The House I Slept In Last Night Fell in the Creek: Part 1 Thundering Water
Since I was a child around the age of 10, it’s been difficult to explain to others what it is like to go visit my Aunt Mackie in Wyoming. Being raised in the East where every convenience is within a few minutes drive, visiting out West was always a unique experience. My Aunt’s ranch when I was younger was a several mile drive on rocky dirt roads to a small town. Basics could be found here, but they went shopping a hour away. Here there are no quick runs to the grocery store for last minute cravings or items forgotten. I loved going out to see this world where things were harder to come by, but nature was in abundance.
The last four trips to Wyoming were to my Aunt and Uncle’s place in the Wind River Reservation. This landscape is very different from Elk Mountain where my cousin’s grew up. The Wind River area has some amazing landforms that might make you think you were in Arizona. Beautiful exposed rock that is striped with colorful minerals pop up at you here and there as you drive the lonely highway. Their place was once a dude ranch in the middle of Indian lands. The past owner didn’t respect the Indian lands around him and was essentially squeezed out of business. Mackie and Rod were the beneficiaries of his missed opportunity. They have 100 acres of gorgeous land. Dry Creek runs through providing lush forest of Cottonwoods,Willows and Aspen along it’s banks. Meadow grasses lie at the base of Purple Hill while rocky terrain spotted with sage, cacti and wildflowers cover the hills that cradle their house. There are actually four houses on the land. They also added sheepherder wagons and Uncle Rod’s beautiful ‘Lonesome Dove’, (a tiny cabin he built well before ‘tiny houses’ were a thing). Visiting Aunt Mackie and Uncle Rod means you get your own house to borrow for the time you there. My past four visits I got to borrow the bunkhouse.
The first time I saw the bunkhouse was in 2002. My mother, sister Lynn and I had headed out west on a whim. We pulled into the ranch at about 10pm in the dark. Dark out there is truly dark. After walking my minivan down the ‘driveway’ (three or so miles of rocky dirt road...not like NC rocky, these are potato to melon size rocks in the road), I pulled into the bunkhouse driveway. The bunkhouse sat by Dry Creek nestled among cottonwoods, willows and aspen trees. I shone my headlights on the front door so Lynn and I could throw things in before driving up to my Mom’s guest house that sat across from the main house further up the road. A large, muddy paw print was centered on the front door with a trail of mud showing that the paw had dragged down the door. Very funny, Cowman! Uncle Rod has a sense of humor that is as long and curly as his mustache. Wasn’t so funny when he told us the next day that he didn’t pull that prank.
Regardless of who or what might visit this little house by the creek, staying in the bunkhouse was always a treat. The roar of water outside provided the best sleep. Sitting on the deck looking over the water in the morning was the most relaxing place to sip a cup of coffee. Listening to the birds in the trees envelops you in a peacefulness that is hard to find in a busy life. I remember driving out west in 2010 with Jeff, Laura, and Caroline. It was a trip filled with ice cream hunts and fun sight seeing along the way. I had been out of school for the summer for more than a month, but things were very busy school wise. It had felt like I’d never really gotten away from work. I clearly remember that it was when I was in the bunkhouse, opening the refrigerator for a drink to take out on the deck, that I finally took that first truly relaxing breath, the one that you feel deeply through your whole being.
This past week was to be spent again in this divine get-away. Driving up always feels like a victory, not only because I got my city car down the difficult road, but because I’m finally at this place more away from it all than most people can ever imagine. No TV, no internet, no cell. Peace! The first night there, Laura and I stood out in the field with my cousin Peter watching the stars. Pete takes gorgeous photos of the night sky. There are so many more million stars in the Wyoming sky compared to the few we see in the East. We had a deep sleep after getting a little chilled out standing in a field till 1 am. The bunkhouse warmed us up. The second night, Pete, Laura and I didn’t want the party to end after dinner. We moved down to the bunkhouse and stayed up talking till 2:30 am. I never had cousins close by like Laura and Caroline did. We have to cram a lot of catching up in a short period of time. We listened to the rocks tumbling down the creek sounding like drums as we went to sleep.
What we didn’t know is that it would be our last night in the bunkhouse. I’m so glad we barely slept and just enjoyed it. The next morning we were to head out to Jackson to see my cousin Ranyon. We needed to say goodbye to Peter though. Thank goodness. If we had rushed out first thing, we would still have a van in Wyoming and no clothes but what we had on our back. As we came down the driveway(road) to the bridge, we saw a small tree leaning into the bridge in the water. The water was wildly splashing over the bridge. We crossed the bridge, parked the truck and I ran back over to move my van to the other side...just in case. I don’t think anyone can fully understand unless you are there, what that means. The bridge is THE way out. No other options unless you have a great truck and a tracker/cowman. Rod got his backhoe down to the bridge to release some of the debris. Peter crossed the bridge and flew his drone up the creek to see what was coming. It didn’t look good. Huge logs and newly plucked trees from the diminishing creek bank were heading for us. We watched helplessly as these missiles came thundering down the craziest whitewater ride towards the bridge, our way out. This bridge had gone out 7 years ago during another unusually high water, but Rod had reinforced with metal and concrete. Metal and concrete seem so strong and invincible until you have tons of force in the form of water, rock and wood smacking down without remorse. This water was predicted to be the highest they’d ever seen.
After sitting with Rod on watch for awhile, Mackie had been up by the bunkhouse and saw some water coming around the front. She thought we might feel better if we slept up at my grandmother’s house. Laura and I went up to pack an overnight bag. We saw the water in the front. Just a trickle, but with the raging water in the back, we’d definitely feel better up the hill at ‘Mommy’s house’. As we were leaving, I ducked my head under the deck looking through the stairs to see the crazy water. I was stunned as I watched one of the deck supports rocking. I videoed it and as I turned it off, the post I had just filmed flew into the water. Laura and I decided to move all of our stuff.
On our first trip up to Mommy’s house we had to wade through water. Rolled up jeans, wet shoes, bags on back, we sloshed through what was minutes ago a dry road. This water was serious. Luckily, at Mommy’s house, we noticed a wheelbarrow. Off we went to empty the bunkhouse of our things...a lot of things...we don’t travel light for two weeks across country in a van. When we showed Rod what we had just witnessed things got into serious mode. We took a third trip down to find that the deck was just barely hanging on and the other side of the house had erosion happening under the foundation of the house. Laura and I loaded up the wheelbarrow with all of the art and possessions that we could handle. A few trips later, it got a little unnerving to go into the house. The deck had gone down river and a third of the foundation was gone. By now Mackie had come down and was pulling things out too. It became scary to walk to the creek side of the house though.
At some point we were no longer going in and there was nothing to do but watch and wonder what was going to happen. We were sitting by the house, waiting, when suddenly Rod got an idea. All the women who heard this idea told him he was crazy. And he is. But somehow he knew that it would work. Maybe all of the time he spent fixing up this little house told him what it needed. Maybe he knew, more than we, how strong it was. He put a large metal pole in the door frame, chained that to his backhoe which he dug into the ground. We were pretty sure the house and now river (hard to describe this water as a creek) were going to win and take both the house and the backhoe. However, you should never second guess someone who has lived all of his life in the wild west. His engineering degree comes from life experience. We waited, further away than before due to large cottonwoods that were looking like potential threats. The deck chairs were set up in a clearing close by. Rod zoomed up the road to the main house and was back again with iced tea spike with tequila and cheese and crackers. What else should one do while they wait for an inevitable fate?
It finally went down with a crash like thunder and plumes of dust rising up out of the water. Our little house...and when I say ‘our’ I speak for anyone lucky enough to have stayed there...slid right into the creek. And STAYED. Rod’s plan worked to secure it to the edge instead of sliding out into the water. We had all imagined it would slide in and float as it fell apart in pieces down the creek to smack against the bridge. But it just tipped into the water on it’s side. We were stunned, unable to believe what had happened. The house we had slept in last night had fallen into the creek. Less than 12 hours before, we were in that house sleeping peacefully.
Later, Rod secured the house with more by drilling holes in the bottom and threading the chain through. Secured to trees and still hanging on to the backhoe, there the bunkhouse sits. It’s windows intact, walls and all looking like someone had a crazy idea to build a house on it’s side. How could this really be still so intact after falling on it’s side into the water?
Although it will take a huge imagination and more of that cowman cunning and engineering, we all imagine being able to lift this little house back onto solid land. Hopefully that can happen. Hopefully it will find a new place to comfort people as they visit here. But whether it does or doesn’t matters less than what it gave us up till June 17th. You often hear people talk about what matters in a time of tragedy especially ones where nature comes in with her awesome power to rearrange things. It’s always that you come out glad that no one got hurt. People’s lives matter more than things. However, this was a loss of life. A lot of life happened in this little house. My cousin and his kids lived there for extended periods of time. Friends and family stayed there. Mackie would go there for a little refuge or to gain a different perspective. Cousins had just made up for a lifetime of distance, laughing and telling stories in this little house. Thankfully that life that was lost really isn’t because it is bound up in our memories made in this sweet little house by the creek that roared.
The last four trips to Wyoming were to my Aunt and Uncle’s place in the Wind River Reservation. This landscape is very different from Elk Mountain where my cousin’s grew up. The Wind River area has some amazing landforms that might make you think you were in Arizona. Beautiful exposed rock that is striped with colorful minerals pop up at you here and there as you drive the lonely highway. Their place was once a dude ranch in the middle of Indian lands. The past owner didn’t respect the Indian lands around him and was essentially squeezed out of business. Mackie and Rod were the beneficiaries of his missed opportunity. They have 100 acres of gorgeous land. Dry Creek runs through providing lush forest of Cottonwoods,Willows and Aspen along it’s banks. Meadow grasses lie at the base of Purple Hill while rocky terrain spotted with sage, cacti and wildflowers cover the hills that cradle their house. There are actually four houses on the land. They also added sheepherder wagons and Uncle Rod’s beautiful ‘Lonesome Dove’, (a tiny cabin he built well before ‘tiny houses’ were a thing). Visiting Aunt Mackie and Uncle Rod means you get your own house to borrow for the time you there. My past four visits I got to borrow the bunkhouse.
The first time I saw the bunkhouse was in 2002. My mother, sister Lynn and I had headed out west on a whim. We pulled into the ranch at about 10pm in the dark. Dark out there is truly dark. After walking my minivan down the ‘driveway’ (three or so miles of rocky dirt road...not like NC rocky, these are potato to melon size rocks in the road), I pulled into the bunkhouse driveway. The bunkhouse sat by Dry Creek nestled among cottonwoods, willows and aspen trees. I shone my headlights on the front door so Lynn and I could throw things in before driving up to my Mom’s guest house that sat across from the main house further up the road. A large, muddy paw print was centered on the front door with a trail of mud showing that the paw had dragged down the door. Very funny, Cowman! Uncle Rod has a sense of humor that is as long and curly as his mustache. Wasn’t so funny when he told us the next day that he didn’t pull that prank.
Regardless of who or what might visit this little house by the creek, staying in the bunkhouse was always a treat. The roar of water outside provided the best sleep. Sitting on the deck looking over the water in the morning was the most relaxing place to sip a cup of coffee. Listening to the birds in the trees envelops you in a peacefulness that is hard to find in a busy life. I remember driving out west in 2010 with Jeff, Laura, and Caroline. It was a trip filled with ice cream hunts and fun sight seeing along the way. I had been out of school for the summer for more than a month, but things were very busy school wise. It had felt like I’d never really gotten away from work. I clearly remember that it was when I was in the bunkhouse, opening the refrigerator for a drink to take out on the deck, that I finally took that first truly relaxing breath, the one that you feel deeply through your whole being.
This past week was to be spent again in this divine get-away. Driving up always feels like a victory, not only because I got my city car down the difficult road, but because I’m finally at this place more away from it all than most people can ever imagine. No TV, no internet, no cell. Peace! The first night there, Laura and I stood out in the field with my cousin Peter watching the stars. Pete takes gorgeous photos of the night sky. There are so many more million stars in the Wyoming sky compared to the few we see in the East. We had a deep sleep after getting a little chilled out standing in a field till 1 am. The bunkhouse warmed us up. The second night, Pete, Laura and I didn’t want the party to end after dinner. We moved down to the bunkhouse and stayed up talking till 2:30 am. I never had cousins close by like Laura and Caroline did. We have to cram a lot of catching up in a short period of time. We listened to the rocks tumbling down the creek sounding like drums as we went to sleep.
What we didn’t know is that it would be our last night in the bunkhouse. I’m so glad we barely slept and just enjoyed it. The next morning we were to head out to Jackson to see my cousin Ranyon. We needed to say goodbye to Peter though. Thank goodness. If we had rushed out first thing, we would still have a van in Wyoming and no clothes but what we had on our back. As we came down the driveway(road) to the bridge, we saw a small tree leaning into the bridge in the water. The water was wildly splashing over the bridge. We crossed the bridge, parked the truck and I ran back over to move my van to the other side...just in case. I don’t think anyone can fully understand unless you are there, what that means. The bridge is THE way out. No other options unless you have a great truck and a tracker/cowman. Rod got his backhoe down to the bridge to release some of the debris. Peter crossed the bridge and flew his drone up the creek to see what was coming. It didn’t look good. Huge logs and newly plucked trees from the diminishing creek bank were heading for us. We watched helplessly as these missiles came thundering down the craziest whitewater ride towards the bridge, our way out. This bridge had gone out 7 years ago during another unusually high water, but Rod had reinforced with metal and concrete. Metal and concrete seem so strong and invincible until you have tons of force in the form of water, rock and wood smacking down without remorse. This water was predicted to be the highest they’d ever seen.
After sitting with Rod on watch for awhile, Mackie had been up by the bunkhouse and saw some water coming around the front. She thought we might feel better if we slept up at my grandmother’s house. Laura and I went up to pack an overnight bag. We saw the water in the front. Just a trickle, but with the raging water in the back, we’d definitely feel better up the hill at ‘Mommy’s house’. As we were leaving, I ducked my head under the deck looking through the stairs to see the crazy water. I was stunned as I watched one of the deck supports rocking. I videoed it and as I turned it off, the post I had just filmed flew into the water. Laura and I decided to move all of our stuff.
On our first trip up to Mommy’s house we had to wade through water. Rolled up jeans, wet shoes, bags on back, we sloshed through what was minutes ago a dry road. This water was serious. Luckily, at Mommy’s house, we noticed a wheelbarrow. Off we went to empty the bunkhouse of our things...a lot of things...we don’t travel light for two weeks across country in a van. When we showed Rod what we had just witnessed things got into serious mode. We took a third trip down to find that the deck was just barely hanging on and the other side of the house had erosion happening under the foundation of the house. Laura and I loaded up the wheelbarrow with all of the art and possessions that we could handle. A few trips later, it got a little unnerving to go into the house. The deck had gone down river and a third of the foundation was gone. By now Mackie had come down and was pulling things out too. It became scary to walk to the creek side of the house though.
At some point we were no longer going in and there was nothing to do but watch and wonder what was going to happen. We were sitting by the house, waiting, when suddenly Rod got an idea. All the women who heard this idea told him he was crazy. And he is. But somehow he knew that it would work. Maybe all of the time he spent fixing up this little house told him what it needed. Maybe he knew, more than we, how strong it was. He put a large metal pole in the door frame, chained that to his backhoe which he dug into the ground. We were pretty sure the house and now river (hard to describe this water as a creek) were going to win and take both the house and the backhoe. However, you should never second guess someone who has lived all of his life in the wild west. His engineering degree comes from life experience. We waited, further away than before due to large cottonwoods that were looking like potential threats. The deck chairs were set up in a clearing close by. Rod zoomed up the road to the main house and was back again with iced tea spike with tequila and cheese and crackers. What else should one do while they wait for an inevitable fate?
It finally went down with a crash like thunder and plumes of dust rising up out of the water. Our little house...and when I say ‘our’ I speak for anyone lucky enough to have stayed there...slid right into the creek. And STAYED. Rod’s plan worked to secure it to the edge instead of sliding out into the water. We had all imagined it would slide in and float as it fell apart in pieces down the creek to smack against the bridge. But it just tipped into the water on it’s side. We were stunned, unable to believe what had happened. The house we had slept in last night had fallen into the creek. Less than 12 hours before, we were in that house sleeping peacefully.
Later, Rod secured the house with more by drilling holes in the bottom and threading the chain through. Secured to trees and still hanging on to the backhoe, there the bunkhouse sits. It’s windows intact, walls and all looking like someone had a crazy idea to build a house on it’s side. How could this really be still so intact after falling on it’s side into the water?
Although it will take a huge imagination and more of that cowman cunning and engineering, we all imagine being able to lift this little house back onto solid land. Hopefully that can happen. Hopefully it will find a new place to comfort people as they visit here. But whether it does or doesn’t matters less than what it gave us up till June 17th. You often hear people talk about what matters in a time of tragedy especially ones where nature comes in with her awesome power to rearrange things. It’s always that you come out glad that no one got hurt. People’s lives matter more than things. However, this was a loss of life. A lot of life happened in this little house. My cousin and his kids lived there for extended periods of time. Friends and family stayed there. Mackie would go there for a little refuge or to gain a different perspective. Cousins had just made up for a lifetime of distance, laughing and telling stories in this little house. Thankfully that life that was lost really isn’t because it is bound up in our memories made in this sweet little house by the creek that roared.
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