Photos, Ramblings, and Life from Jackson Hole
The wolf in folklore is sometimes benevolent and often malevolent but always wild and the symbol of untamed places and things. The wilderness is not a tended garden. As much as I love the coffee shops and bakeries in Boston, Portland, and in little Wyoming towns the wolf draws me to the edges of wild places. Its yellow-eyed stare beckons to me, dares me to enter the foothills of the Teton Mountains, to cool my feet in lakes and trout streams, and warm myself in mountain meadows.
My dreams begin in Jackson, Wyoming. Like so many others here, we live on the edge of the wilderness. While shopping at the local Super Market a wandering moose will remind us of the “other side”. Driving a few miles out of town a herd of Bison reminds us of other times. Here the wolf is not extinct. I put down my latte and scone and stare back at the wolf. It saunters away and I debate following it or ignoring it.