Dolphins meant freedom.

There seems to be a curious trend of "Wyoming memoirs", and seeing as I am not one to dissapoint, here goes.

Most of the time, I am a fairly "aware" person. I have this sense about me, where I can usually tell what people are thinking, feeling, about to say, or about to do. I like to be as perceptive as possible in a world where things always seem to be slightly blurred by numerous things or events that surround our lives. There are, however, times in my life where this principal has been completely abandoned. Wyoming was one of those times.
Looking back, I realize that I was probably one of the strangest kids I knew. But at the time, I thought every kid owned a ferret and had the weekly chore of checking every corner of the house for ferret poo, and I thought everyone knew that there was nothing better, than to explore the bull-dozed houses hidden in the fields behind their own homes. In a state where cowboys and ghost towns are the norm, these things just made sense.
When I think of our time in Wyoming, the colors orange, brown, grey and baby blue come to mind. Let me explain. For almost my entire life, I process in manners that make the most sense to me. Colors bring on certain emotions and when I think back on a time that brings on one particulare emotion, I almost immediately have that color in my mind. Orange, brown and grey are probably the most obvious. Not only were those the very colors of the landscape (and most of the housing facilities)I also associate these uninteresting colors with stifled feelings of desperation. Individually, these colors (orange, brown and grey)have very different emotional affiliations, but clumped all together, this is what I feel. Stifled desperation. But baby blue is another story. baby blue gave me hope.
Being a chubby, outspoken, homeschooled pastors-daughter in a land of rodeos and spurs, I just didn't fit. But I was desperate to fit. I tried wearing cowgirl boots, but the pink tweety-bird sneakers on sale at wal-mart just made sense. I tried being like my older, cooler sister, but really, I just loved being my own, obnoxious self. I tried burying myself in books, like my clever second-oldest sister, but books just did not satisfy my exploding immagination. But I was desperate to to find my place.
And one day, I found it.
We lived in a creaky modular home, which appeared to have been dropped hap-hazardly into an open field behind the church, and accross from the video store. I cannot think of one place in Wyoming where not a mile exists without there being a barbed-wire fence. And our yard was no exception. In the beginning of our Wyoming days, I dared not explore the untamed lands beyond that fence. I mean, there was no need. we had everything we needed in our backyard. we had the trampoline.
However, my curiosity could not be controlled. I remember watching as our dog (Apache-because she has a "patch" over her right eye)lept over the fence like a flying reindeer or something, and I remember being annoyed that i had to seperate the barbed-wire to climb through. I wanted to leap.
On the other side of the fence, was another fence. There was a good 15 feet seperating the two fences, and you wouldn't believe me if I told you, but heaven was in those 15 feet. At least, heaven to a chubby, outspoken homeschooled pastors-daughter who just didn't fit in. At one point, there must have been a raging creek that flowed through the two fences. It resembled something of a war-trench, with its steep edges and soft, sloping floor. Void of water, It was filled with sand, consistantly damp, and always clean. nobody knew this magical trench existed. nobody, but me. And it was my oasis.
I remember one time, as a little girl, my parents must have taken us to the beach (maybe california, maybe mexico, maybe florida)and as we strolled the peaceful scene, we were able to witness a sand-castle building contest. Everything (at the time) was enormous and lifelike and bursting with magic! I had no idea sand could look like this. and it was exciting.
There was one "sand-castle" that stuck out to me imparticular. It was a picture of freedom, of beauty passion and awe. It was a dolphin. but not just any dolphin, no. It was the most majestic creature I had ever seen, bursting from the sand like it wasn't sand at all, but a vast, rolling ocean. The dolphin, accompanied by its jovical co-horts was, obviously, having the time of its life (and i swear its eyes were sparkling) If this sand dolphin had a color, it would have been baby blue. It just made sense.
So, the next logical step, after having discovered the magical trench, was to re-create that same scene. Everyday that summer I had the same routine: grab my most loyal pet ferret (Belle) grab a snack, treck the field, climb the fence, and disappear into my imagination. and it was always Dolphins. because dolphins meant freedom. I made sense with dolphins.
It was always the same scene: dolphins leaping out of the water, causing a ripple of waves on all sides. In all reality, come to think of it, the dolphin resembled more of a beached whale, because it certainly wasn't leaping, and it certainly didn't have any dolphin friends, playfully following along. no. come to think of it, if a stranger had happened to walk by while I was creating this scene, their response probably would have been along the lines of:
" why are you building a dead fish out of dirt? and why is your ferret wearing a leash?"
But to me, it was the most glorious leaping bottle-nosed dolphin I had ever seen. And in my mind, it was baby blue. the color of peace, of joy, of purity, and hope. This dolphin offered me respite in a world of mass confusion.
At the end of the day, I would carefully smoothe the sand over again, so as to fool anyone who happened to wander by, that there was not, in fact, any sand dolphin building going on. Noboby would every know the real magic of this trench.
Looking back, I see our life in Wyoming as nothing but a serious of amusing, if not slighty painful memories of a homeschooled pastors family of 5. I hear stories, told back and forth throughout the family, of things I must have stored away, never having meant to be remembered. And I can laugh now, knowing that our strange time in that strange place has ended, leaving me nothing but the colors orange, brown, grey and baby blue. And to this day, baby blue makes sense.