Since my last column in WyoFile, I backtracked again.
I returned to the ID ranch where I grew up. My family (the blood) joined me, as did Carbon County Sheriff Alex Bakken (the heat).
Here’s what went down in a country widely considered to be the original site of the Garden of Eden.
First – why the sheriff? Alex Bakken wears the same badge that my great-grandfather, I.C. Miller wore as territorial sheriff in Carbon County. So I’ve kept an eye on Sheriff Bakken, and I’ve been impressed with how he handles himself wearing that badge.
I’m sure my patriarch would agree, had they ever met.
I called Alex and asked if he would like to see the ranch that I.C. put together. Alex had bow-hunted in the Seminoe Mountains, but hadn’t seen the rest of the outfit, or the headquarters with the massive 140-year-old stone buildings. He is also an avid history buff and jumped at the chance.
Since my third-born son, Kirk, was visiting from the City of Angels, this would be a great opportunity to gather the clan so they could revisit the place they had spent their childhood years. My former wife, Linda joined us, and had the chance to see the ID again, where she had spent years in the solitude, wind and rattlesnakes, 40 miles from town, raising our sons.
I owe Linda an un-repayable debt for her maternal excellence. This sojourn was an installment.
I also invited family friend and videographer extraordinaire, Mike Vanata, to join us. I owe Vanata a debt for doing several thousand bucks worth of primo video work for my 2018 run for Congress and, when the campaign ran out of money, accepting my beloved AK-47 as payment.
Another road trip with Vanata was a side benefit to this particular journey back in time.
My second-born, Isaac had to stay back in Cheyenne to take Pippi the Wonder Dog to the vet for a canine emergency, so he missed out. But Pippi lives!
Vic, my youngest son, served as Chief of Security for the pilgrimage through Outlaw country, and kept us safe from the brigands that, 150 years earlier, he would have led.
The youngest Miller, grandson Dayton, came with my eldest son Tommy, to share the driving chores, peel a bronc and catch his first fish. For a 4-year-old, Dayton pulled his weight and then some.
Rounding out the party of backtrackers were my brother, Mark, and cousin, Bill Shaffer, who grew up with me on the ID. We share indelible memories of that place that cannot be put into words.
We met at Su Casa, in Sinclair (the best Mexican food north of the Nueces River) for lunch, where Vanata proceeded to mortify everyone by ordering a chicken fried steak (but that’s a topic for a future column), and then we drove north on Memory Lane to the ID headquarters.
Given our statewide drought, I expected to see the countryside clad in a pale beige duster, but she must have known we were coming, because she wore her prettiest green sundress. The ID looks splendid!
Inside the big stone barn, it’s always cool in summer. The heavy door still bears the carved initials of long-dead cowboys and old brands. Outside in the corral, Dayton got his first horseback ride. His mount was a sleek bay mare named Clementine. They bonded in that sacred and mysterious ritual known only to kids and horses.
Sheriff Bakken got a good look at where his predecessor lived, and he seemed to enjoy it.
Then we drove up to the base of Bradley Peak, to the high divide between the Hurt Creek and Deweese Creek drainages, so I could show my kids where I expect them to scatter my ashes at the appropriate time.
Sure, I had planned earlier for my sons divvy up my cremains and sneak them into the pepper shakers in Taco Johns all over the Big Empty. They all said they’d do it, but the Bradley Peak plan seems a bit healthier all around.
Dayton then caught his first fish, a mini-brookie, in the same place on Hurt Creek that his dad caught his first fish. That seems symmetrical and correct to me. It’s the gold in the brown and gold of Wyoming.
Kirk, a runner, skipped fishing to run five miles back toward headquarters to frolic in the wind-shifting dunes that will, in time, bury my first home.
With these living folks I retraced my steps through the country of my ghosts. The ticks and snakes spared us out of respect.
The youngest of my bloodline experienced his first horsey ride and first fish. The new sheriff met our old country.
It was a good day on the backtrail. And I’m tickled to be back in the Cowboy State Daily stable!
Rod Miller can be reached at: RodsMillerWyo@yahoo.com
