Driving towards our project site in the Medicine Bow National Forest, we floated through a sea of blonde and green prairie grasses that bristled and danced and exulted in undulating waves as the burly Wyoming wind possessed them. This plain is situated in a many-mile-wide valley that is bordered by immense snow-capped mountains, ephemeral looking in the distance yet close enough to ensure their reality. Scattered about the valley in no particular order are massive boulders that have been left by the exodus of glaciers millennia ago, jutting from the valley floor the way sailor-killing stones rise above the surface of the sea, each with a particular character and intensity. The skies, the deepest of blues, and the clouds, the purest of whites, seem to stretch farther than any Earthly horizon should, rounding off the top of an elegantly colored bubble of existence, adorned by the grays and browns of rock, bright yellows and lush reds of wildflowers, green and black of forests both thriving and burned. Visual delicacies in every direction are only amplified by the striking colors of sunrise and sunset that send streaks of purples and oranges and reds running across the horizon, giving the distant mountain peaks a most flattering back drop. It takes no time for me to realize this is a special place, the plains and mountains of Wyoming. The vastness and emptiness is tangible, thick, immersive. One can’t ignore the strong urge to explore these plains and mountains and forests by horseback. It’s clear that this land is the birthplace of the quintessential cowboys, their professor in the ways of adventure. This beautiful landscape taught the founders of the American west lessons that cannot be taught by book or lecture; to wander, to listen, to suffer, to enjoy, to live. By laying eyes on this country, I have taken an introductory course in these subjects, ready to further my studies.