On Bull Testing Day, our veterinarian was late. We had an hour to kill, so I went in search of items for my Creativity Door. I headed towards the “old shop”.
The OLD *OLD* shop.
The one that used to be the blacksmith shop, and the one whose ghost whispers around the sod roofed bunkhouse.
The original vent hood for the forge is easy to spot, other objects have gathered around the forge to comfort him in his days of forced retirement…
Boxes and rope, cans and bits, a spring here, a mystery tool there, pitchfork tines and drill presses. Wrenches for wagons, wooden barrels, milk cans, leather harness stiffened by sweat and time and Wyoming dry air.
The logs resonate with history, with the beginnings of this ranch… before power tools and battery run tools… when it all began with a dream, a man’s strong back, and a good team of horses. It is filled with horseshoes…
Most visitors might see a few labels and boxes and rusted metal from long ago… but here breathe the Ghostly Remnants of The Dream. The Dream that became this ranch in the dramatic red hills that we call Home.