Commemoration

As our journey progressed West from Syracuse to Denver, North to Cheyenne, East, to Custer, Crazy Horse, and Mt. Rushmore then further West to Deadwood, the Devils Table Little Bighorn to Billings then turning South to the Devils Canyon, the Hot Springs, the Dinosaurs and finally into Casper,  I have considered what I would take home to commemorate the adventure. Trying to find the Holy Grail of the trip is a quest of its own.

Sure, we have ventured into every gift store at each venue, as well as those attached to the various places we took on fuel.  Trinkets and “T” shirts are not my style; none of the art we saw struck me as authentic.  Seeking the Grail we continued to look.

Driving between photo opportunities for Homer, I considered those things that we could not capture, or at least try to capture, on film. The vast open country, the full blue sky reaching beyond our view, spoiled at various places with rusted out equipment, scrapple housing and industry so vital to the area.  And the people we meant long the way, I can not recall having a bad experience.

I also wanted something that would remind me of the sounds of the prairie. I was fascinated by what I heard and did not hear. At the Monuments the quite voices of the visitors and the strong voices of the rangers; the quite that came over the crowd, as the flag was being raised or the hushed voices at the cemeteries and markers at Little Bighorn.

Until this journey I had rarely heard a bird sing an entire song, let alone an entire meadow chirping happily away. I had never heard the noise a field of grasshoppers makes, they sound incredibly similar to the Tree Frogs, at Donna and Paul’s, my cousins, home in Virginia, but very biblical.   I was shaken by the howl of the wind, as the trail rounded into the windward side of the Devils Tower and comforted by the trickling of the hot water, making its way over the stones to the river in Thermopolis. I do not want to lose those sounds.

Pondering my dilemma, on the leg of the journey into Casper, Homer suggested that I buy some boots to match his. He had purchased a pair some time ago and wore them at various times during the trip, especially when we went to dinner. I joked that I was wearing my “city boots” when I slipped on my oxblood loafers with no socks.

Considering the idea of boots, I reflected back some 40 years ago, when one summer my Grandparents, John and Victoria took a trip to Omaha, Nebraska to visit my Grandfathers sisters. My Aunt Joan and Great Aunt and Uncle, Marie (John’s Sister) and George Fayette, went along as well. I stayed home to run my Grandparents store in Warners, New York. That is another story.

After they had returned home and things settled down, my grandfather told me that while in Omaha, he had tried on a white Stetson hat, something he had always wanted; but that he had not made the purchase and wished he did.  I did not want to make a similar mistake.

So in Casper we found ‘Lou Taubert’ Ranch Outfitter’s store and shopped.  A veteran salesman, let me walk around for a while, and then with practiced skill, asked how he could help me find the right boots.  We talked, a little bit about boots, then a little bit about each other.  I asked him how long he had been selling boots and to my surprise he answered 20 years. 

Before, I could reply he told me that he was an Optometrist, had practiced 30 years in Montanan, before returning to his home town to care for his elderly parents.  He said he had tired of the profession, was not licensed in Wyoming and did not want to take the test with a bunch of people right out of school.  So he returned to Lou Taubert’s, where he had worked in high school, was promptly hired on part time and has been working 50 hours a week ever since.

He sold me a pair of Ostrich boots made Lucchese Boot Company of San Antonio, Texas, the best he says.  They are dress boots, not work boots. Special boots, for a special trip, no better way to commemorate the 1,577 miles the horse named, Cadillac, carried us during the “Homer Goes West” tour.