I expected my first few days here to be the worst. I kept waiting for a mental breakdown. Full-on homesickness, wanting to quit, not fitting in. Then I expected to get used to it. I'd make friends, I'd become familiar here, I'd embrace my independence. What's strange is that the opposite is true. My first full day here was amazing, if only because it was one of the last I'd spend with my dad all summer. Yellowstone was never a bucket list item for me, but now that I've seen a little bit of it, I want to see all of it. It is so breathtakingly beautiful. The next few days I loved having roommates and eating meals with all of the staff and being in charge of my own decisions. As the weeks went on, though, I started to miss home more and more. I don't exactly miss Annapolis, I just miss everyone there. I miss my Mom a whole lot more than I had anticipated. Even though I only see them on occasion, I miss my older siblings. I miss my little brother's witty remarks and vulgar jokes. And I really miss my Dad's hugs. I feel like I'm missing out on a summer with those of my friends that are home from college, and those who are going off for the first time in the Fall. I feel guilty for leaving so many people behind. And then I remember that I need to do something for myself for once.
Wyoming has already inspired me in ways I never knew were possible. It's already put ideas in my head for next summer. It's taught me a lot about myself already, and it's put a lot of things in perspective. My family will be happy to know that I will be much more appreciative for what I have back home in Maryland. But my wanderlust is even worse now. I want to go everywhere! The absolute worst part about the job is not having a car. Most of the staff do. People here go on road trips on their days off, and go into town or Yellowstone whenever they have a break. I would never be on the ranch when I have time off if I had a car!
I'd like to end my first blog post with a poem I wrote this morning. I usually don't share my poetry with a lot of people, but why the hell not? It doesn't have a title yet. I'm working on it!
The days feel like hours,
the weeks like years
early birds order their worms
and I serve half-asleep, still in a trance,
as the chill nips at my skin.
Each sizzle, crack, clank
becomes a metal symphony,
smoke drowning up into the vents,
footsteps linger, coffee brews.
Out on my green steed
I speed with crates of linens
and chemicals strong enough to make me ill
and the rocks dissolve under rough tires as I make my deliveries.
Spray, wipe, clean
a choreographed dance in its second week.
Perfection is our aspiration, never to be met
aching to sit, aching to stay focused, aching to succeed.
When finally the chance arrives to check off the day's monotony,
we should know it's never over,
growing old, not growing older.
The afternoon exhales and the cold returns,
only to be fed by equine dreams.
No rest for my wicked feet,
no night would be complete without a steady standing
and a slender night's sleep.
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