For most of my life back East, this was the only thing that used to come to mind when I heard the word “boardwalk.” The hottest property on the Monopoly board. High rent district!
You could gain a little fame, if not fortune, by owning a piece of a different kind of boardwalk in Dubois: the one that acts as a sidewalk in the tiny downtown business district.
I love to look at the names on the boards to see which I can recognize. I don’t know when they were laid down, but the names on many of the boards have faded considerably under the pressure of countless feet over the years.
Quite a few of the boards disappeared recently, either torn or burned away as a result of the great New Year’s fire of 2014. What’s going to happen to those historic planks? I asked property manager Reg Phillips last January.
“We are planning on putting the boardwalks back,” he replied. “The names that are still legible will be noted and when the new boards go in, those names will be re-branded. Any boards that are not legible will be available for sale.”
Presumably, this will offer an attractive new opportunity for newbies like us who would like the privilege of literally putting our brand down in downtown Dubois.
Back when the boardwalk was first created downtown, you could have had your name inscribed on one of the boards for a mere $75 donation to Dubois Volunteers Inc. (which uses part of the funds for routine repairs). But that honor had long been sold out when we moved to town.
Instead, we got the family name on the bridge that crosses the river in the town park. For some reason having my last name there made me feel more like part of the town.
I wonder whether there will be competition for the available boards when the new building is complete, and how and whether DVI will manage that. It’s fun to speculate.
This past week, volunteers coordinated by the Dubois Museum Association have been busy fixing the a different damaged boardwalk–the one that connects the charming historic cabins across the parking lot from our equally charming museum. They will have completed the project just in time to assure the safety of the visitors at the start of the summer season, which begins this weekend.
The DMA and museum staff provided the sweat equity. Funds for the pressure-treated lumber and screws came from a Wyoming Community Foundation grant.
Here you see the old boardwalk being removed, on a beautiful spring day. The new boardwalk is nicer than the old one, Visitor Services Coordinator Johanna Thompson told me, because instead of zigging and zagging, it winds like a stream.
No names are inscribed on the new museum boardwalk, at least not yet. What would you like to see inscribed there? Might be fun to add dates of important events in local history.
© Lois Wingerson, 2016
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I’m quietly amused every time I say the Lord’s prayer, which is at least once a week.
At Old First Reformed Church in Brooklyn (established by order of Peter Stuyvesant in 1654, so that Brooklynites didn’t have to cross the river every Sunday just to get to church), the oldest congregation in town doesn’t talk to the Lord about trespassing. They say “Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.”
How bizarrely appropriate that in the world capital of financial markets we worry about monetary obligations, while in Wyoming we are fretting about venturing wittingly or inadvertently onto terrain we are unauthorized to enter.
Fortunately for those of us who love to hike, there’s so much wilderness about Dubois that there’s really no need to wander out of bounds.
It’s not the right day for an ambitious hike. So you wander out into the rodeo grounds, where the dog can sniff around and discover the ghosts of bulls and broncos.
On an early spring day, it’s my chance to go where I’m otherwise forbidden. Here’s where the livestock mill around, out of my view on the far side of the caller’s booth, while I’m sitting idly on my bench across the arena.
I always wondered what it looked like for the bull or bronco riders waiting on this side of the gate. I can’t imagine what it feels like to be one of them.
“Even people who don’t know much about rodeo,” Galvin also wrote, “know that whatever happens … the cowboy has to rise from the dust into an ocean of pain and make it on his own to the rail as if nothing at all has happened.”
Sometimes you just have to chuckle. An acquaintance from New York City this week cautioned me against opening our bedroom window at night because of the risk from all those white supremacists out in the West.
But it still is a small-town store, or as Steve’s business card puts it, “Your friendly home-town grocer.” To survive, he has to meet two challenges: Competition from the larger supermarkets down-county in Lander and Riverton, and what he called the “Tale of Two Cities” problem.
We used to take hour-long trips down county with our big cooler to buy produce in Riverton. No more.