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Day 013: 12/26/11 – The Last of the Wild West

Written by Rob Cocuzzo

The word sounded all the more unfamiliar in the confined space of the elevator: “Howdy.” Normally, I would relish in such Western twang–a delightful hem in the cultural fabric of this place–had it not just come out of my mouth. “Howdy.” How foreign the word is to me and yet how naturally it formed in my throat and passed from my mouth. I haven’t been back in Wyoming for but a month and already I feel the westernization upon me, seeping into my pours, washing over my faculties, and consuming me in all its big-belt-buckle greatness. My gate has evolved from a stroll to a saunter to a spurs-chink-chinking strut, the severity of which becomes all the more apparent during an amble down the town’s wooden walkways. I find myself spitting more and not for the purpose of clearing my throat — but pressing my lips together to dispel the slightest bit of saliva as if aiming at a spittoon. I can faintly here the ding! after it leaves my lips. Say what you will about the cowboy-upping of Jackson Hole for the sake of t-shirt sales and hotel bookings; but for us Yankees, it’s a hoot, and, to steal a line from another venerable American institution, “I’m loving it.”