I have heard people say there is no proper spring in Dubois.
If that’s true, Mother Nature was messing with our heads on this First Official Day of Spring.
The thermometer stood at -8°F when we got up at 7 AM yesterday. By 2:00 in the afternoon, it read 51°F. I took a hike wearing only a windbreaker over my sweater.
A 60-degree swing is noteworthy, even for high-mountain desert: In summer it tends to start somewhere in the 40s and peak only in the mid-70s.
When we got up this morning, the sky was brilliant blue–about the same color as the mountain bluebirds that have begun to flit about behind our house.
The females are soft gray. The males always look to me like tiny pieces of the sky, broken off and soaring about at ground level.
As we left for church, the thermometer read only 22°F. But I was perfectly comfortable as I walked to the car carrying my parka over my arm.
It’s Palm Sunday, the day when parishioners often process around outdoors carrying palms. The minister, who had come over the pass from Jackson to fill in for the day, commented about the mild weather. The high in Jackson yesterday was 28°F (while we were enjoying the fifties). Today it was predicted to surge all the way up to 32.
(I’ve commented before about the false equivalence many people make between Dubois and Jackson. There’s enough snow over there to serve the ski resorts for the rest of the season, I hear. We can see plenty of it on the mountain peaks here as well, but around town it’s totally dry, as you can see.)
We paraded into the sanctuary at a leisurely pace, many of us minus our overcoats. I’m amazed nobody thought to give thanks for the springlike weather during the prayers.
In the afternoon, lacking a plan but determined not to stay indoors, we took a drive up Horse Creek Road just to see what it looks like over there right now. We took the chance to leave the car and explore some cave-like formations. Just the perfect day for spring jackets.
Benny obviously enjoyed spring break too. He seldom rides with his head out the window like that. Can you see his smile?
The forecast calls for snow on Tuesday and Friday, with sunshine on the days between and highs in the low 40s.
Paradise lost? No, just postponed.
© Lois Wingerson, 2016
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I needed to run some errands “down county” in Riverton, about an hour away. It was almost balmy spring, and a different experience altogether from the wintry drive over the mountain pass to Jackson a few weeks ago.
I’ve met a few of these distant neighbors, but I don’t have any friends among them. “The Rez” feels like foreign territory, which I suppose it actually is.
The most prominent landmark on the drive is Crowheart Butte. You can see it in this picture, rising from the valley floor. I have no idea how the butte came to be on that flat plain, but nearly everyone here knows how it got its name.
My mother, who grew up in Scottsbluff, Nebraska, often lamented the travesty our ancestors had done to the Native Americans. But I was a child growing up in the Midwest when she raised me. I never saw a Native American (to my knowledge), or a reservation. Her words meant almost nothing to me then. I understood them, but I did not.
This avid outdoorsman has the best of both worlds. He spends his free time fishing, hiking, and hunting in Wyoming, in the Wind River Valley, but spends some of his working hours as a consultant to the Fish and Game Department for a different state–South Dakota.
“Dubois is one of those places,” as he put it, “where a consultant has all the quality access and communication links to the world through the Web needed to successfully compete in today’s markets, while providing an outstanding life space which stimulates those invaluable creative talents needed to excel in this line of work.”
On our return trip through Antelope Flats this side of Jackson a few days ago, we encountered ice and cold winds. But over the pass and back in Dubois, we found the weather milder and dry.
Maybe they travel even farther on this side of the mountains. Who knows? We’ll find out soon, thanks to the collaboration between the Nature Conservancy, the Wyoming Game and Fish Department, the Wyoming Migration Initiative, and numerous other partners.
“After spending the winter of ’78 and ’79 in Jackson Hole, seeing the snow and the weather, I’m not surprised to see the deer and the antelope coming this way,” Mark said. “The elk used to leave too, but we started intercepting that with fences [which they can’t jump]. So we have diverted those elk to the feed ground [in Jackson] at extremely high numbers.”
Time to leave town. I have to head over the pass to catch a plane. (As they say in Brooklyn, you gotta do what you gotta do.)
No more. Today, the highway is smooth, fast, and (as you see from the pictures) well cared-for even in the winter. We’re going all the way over the Continental Divide here, above 10,000 feet and back down. Thanks in large part to the interests of the snowmobilers, it’s going to be an easy trip today.
and Oftedahl Construction. And thank heaven.
The wind is up again, driving the snow flurries sideways. It has pushed a steady bank of snow clouds across the Absarokas, and the Ramshorn peak up the valley has vanished again.
Like the bears in summer, the wind in winter is a factor in where I choose to hike. I know there’s much less wind in the tree-sheltered back roads along the river across the highway than on the high flats of the scenic overlook in town.
As for me, in a way I enjoy the wind (which I can hear even as I write). I’ve lasted nearly 10 years now, and it still hasn’t blown me away. Far from it.
You hear about it again and again: Someone came to this remote town not far from Yellowstone and fell in love. How does this happen?
3. Fascinated by the history … and the prehistory. From the mysterious carvers of the petroglyphs to the courageous and resilient Mountain Men and homesteaders, the people of the past never fail to amaze.
7. Silenced by the snow: The noisy burdens and pressures of daily life melt away when you can get out into the soft, deep white of it, whether you’re marching on snowshoes, gliding on skis, or sailing along on your snowmobile. (It’s all good–and never too cold, as long as you stay out of the wind and wear enough layers. Don’t forget the sunglasses!)
10. Drawn to the artists: You may not be skilled at capturing what you see on canvas (or film), but so many others are. Plenty of them have not resisted the lure of living here, and you have ample opportunities to admire their work on display at art or photography shows, or in local galleries.
13. Captivated by the creativity: Knitters and quilters. Guitarists and fiddlers. Woodcarvers and antler sculptors. Jewelry designers and master caterers. (So what is lacking here in Dubois? Walmart.)
More accurately, they’ve invited me to join them. Today I headed for the hills on snowshoes with six other women, most of whom moved to Dubois within the past few years–from Oklahoma and Louisiana, Massachusetts and California by way of Arizona, and in one case back living in Dubois again, after leaving town for a decade to explore the country by RV and considering many other locations in which to settle permanently. Here they are
This gal crossed our path the other day. A few seconds later, the rest of the family bounded after, too fast for me to catch their pictures.
We don’t see them often on our property for some reason, although last year the dog did alert us to one brash creature who had approached the front door to enjoy the flowers in my planter.
Karen told me that people had been seeing lots of elk lately on the ridge to the east. I told Mark about this, and he set up the telescope facing out the east window. We’re not used to seeing them on that particular hillside. Sure enough, there they were. 
The dog and I have somewhat different sentiments about the actions of nature’s predators, of course. He often comes trotting after me proudly dragging something far too large to transport, or stops to enjoy a snack from a disembodied joint.