I headed north towards the Pryor Mountains from Cowley, Wyoming, where my parents were born and raised.
When the pavement ended I kept going. The familiar fell behind me with the settling dust and I felt like an explorer in uncharted territory. I crested a rise and looked down to discover this charming oasis.
I couldn’t believe I’d never investigated this area as a teenager because I delighted in driving my 62 Ford, Falcon on the backroads and would only turn back to town when the gas gage slipped below half a tank.
The peanut M&M’s and Diet Coke of my youthful adventures were replaced with more sustaining provisions of water and little green apples so tasty that you want to consume the core and seeds.
I knew I had to paint this new haven and considered setting up near the water’s edge but was swarmed by mosquitoes as I crunched on the tart fruit.
I retreated from the winged fury further up by the road hoping the breeze would defend me.
Armored with bug spray, sunscreen, and my shade buddy umbrella I was able to focus on the peaceful refuge before me and create unmolested by the resident pests or exposure.
“Pryor Oasis” was born into the stillness punctuated by the song of birds, jumping fish splashing and the rippling wind through the vegetation.
Rabbits, blue herons, prairie dogs, and the striking magpies tolerated my appearance at their waterhole and I enjoyed their company.
I made sure to leave no trace of my uninvited presence there, besides the boot prints left in the arid soil, and found my way back home to my sister’s house.
I carefully placed my newest creation on the fireplace alongside its siblings and heard Chauna say;
“That’s Crosby’s Pond!”
Apparently I’m one of the few from here who doesn’t know of this place.
I headed north towards the Pryor Mountains from Cowley, Wyoming, where my parents were born and raised.
When the pavement ended I kept going. The familiar fell behind me with the settling dust and I felt like an explorer in uncharted territory. I crested a rise and looked down to discover this charming oasis.
I couldn’t believe I’d never investigated this area as a teenager because I delighted in driving my 62 Ford, Falcon on the backroads and would only turn back to town when the gas gage slipped below half a tank.
The peanut M&M’s and Diet Coke of my youthful adventures were replaced with more sustaining provisions of water and little green apples so tasty that you want to consume the core and seeds.
I knew I had to paint this new haven and considered setting up near the water’s edge but was swarmed by mosquitoes as I crunched on the tart fruit.
I retreated from the winged fury further up by the road hoping the breeze would defend me.
Armored with bug spray, sunscreen, and my shade buddy umbrella I was able to focus on the peaceful refuge before me and create unmolested by the resident pests or exposure.
“Pryor Oasis” was born into the stillness punctuated by the song of birds, jumping fish splashing and the rippling wind through the vegetation.
Rabbits, blue herons, prairie dogs, and the striking magpies tolerated my appearance at their waterhole and I enjoyed their company.
I made sure to leave no trace of my uninvited presence there, besides the boot prints left in the arid soil, and found my way back home to my sister’s house.
I carefully placed my newest creation on the fireplace alongside its siblings and heard Chauna say;
“That’s Crosby’s Pond!”
Apparently I’m one of the few from here who doesn’t know of this place.