Chapter 53 An Unshared Passion
He could see the dark shapes of cattle scattered about in the grass along the stream and up on the slopes. He considered the fact that Grace was missing an even grander view, because she was so focused on that one part and on her writing. It was hard to begrudge her, but it also spoke to him of the difference between the two of them. Maybe it was too much to ask her to stay there. She had an appreciation for parts of his lifestyle, but he feared that she might not have a handle on the complete picture of it. Would asking her to stay be wrong? He should probably just abandon the idea altogether. He really did not want to return to New York, but the ethics of what had been ingrained in his cowboy soul since he was a child told him that he needed to do whatever had to be done, even if it was uncomfortable. He had survived while going to college, and he had survived New York thus far. He could survive it again, right? It was different this time, somehow. Should he deny something that so completely overwhelmed his being? Was he, in essence, sentencing himself to death by denying who he was to please someone else?
Evan tried to push those deep, philosophical thoughts away as he rode across the basin. To him, this was the glory of his mountain escape. Away from the sound of the falls, he could hear the birds as they conversed with each other, flitting from one part of the grass to another. Swarms of small birds would take off in a cloud, spinning and turning in perfect, close formation maneuvers that baffled him. How could 100 individuals move so quickly and gracefully without a single mishap? They never collided with each other. They were in perfect harmony. He heard the sweet “chee-oo-ree” chorus of red-winged black birds as they called to each other from their nests among the marshes. A family of ducks paddled along the stream in a quiet pool where the creek made a sharp turn and some of the water spilled over the edge, creating a small pond that was perfect to raise a family of ducklings. He heard the call of a particularly alert mother cow who had already taken his presence into account and was calling her calf to her side as she trotted back to where she had left him with a group of his white-faced peers stretched out in the grass.
His survey of the cattle took him along the edge of the timber, and there he received a sound scolding from the chattering mouths of several squirrels. He had disturbed them, and they were giving him an earful of their opinion of him. As he rode along the edge of one of the ridges, he encountered a rock slide, and more than a dozen marmots sat in the rocks whistling to each other. He had grown up referring to the animals as “whistle pigs”. Their fur was a darker brown on their backs and turned to a yellowish tan on their bellies, thus the name “yellow-bellied marmot”. As they scrambled through the grass to the safety of the rock slide, the rolls of fat jiggled over their bodies. As he came closer, their whistles became more intense, and those nearest him scrambled down into their rocky dens. He passed on by them and gazed back across the basin which opened up below him.
The green meadow was splattered with patches of wild flowers from every color of the spectrum, some of them mixed and some of them in their own, elite group. Columbines were hidden among the aspen trees where they enjoyed partial shade most of the day. Out in the open meadow, purple lupine was in abundance along with alpine penstemon and wild delphinium in various colors. The most abundant varieties were blue or purple, but there was also a sprinkling of red, yellow, and white scattered among them. In greater abundance, but much more subtly placed within the tall grass were asters of every possible color. The large-leafed “skunk cabbage” plants were also in abundance, with their long stems extending high enough that the cluster of white flowers at the top was within easy reach of Evan’s hand from horseback. The nickname “skunk cabbage” came from their bitter smell, which was similar to the odor of a skunk. There was probably a different name for them, but he had never known them by any other name.
Evan passed the afternoon basking in the complete glory of the mountain basin while he scanned the little bunches of cattle that passed the day in lazy contentment. He saw only one sick yearling as he rode among the animals. He expertly tossed a rope over its head and tied it off to an aspen tree. Evan hazed the steer around the tree until he was snubbed up close, then took the syringe and medication out of his saddle bag, measured the correct dosage, and injected it into the muscle of the animal’s rump. With that job completed, he slipped a shorter rope under the hondo of the lariat, which was around the neck of the steer. Using this rope, he used the strength of his horse to pull the loop of the rope until there was enough slack for the animal to slip his head free. The steer dashed off, and Evan dismounted to gather his rope, coil it neatly, and replace it on his saddle.
The remainder of the afternoon was uneventful, and he made his way back to the ledge along the waterfall, where he found Grace still basking in the glory of the waterfall without knowing the abundance of what lay within a very short ride from where she sat. The moment that he rode up to her was the first time that he realized that they were truly from two different worlds. Not only in physical geography, but in the geography of their souls. A brief pain went through him as he considered the fact that someone of whom he was very fond simply did not “get” him. In that moment, a deep loneliness swept over him. He dismissed all thoughts as he approached her. “So, did you enjoy your afternoon?”
She looked around at him as he spoke. Her smile broadened. “It was perfect. I’m so glad that you brought me here. I think I wrote more than a dozen pages. Wow, what a beautiful place. Thank you for bringing me here.”
He started to tell her that it was even more beautiful up in the meadow, but decided that he needed to retain a few secrets, and he feared that maybe she also wouldn’t appreciate it the way that he did, and swallowed the words. “You ready to go?”