Noah's Hill

 

Flirtatious: "You animal, you!"

Real Mood: Really Nostalgic

Prediction: It's going to get cooler tommorrow, no matter what!

The latest rumor is that they'll start the construction on that road behind our house in October.  It was actually stated in print, but it's been in print on numerous occassions over the past three years and not been true.  Anyway to make sure I don't lose this current sense of nostalgia, I'll react as if its actually going to happen this time.

We've known people who've lived on farms and ranches,  lived next to golf courses, on the banks of rivers and lakes, in the middle of aspen groves, and ocean side.  They're all rightfully pleased, proud and no doubt invigorated by the peaceful ambiance of their palatial placement. ( I love alliteration.) But you know what? They all knew ahead of time what they were getting.  And they shelled out a good portion of their worth to get it.

We bought this place in a March, set at the bottom of a hill that blocks any view of the mountains.  All we could see were a hundred or so acres of dry grass and cactus. The sales people tried to make the lot seem exotic, but neither their hearts nor their price tags followed.  I'm pretty sure we paid less because we had no professional landscaping or parks behind us. They even tip toed around calling it open space. 

The builder was open with us.

" Some day they are going to build behind you.  I'd say you'll have five, maybe ten years at the most before that happens."

Well, like I said it's been 13 now.  It's been thirteen years of watching the hillside predict and define the seasons. It's been thirteen years of many things I'll just try to let flow out. 

One of my first memories was hearing some excitement of some sort in the backyard. I responded professionally to see the few neighbors we had scambling to the barbed wire fence behind us. Everyone seemed to have something orange in their hands.

The excitement was four horses ambling along the property line, and the orange things were carrots. We quickly joined the carrot line and fed the domestic beasts at the risk of falling short of our own prescribed carotene intake for the day.  A week later about a hundred head of cattle showed up.  Instead of carrots most of us fed the cows a percentage the new landscapingwe were putting in.  Filling out the domestic file, we've also had a few mules and one lonely llama as neighbors. Peggy calls the Llama Dahli and I call him Como Se.

But it's the wild file that's made this a winning choice. The whole neighborhood went bonkers when the first herd of antelope showed up. They've never stayed long, but it really takes you places to see them close up. In Wyoming they've calculated there are far more antelope residing there, than there are homo sapiens.  Know Wyoming? Know our backyard.

We've watched packs of coyotes, one or two fox, and birds. I swore I saw a Bald Eagle. Peggy thinks I was short on carotene that day. We have spotted and logged more than a hundred different species of birds in our backyard.  We watched many, including Robins and Blue Birds build their nests and send their progeny banging into our picture window.

And then there are the groundlings. (Pardon me Will) One of my favorites is the 13 lined ground squirrel. He and or his off spring has shown up every Spring we've lived here.  Probably my favorite groundling story involves the look on Peggy's face after she discovers she's cut a five foot long snake into pieces with the lawn mower. Then there was the raccoon who decided to shimy up our aspen tree and spend the day napping in the shade of our bedroom window. He drew quite a crowd. 

I can't say I'm happy with all the rabbits that have shown up. Their numbers are an indication of the change. Their predators are being boxed out by fences and asphalt and concrete.  We haven't seen antelope in over a year now.

But I don't want to get maudlin. The road will come. We'll adjust. That's what homo sapiens do so well. Still there is that look on Peggy's face when she mutilated that snake. I'm going to hang on to that memory.