My great-grandparents were some of the earliest homesteaders in the Jackson Hole area (they settled there in 1912 and the town of Jackson became incorporated in 1914). I’ve heard stories from my grandfather Walter (who was born in Jackson) about those early days. His stories gave me a real appreciation of what it meant to be a “cowboy” – working hard from sun-up to sun-down, living in concert with the land, looking out for neighbors and them for you, and the importance of ethics. Those men and women were hearty folk. My grandfather rode a horse to school. On the way he would set traps for small game; and on the way back from school he would collect whatever game the traps had caught.
My father grew up in California, and moved to Wyoming after college to take a job punching cattle on a ranch just outside of Jackson, where he met my mom. He learned to rope cattle and started competing in the local rodeo. I’m told I was riding horses even before I could walk. So it has always made sense to me that I would feel a deep connection to horses and to the west. I grew up following my dad around the ranch, and my folks taught me the western way of life. In the spring I got to help brand cattle, and in the summers we’d go watch the local rodeo. It was a rich upbringing full of big, wild, Wyoming forests and fields to explore.
When I was about 5, my parents got divorced. My mom, younger brother and I bounced around a bit. The hardest part about the divorce was that I didn’t see my dad as much, but he was still very present in my life. My grandfather also took on a
