There is a place tucked deep in the mountains of western Wyoming where the road twists and turns as you follow the rapid river of icy cold water. Greeted by singing birds, nervous chipmunks, and swarms of beautiful butterflies, you are quickly reminded that you are a guest in someone else's home. In an instant you have crossed over from a slow-paced, small town routine to an even simpler and calmer way of life. You can't resist inhaling the fresh mountain air over and over in a careful attempt to keep the memory of it with you long after you've left. The sun appears for a few seconds at a time to warm your face before gently slipping behind the towering mountains. When you are here you are encircled by genuine, unaltered beauty.
This place is not just trees and water and rocks and an old dirt road to me. We have a relationship. We have a history. It is where Clay and I have gone to celebrate accomplishments, to escape heart-wrenching disappointments, to reflect on life changes. It is where he taught me to fly-fish, where I abandoned my secret fears of trying something new, and where I finally fell in love with the great outdoors. It came as a shock to this self-proclaimed city girl to find myself enjoying time spent outside, completely surrounded by nature and its accompanying serenity. Before long I began to wish even more of my days there. And now I ache for the feeling I get when I am in those mountains.
I wish everyone could see the world the way I do as I journey through the canyon. Life is easy, problems melt away, and the things that matter most become strikingly clear. It is truly special and, though there are a thousand other places that might seem the same, there is nowhere else on earth quite like Swift Creek.