Where The Wild Things Are

The first signpost as you exit the Jackson Hole airport reads, "The Last of the Old West." In some ways, perhaps, though in other ways, Wyoming is now just as modern as the rest of the United States. I don't have to worry about being attacked by American Indians as we drive along the empty two-lane highway, which probably would have been a concern about 175 years ago. I don't have to worry about finding my next meal, as restaurants are plentiful in Jackson Hole, and grocery stores and snack bars are at every junction in Yellowstone National Park.

But in other ways, the signpost is absolutely correct. When we think of the "Old West" we think of the Wild West-- cowboys, saloons, brothels, shoot-outs in the street-- but the Wild West also referred to something simpler than what was back east. The Wild West was a land untamed by the civilizing effects of skyscrapers and factories, of millions of people crammed together into tenements abiding by every law on the book. The Wild West was land and sky as far the eye could see, "where the deer and the antelope play, where seldom is heard a discouraging word." A man (or woman, in some cases) could really make his own way there. And in a lot ways you get that feeling today.

Wyoming seems to be a land struggling between its wildness and its civility. On the one hand, Yellowstone National Park has geographic forms as old as the Earth itself, and is home to tons of wildlife. On the other hand, Yellowstone National Park has rules. These rules are necessary to keep us safe (especially the ones about walking on the hydrothermal features), but it does make one long for the days when you could fish without a fishing license, just because you needed dinner.

The theme of wildness versus civility ran throughout my visit to Wyoming. My mom and I spent the first day of our trip in Yellowstone National Park. We saw Old Faithful spout water high into the air, other geysers, mudpots, deep blue springs, bison, elk, the Old Faithful Inn (which Disney's Wilderness Lodge is clearly modeled after), and running rivers set at the base of mountains. It was gorgeous. The next day we went the opposite direction to the town of Jackson Hole. Here, we saw what you might see in any small, touristy town-- shops, restaurants, a playhouse, a famous hotel. A Dairy Queen welcomed us as we rounded the bend into the city proper, as if to say, "Hello, you're in America!"

Of course, on the way into the town we passed the National Elk Refuge, a few moose, and a herd of bison. You see? Wildness versus civility.

(There are bison out there)

The second night we were there we were fortunate enough to see a horse whisperer. For those of you who might not know (I didn't), a horse whisperer takes a never-been-saddled, never-been-ridden horse and in the course of an hour and a half or so, saddles and (sometimes) rides the wild creature. The colt that the horse whisperer, Grant, was training that night was called Bubba, was three years old, and was incredibly skittish. You could see the fear in his eyes as he walked into the ring. But as the hour passed, something came over him. Trust, domestication, a developing friendship-- these things passed through his eyes and some of his wildness went out of him. Of course, he bucked like no one's business when he was first saddled, and I honestly feared for Grant's life, but by the end of the hour and a half he stood placidly with his saddle in the middle of the ring, beginning to make a herd with Grant and Grant's horse, Freckles. But he was still wild enough that Grant didn't try to ride him that night. But in a few more days, a few more hours, the horse would be... well, civilized.




A bit like Freckles, Bubba, too, would be Grant's friend.


But what really hit home the theme was visiting the National Museum of Wildlife Art with my parents on our last day. They had a special exhibit on display: The Art of Maurice Sendek, author of Where The Wild Things Are. The exhibit (the entire museum, actually) was spectacular. Within children, Maurice Sendek sees our human capacity for wildness, but tamed by society and our consciousness of our humanity. But I guess humanity is a two-way street: empathy and understanding, coupled with a deep desire to unleash our own inner animal. Sendek's artwork was inspiring, with bears in jackets, lions doing ballet, while at the same time these animals chased cats, ate everything, and humans themselves sometimes turned animalistic in some of the drawings and stories. Animals, like humans, could be helpful or villainous, wild or civilized. Just like Wyoming. Just like all of us.

One other picture depicted two boys looking into the tiger cage at the menagerie at the tower of London. As we, the viewers, watch the boys and the tiger in the cage, we almost fail to notice, until the last second, a second tiger peering out of the shadows directly into our eyes. As the museum plaque said, the picture makes us question our civility and our wildness. What are we when we look at wild animals, whether caged in zoos or roaming free in our National Parks?

Overall, a much more thought-provoking trip than I had anticipated.


(All photos by me; if you wish to reproduce any of them please do so with a credit and a link)