somecraychick:

The two summers I spent on the Butler Ranch in Douglas, Wyoming were two of the greatest summers of my life. I’m really more of a city girl and I couldn’t see myself living in such a secluded are for the rest of my life, but spending a summer away from the rest of the world and the rest of life was exhilarating. 

I spent the days helping herd cattle, put up fencing, feeding orphaned animals, checking watering troughs and moving equipment. I rode horsed I roamed for hours on four wheelers going everywhere and anywhere I wanted. I spent more time than I ever had with my father and we didn’t need to talk. Just being next to each other, knowing we were both so happy doing what we were doing, I have never felt so close to him. 

It felt so surreal. I often just forgot that the rest of the world existed. Because every direction I looked I could see for miles and miles and se everything yet nothing. 

The night before I left on the second summer I took the four wheeler out and drove to the top of a hill and cried. I didn’t want to leave. And I still miss it greatly. It was beautiful and peaceful. It was welcoming and loving. It taught me how to work hard and love work. It taught me to let go and surrender to life. 

I’m trying to describe to you the feeling that it gave me, but words are just not sufficient. It was purely incredible.

That little ranch in the middle of nowhere USA will forever be one of my all-time favorite places on this earth. I’m so glad I was given the opportunity to experience such a magical place firsthand. 


”(…) Un cri part ; et soudain voilà que par la plaine 
Et l’homme et le cheval, emportés, hors d’haleine, 
Sur les sables mouvants, 
Seuls, emplissant de bruit un tourbillon de poudre 
Pareil au nuage noir où serpente la foudre, 
Volent avec les vents !

Ils vont. Dans les vallons comme un orage ils passent, 
Comme ces ouragans qui dans les monts s’entassent, 
Comme un globe de feu ; 
Puis déjà ne sont plus qu’un point noir dans la brume, 
Puis s’effacent dans l’air comme un flocon d’écume 
Au vaste océan bleu.

Ils vont. L’espace est grand. Dans le désert immense, 
Dans l’horizon sans fin qui toujours recommence, 
Ils se plongent tous deux. 
Leur course comme un vol les emporte, et grands chênes, 
Villes et tours, monts noirs liés en longues chaînes, 
Tout chancelle autour d’eux.

Et si l’infortuné, dont la tête se brise, 
Se débat, le cheval, qui devance la brise, 
D’un bond plus effrayé, 
S’enfonce au désert vaste, aride, infranchissable, 
Qui devant eux s’étend, avec ses plis de sable, 
Comme un manteau rayé. (…)

Miss you little boy

Mazeppa, Les Orientales, Victor Hugo (1829)