Shit I Miss About My Brush Creek Artist Residency

• Seeing our jackrabbit friends at Artist Camp

• Being around fellow kindred artists on a daily basis

• Waking up at 9 a.m. most days

• The view of the snow-filled field and surrounding rock outcrops from my bed every morning

• The ritual of taking off my boots and stepping into my slippers whenever I stepped into my writing studio

• The view from my writing desk

• The comfy couch in my writing studio (great for afternoon naps)

• All the quietude and solitude

• Becoming acutely aware of the shades and play of light and shadow within my studio as the day passed, as well as out on the various trails

• Wearing a scarf and mi chullo on a near daily basis

Shit I’ve Learned About Wyoming (Thus far)

February 5th, late Friday evening, the tiny United passenger plane I rode from Denver, CO landed on the small airport runway in Laramie, WY. It was my first time in The Equality or Cowboy State, only my second time in the Mountain Standard Zone. (My heart still aches for you, New Mexico!) The following morning, I contracted the services of the good people at Snowy Range Taxi to take me west from Laramie past Saratoga, the nearest town from the artist camp that I will call home for most of this month.

On my two-hour cab ride to the Brush Creek Ranch, and from conversations with locals and others who have passed through Wyoming before, I’ve learned a thing or two about the 44th state admitted into the American Union: