The End of an Odyssey
By
Seniortech
The end of an odyssey. Or is it the beginning? I guess it’s both. I’ll tell you something about it, and maybe you can get some idea of how it has been, this odysseyizing to Wyoming.
We found FSW in May of ’06 I believe it was, and that’s how long I have been considering, planning and making the move to Wyoming. Linda agreed with me from the first, making some corny-sounding statement like, “Whither thou goest . . .” etc., etc. We’ve been here before, of course, first about twenty years ago, on vacation, just moseying through, liking what we saw, and returning a time or two for more looking and enjoying. We came a couple of times in ’06, looking at property, trying to find something we liked, but most of what we really liked was way more than we could afford. We meet our first FSW’ers (Jared and Mama Liberty) in September that year. In February ’07, we made a special trip to Thermocouple, uh, I mean Thermopolis, to look at a house which we could afford but which we didn’t like well enough to buy. Besides, we thought we wanted to be in either Crook or Weston County.
I’ve been a working stiff my whole life, not educated beyond high school and never was able to figure out how to make any significant amount of money. Show up for work, do the job, get promoted even, and a nice raise now and then, pay the bills and the taxes, cuss the guvmint lies and boondoggles, save a little money on occasion, buy a place and pay out the seemingly forever mortgage, make advance payments on the principal when possible, get the children raised, getting older (and hopefully, wiser) every year, knowing that the day was coming when I wouldn’t be able to work, and wondering what is going to be the end of things. You all know the drill.
We had a grand time at the ’07 Guernsey Jam, the first we had attended. It was a very good and fun experience and made us want to come to Wyoming even more. We got to meet, a lot of the like-minded folks we knew from the Forum, and we wanted to be friends and neighbors with these people. By that time I had already signed the SOFI, but it was mostly a matter of faith, believing we could work it out some way. There just didn’t seem to be any way that we could not arrange our affairs and be able to move within seven years. I mean, come on now, seven years? What kind of situation is so complicated and difficult that you can’t get it squared away in seven years. I guess you could be in prison with ten years remaining on your sentence or something, but more likely, as often happens, our prison may be one of the mindset. .
Perhaps the biggest hang up is leaving the familiar. We had deep roots in a small southern state with five times the population of Wyoming and with a land area of about half as much. Yeah, it was sort of crowded, and there was a lot of demographic pollution to boot. Never mind the other hazards, such as ever-increasing crime and never-ending tax increases to pay for ever-larger jails to house ever more violent miscreants. Galloping statism of all types.
Even so, it’s hard to pull up a lifetime of roots in the sunny South where trees and water are everywhere, and move off to the frozen Mountain West where the trees and reservoirs are fewer and much farther between. We had strong ties to the land and to our specific piece of ground. In 1910, my grandfather had worked a sawmill on the very spot where my house stood, and my family had owned the land since the 1950’s. There’s no place like home, right? These ties to familiar people, places and things must be broken and it takes a serious commitment for that to happen.
Still though, it doesn’t seem wise to just jump up and move to Wyoming, full speed ahead, damn the torpedoes. We must count the cost, plans must be made, all things must be considered, and we all have obligations that must be resolved in an honorable way. We were able to do all this in less than two years and it only took that long because I felt obligated to help my grandson through engineering school. I guess it’s only fair to say that I was past retirement age, still working only to pay his college expenses and I could only quit work when that was finished. I didn’t have to consider employment issues as most would have to do. He graduated two days before we left on our final move and he has a new job in, you guessed it, Wyoming. His job is 400 miles from where we live but so what. The wide open spaces of Wyoming are one of its main attractions. Looking to the north from where we live in Newcastle, we see the beginning of the Black Hills, and to the south and west we can see, well, it seems like forever across the Thunder Grasslands.
So, it was about two years from the time the bug bit us until we were moving into our new home. Others may take longer or not as long. Everyone’s situation is different and only they can know all the factors and make the proper decisions. I do think that sooner is better. There is no question in my mind that the general situation is going to hell and the only real question is when. We can’t know for sure, and we can only observe the signs, and make the best judgment we can.
After making the decision I was assailed with doubts and second thoughts, as almost anyone might be. But, as someone has said, “If you ain’t having any second thoughts, that in itself is pretty good evidence that you ain’t doin’ nuthin.” I should have done this 25 years ago when I was younger, strong and confident. I’m and old man now and I guess it’s normal to wonder if I’ll be able to be useful in this hoped-for better community of free-minded folks. But what the hell, maybe I’ll grow a mustache and run for sheriff. I already have a nice Stetson hat. Boots, too. Just kidding.
Linda came to Wyoming in August, ’07, to find us a new home. She had almost worn out a computer trying to find something “on line,” and burned up phone lines talking to realty agents. We had no success and we finally decided that that wasn’t the way to do it. One day I suggested that she get in her car, drive to Wyoming and find us a house. She left the next morning. She stayed with a gracious and well-known FSW lady and spent about two weeks scouring the countryside. Finally, one day, she walked into the house where I am now typing this (what is this, anyway?) epistle to the remnant, and decided that we could live here. After consulting with me she made an offer to the realty agent and the owner said okay. The local bank was willing to finance the house with a substantial down payment but I thought their interest rate was too high. So I went to our credit union back “down yonder” and they said sure, they would finance it. You would have thought that they financed houses in Wyoming every day of the week. And their rates were very good compared to what the local bank wanted.
So there I was, a mostly used up old man with a brand new mortgage. I didn’t even know they would finance a house for someone my age. In September, ’07, we hauled our first load of “stuff” up here on a 16’ flatbed trailer, and became residents of Wyoming. I immediately licensed my truck in Wyoming, mostly to show the folks back home (or rather back where I used to live down yonder) that I was serious and the deal was done. Most of that winter we snow birded but were here for February and again for the month of April, each time moving some more “stuff.” By September, ’08 we had resided in Wyoming for more than six months of the previous year, making us legal residents of Wyoming since September, ’07. This was important to me because you must be a resident for a year before you can apply for a resident hunting or fishing license.
Moving is expensive. There is no way that I could afford to hire a mover and pay umpteen thousand dollars to get moved. After that first load I sold the 16’ trailer and bought a 24’ tandem gooseneck trailer with 7000# axles. If you’re going to pull a trailer 1350 miles it should be big enough, strong and sturdy enough to haul some stuff.
Moving is hard work, too. We spent days packing our stuff in boxes, and you never notice how much stuff you have until you start moving. It had rained during our first load in September, and the cheap ($30) tarp ripped. Some of our stuff got wet. We bought a good tarp ($250) for our next load. I put 2x4 stakes on the sides of the trailer, screwed 1/2'” plywood to the stakes, and boxed in the whole load. The high dollar tarp covered it all and we had it well strapped down. No problems with rain that time. Same deal on the next trip but, wouldn’t you know it, not a drop of rain on the trip.
Our truck is an F-250 diesel, and it was well able to pull the heavy load at highway speeds. The truck will normally get 19 MPG on the highway, but we were able to get only 10.5 average pulling the heavy trailer. That’s a lot of fuel, and with diesel fuel at $4.50 per gallon it cost $140 for a fill up. We were able to drive the 1350 miles in two days. One night in a motel, fuel, and something to eat made the trip cost just over $700. The empty return trip was slightly less costly; call it $1350 for a round trip. We spent $350 for the tarp and plywood. Total moving expense, for two round trips and the final load up: $3750. I don’t know what moving company rates are, but in our case we moved 1350 miles at a total cost of $3750, or $2.77 per mile. This does not include that first trip with the small trailer. Also, the price of the bigger trailer is not figured in but it will be available for other needs. It has already been used several times for some FSW folks to shuffle their stuff around the state.
Whenever we showed up here with a loaded trailer there were always FSW’ers here to welcome us and help unload. I could never have moved the heavy stuff around without their help. They are our new “home folks” and we have really appreciated their willingness to help, and their encouragement.
We sold the old home place to our son for about half its value. He wanted it badly I guess for the same reasons I hated to leave it. It is familiar ground and he is the fourth generation to live there. It was a bargain for him, we were able to pay off the mortgage on our new house, and we have a few dollars left over for one of those rainy days. When he finally decides to bring his family to Wyoming too, he should be able to sell the place for a very nice profit.
We left our old home early on the morning of May 19. As we were standing by the trailer checking the straps our daughter-in-law drove up in her gas hog SUV. The back window rolled down and my little two-year-old grandson (not the one who just finished engineering school) was waving from his government mandated child safety seat, “Bye Poppa. Bye Poppa.” If you think that won’t tear at the fabric of your heart and soul you’re sadly mistaken. All the uncertainties, doubts and fears flood into your old feeble brain, and all the ties that bind you to that certain piece of God’s good earth where you have spent most of your life, scream in your mind, “What the hell are you doing?” Tears flood your eyes and you just barely manage to croak, “Bye Gus. Bye little Son.”
Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to be writing a tearjerker here. But, no more daily visits with that little grandson is a sacrifice, to say the least. We will be visiting though, as circumstances and finances allow, and they will visit here, too. I believe that they will move here eventually, but they’re not ready yet. My kids hate to see us move, but they have been encouraging and supportive. Their comments have been, “Go for it, Old Man!” and “Dream big Daddy. It’s never too late.” and “It takes a lot of guts, Dad. I admire you for it.” But I never thought they expected that when I quit working I would sit on my porch in the rocking chair and drool on my shirt until I died. I’m redundant anyway since my daughter lives in Texas and the other son in (gulp) Oakland. It’s a new adventure, a new beginning, and we have high hopes, Linda and I, for a good life in Wyoming until our time on the Earth is finished. We consider ourselves a part of that remnant of freedom loving people who have been blessed to see the real situation. Instead of living out our lives in temporary comfort and safety back at the old “home place,” we want to help as best we can to make this place a last bastion of liberty.
This is home now, and it’s surprising how quickly that came to be. We are very glad that we made the move. Already we have made new and dear friends. There are about a dozen of us FSW’ers nearby, and that is more friends than we had back yonder in the past 20 years. The neighbors are friendly and courteous but circumspect, mostly leaving us alone. We have grown to love our wonderful next door neighbor, a lovely widow lady from Iowa. She is an avid fisherperson (notice the politically correct title), and has been fishing with us many times already. This new home of ours has far exceeded our expectations. We have visited the old home place two or three times, once when our twin grandsons were born last year. We are still hoping (and praying) that our son and his wife will wake up and move. We’ll see.
I urge you to consider joining us here in Wyoming. Count the costs. Weigh the benefits. Resolve to make a move toward freedom. If you do it, I expect that, like us, you’ll be very glad you did.
