wyoming is a verb, so what is it to wyom?

my father followed me throughout south dakota: when i was little he sang me 'rocky raccoon' by the beatles nearly every night before i fell asleep. it looped through my head the entire time we were in the badlands and the black hills.

and today, when we stopped for ice cream at that weird diner, it occurred to me that that place resembled an establishment in a horror story my father has told me numerous times. i think the plot came from a movie: it's about a fabulously popular barbecue joint/motel that serves human flesh to its unwitting customers.

don't get me wrong, the people were perfectly nice. the woman who rang me up asked me where we were from and what we were up to, and when i explained she just smiled a little bit, revealing very tiny teeth, and said, 'well, that's differen'.'

we thought we were going to camp on the plot of land next to the diner but by the time we had pitched our tent and started getting settled, we were told to relocate because we had mistakenly taken a RV space.
well, there were no RVs in sight. there were no other tents in sight. so on principle, we politely asked for our money back and left.

courtney says we may have just experienced the last stop before the gates of hell. true, the campground was wedged between the road (whining with motorcycles) and a terrifying dropoff into wild terrain.
that was the mouth of hell, she says.
and if i believed in hell i would say it's possible.


but on to brighter things, we are now snugly nestled in a cabin on an amazing plot of land in the middle of wyoming. a creek runs just outside our door and i think i can hear a cow either having sex or giving birth in the distance.

everything is peace, peace, peace. tomorrow we expect to begin harvesting and cleaning chard and lettuce at six am until the afternoon, when we'll become acquainted with the partner farm seven miles down the narrow road.

this land is magnificent and i am happy as a clam.