grounded, and oddly euphoric.