Bach Goldberg Variation No. 13

The first thing I did when I arrived in Fairview, Wyoming today was to open the gate to the outer pasture, hopefully persuading the horses to come and visit so it will be easier to catch them tomorrow.

The second thing I did, after arriving, was play the piano. It's such a treat to be able to play while watching the wind blow through the quaking aspens as the sun is setting on "Big Ridge" to the west.

I think a lot about the sacrifices my ancestors made for me.  This land was my great-grandfather's, Robert Hillstead, an immigrant from England.  On the ridge of the mountain, nestled near the Bridger Nat'l forest, this "dry farm" (not irrigated) would support grazing the dairy cattle during the summer months.  My grandfather and his brothers would take turns making the trip to the ridge from the valley each evening.  They would round up the cows, milk them, spend a night in a little shack (quite near the corral in the photo), and then repeat the exercise for the morning milking the next day.  After, they would take the milk down to the valley and sell it.

I remember many summers here in Star Valley with my Grandpa Joe.  His heart never left this valley.  I think my heart will never leave Star Valley either.