The Importance of Insignificance

Earlier this week I came across an album one of my Facebook friends posted, full of photos of the Rocky Mountains. This woman always has the most unique angle, the best shot or the most creative perspective to capture her current elements. Looking through the photos, I couldn’t help but think about how different her current setting is to her previous one. We used to reside near the same town, surrounded with flat fields and rows of corn and whispering creeks. Now she wakes to the Rockies.

I enjoyed looking through her new (for years now) scenery and admiring how different it is to mine. Then I saw a comment.

“beautiful pictures. makes me feel insignificant.”

I liked that. 

I think it is ok to feel insignificant every so often. In fact, I believe it’s a good thing. Feeling insignificant has a punch-in-the-gut way of reminding us that we’re part of something bigger than ourselves.

Stephen Emerson

It’s ok to feel insignificant when you don’t make the team. That experience only pushes you to one day discover your talents. And from talents, you can typically discover your passion. And there is nothing better than unearthing your passion. Oh, dribbling a basketball through your legs? When you’re 85 and reflecting you won’t wish you had done more of it.

It’s ok to feel insignificant when the storm delivers havoc to everything you’ve ever considered normal. The winds will blow, the lightening will strike, waters will rise and things will blow away never to be seen again. Sometimes nature puts on a show to remind us who is in charge. And by storm, I mean weather storm, health storm, people storm, career storm or life storm in general.

It’s ok to feel insignificant when standing next to an endless ocean, under a Kansas sky full of a million stars or within a magnificent mountain range. It is not ok to feel insignificant when standing next to another person. No matter how big they are. Or what they're wearing. 

It’s ok to feel insignificant when waiting on hold with the cable company. What you're experiencing is actually called shoddy customer service. When you finally speak to a representative (who certainly cares about your call), simply and sternly let them know you’re cancelling your service and switching to the competitor. You will no longer feel insignificant.

It’s ok to feel insignificant when you’re overwhelmed with the stuff that can fill up hours, days, weeks, months and years. But you’re also in control of that (in)significance. There are only 940 Saturdays between your child’s birth and when they turn 18. Don’t want to spend those Saturdays at birthday parties watching 5-year-old strangers unwrap Legos and Frozen dolls? Don’t.

Marsha Behm's image "Child Fishing on Lake Allegan."

It’s ok to feel insignificant when you don’t get the job. It humbles you. Teaches you to think on your feet. Guides to where you need to improve. Transforms you into a better speaker. Allows you to grow. Opens better doors. Give you an excuse to buy a new suit.

It’s ok to feel insignificant when you’ve planned, planted, watered and tended the perfect garden and an animal utilizes it as a salad bar. Get yourself a live trap and teach that wascally wabbit who is truly insignificant.

It’s ok to feel insignificant when you look at your life’s goal sheet. That means you’re setting out to do something great. And you still have a long way to go. That’s the best part. That’s the life part.

It’s ok to feel insignificant when you keep track of your months by endless bill, payment stubs and looming deadlines. In this case, the surefire way to be reminded that you’re not insignificant is to miss a payment. They’ll find you.

It’s ok to feel insignificant. Though no one else should ever make you feel that way. 
It’s gratifying to feel insignificant. 
It’s powerful beyond measure. 
Insignificance puts us in our place. 
Insignificance allows us to focus on something bigger than ourselves.
In our small, disconnected, important, individualized place. 

Is it time you go somewhere to feel insignificant?

 Credit

Oh, The People You'll Meet

I've been home from the Wild West Adventure for a few days now. I've reflected fondly on the the incredible landscape we took in and the laughs we shared; what a trip of a lifetime, during a time of life changes. 

The West was wonderful. The paths we took were like none other, but the people we met along the way made the trip. 

Saturday, after a Shoddy (with a capital S) experience in the parking lot of a diner in Cheyenne...

.....our faith was restored in the people of Wyoming when we stumbled upon Hostler's General Store. 

Roy was working that fine day and he took the time to help us plan the next adventure that was ahead. Roy lived in Pennsylvania previously, but moved to Wyoming to retire because the taxes were lower. When he gets bored in the winter he hunts and skins coyotes and foxes.

"While we're here, I need to buy postcards. Do you have any?" - Katie

"Oh you bet we have postcards! Back in the corner behind the hanging skins but before the antiques." - Roy

Thanks Roy for the travel advice and free map. 

Then we made it to Medicine Bow...

Back in February I blogged about my solo Wyoming adventure. It was there that I found The Virginian, a historic hotel and saloon that was named after Owen Wister's novel. The Virginian was my Granddad's favorite western novel of all time; when I came across it in Medicine Bow I knew that I wanted to learn more. Not knowing the culture of the place in February, I was a bit too nervous to walk into a saloon, in the middle of no where, alone. When Katie and I decided to make this trip, I knew we had to return to learn more. 

We were the only two in the saloon when we arrived, besides the bartender. I could tell he was a little taken back by two gals walking in alone, carrying cameras, a journal and wearing cotton dresses - so I explained myself. I told the bartender that The Virginian was my Granddad's favorite book, and that I came to visit this place some time ago, but didn't have the courage to walk in. So, here we were, two gals eager to learn more about this old western saloon and hotel that was named after the famous 1902 novel. 

"Well I suppose I can tell you thing or two about this place. My great grandfather bought shares of it when the hotel opened one hundred years ago. This place has been passed down four generations since then, and I've owned it for 30 years." - Scotty

Scotty and Katie 

Bingo. We found the source. 

Owen Wister came up with the story line behind the novel while he slept on the counter of the general store that was just across the road from where the historic hotel and saloon stand today...

That general store is still there, though it's no longer in business. Today it is a literary landmark. 

Wister was a good friend of Teddy Roosevelt; they would get off the train at the station just in front of The Virginian and spend their vacations on big game hunts. 

Roosevelt and Wister

We were fortunate enough to sit down with the owner for thirty minutes and have a intriguing conversation before the little saloon in no-man's-land filled up with Wyoming fans. Medicine Bow sits between Casper and Laramie, so on game days, folks stop in a have a famous bloody mary before making it to the game. 

Not only did we have an awesome conversation, but Scotty also turned us loose throughout the entire building (4 floors) to take pictures, look around and soak up the history. 

On the road again....

At a gas station in Shoshoni, Wyoming we came across an 18 passenger van packed with 14 children, 2 grandparents and 2 parents; that's a full load. The thought of that many children within 20 feet of Katie at one time made her almost 1) throw up 2) have a panic attack. I barely got the gas tank full before she made us leave. 

We passed through Meeteetse, WY where we found the Charles Belden (famous cowboy photographer) museum - what a gold mine. Unfortunately, we had to "waste" thirty minutes before it opened. So Katie and I decided to take some random gravel road out of town and drive around the countryside. Once we got into the beautiful country, I took a picture of the landscape with an old stone house and a weathered barn that sat along the banks of the river; I texted this photo to a former coworker whom I knew grew up near Meeteetse. Jared and his wife now live in Idaho, so I knew he'd appreciate knowing someone had stumbled across the tiny town he loved so much. I sent him the picture text...

Within minutes Jared responded: "That stone house is the house I grew up in. That's our old homestead."

Chills came over me; how very ironic that the one picturesque ranch scene I sent to him was the very ground on which he was raised. Life is funny. 

At The Grizzly Bear, a fantastic steakhouse in Roscoe, Montana, we met Vince who helped us plan our route for the next day. Vince, who was working at the steakhouse as his "last hooray" before finishing school, suggested we travel to Cook City, MT - which lead us through the Beartooth Pass adventure. Vince was so intrigued by our Wild West Adventure (and stories of shoddy motels and mace guns) he bought us wine as we mingled with the (5) locals. 

Vince

Ronnie

Ronnie's advice to us: "First. Be careful. I guess second would be this place is changing fast. Bozeman is growing too fast and you girls just need to enjoy this Montana country while it's still here." 

Amen. 

On our way out of the Beartooth Pass we came across LaDonna who works construction, currently on a road widening project in the pass. She seemed like she had a long day (and we sat there with her for thirty minutes before she flipped her sign and let us through), so we gave her string cheese, granola bars and pistachio nuts to get her through the rest of the day. LaDonna grew up in Wyoming and depends on her mom and sister to care for her two daughters while she's gone for months on end on construction projects. 

As I wrap up the stories and moments captured during our Wild West Adventure, I do a few things....

I count my blessings for the opportunity to pack up and travel the open road for five days before I start another adventure professionally. 

I realize how lucky I am to be able to really live this life. We only have one. 

I thank God that we made it home safely. 

And I once again I go back to the Robert Frost poem, The Road Not Taken: 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;	5
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,	10
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.	15
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Thanks for being a part of our journey!

A Montana Sunrise

After leaving Worland on Sunday morning, we traveled north and finally made it out of Wyoming around 5:00PM. We found Red Lodge, MT which a friend of mine had called, "nothing more than a mountain town" - quite the contrary. This little town had much to offer; boutiques, galleries bars and cafes, I'm convinced we could have stayed there for days. 

Locals of Red Lodge, MT

Commercialized sites were never an intention of this trip (perhaps one day I'll go back), so we asked a store owner what hidden gem we could find that evening as the sun was slowly setting across the land. She suggested we travel to Roscoe, MT and have dinner at The Grizzly Bear. We took that advice and drove 19 miles out of Red Lodge on one of the most beautiful paths I've ever traveled. We navigated the hills as the sun set, where cattle grazed and you could see the dust flying miles away, as ranchers tore down the gravel roads so familiar to them.

The Grizzly Bear was a hidden gem, truly. While the steaks were outstanding, the food barely compared to the locals we met. I'll tell you more about them later. The best part of this trip has been the characters we've encountered along the way - in general stores, saloons, steakhouses and literally along the side of the road. That will be blog in it's self; and one certainly worth reading. 

The next day we woke at 6:00AM, threw on our boots and jackets and headed for the path that we had traveled the previous night for dinner; I wanted to capture it in the right light. It was rolling and glorious, nestled in the foothills of the mountains. The only change that I could fathom to improve the landscape was to remove the modernization: power lines and new homes with a view. Keep the remnants of run down ranch houses worn from years of harsh winters; protect the barns with little life left - for they belong here. They tell the story of the land. 





We got up early enough that we were able to watch the moon set behind the mountains before watching the sun rise against the foothills. 

The setting moon

Also early enough that we had to actually wait on the sun to show up over the peaks....





When the sun hit the horizon, it seemed as though it was going to catch the dry land on fire. Everything was illuminated and the hills seemed to come alive again.

This early morning venture was the best way I've started a Monday in some time. Until the next time I travel west and wake in the mountains, I suppose I can settle for oversleeping and really bad hair days. 


Tune in tomorrow for more about two girls' adventure in the Wild West...

No Room at the Inn

After I took a photo of that moon in the previous blog...

We traveled to the booming town of Thermopolis, WY to find a hotel room for the night. The Wyoming Quarter Horse sale was going on, so we couldn't find a single room in town. Thanks to a smart phone, we were able to find the next town on the map and call two different motels before we found a vacancy. We traveled on north to Worland where we found the motel we'd already paid for via phone: Econo Inn. When we made the last-minute reservation on the phone, we thought it was an Econo Lodge. We were mistaken. 

We checked in, after defending ourselves from the owner's large dog who met us in the doorway, and literally ran our bags into our room. There were questionable characters sitting outside eating beef jerky and drinking out of forties -  we had no desire to make new friends. We locked the door, and the deadbolt then put the chair in front of the door. Then we checked under the beds (out of logical order, we know), said extra prayers and I slept with my mace gun on the night stand. Likely the worst night of sleep ever, and likely the shortest amount of time ever spent in a motel. 

After a great breakfast at Cow Camp, we headed on north towards Montana. The photos you'll see today catalog that final day we spent in Wyoming - such an untamed place. 

Wyoming: Wild and Wonderful - Day One

We're on day three of our Wild West Adventure. It's been a an awesome trip thus far, and I hate to see my Priceline itinerary in my inbox for tomorrow. It's passed much too quickly. I've not done a great job blogging, as high speed internet (ok, internet in general) has been far and few between. While frustrating at times, that has also been something I can appreciate about the path we've traveled. 

Today is a simple photo blog, really only telling the story (well, parts of it) of our first day. Each of these photos were taken in Wyoming. 

Enjoy - and thanks for being a part of the adventure!