June, 2019 - Reading Where

Why Longmire? That’s WY

I suppose anyone reading this already knows that one of the reasons this blog exists is not just because I love to read, but because I love to immerse myself fully in reading worlds, to feel like I’m really there. When an author can inspire me to actually visit a place just through their stories, well, that’s the golden ticket.

Thanks to my dad, I was brought up on a steady diet of Western movies and TV shows. As a youngster, I could endure them, but I didn’t see the appeal of dusty, fuzzy, formulaic stories centered, it seemed to me, around horses and guns and saloons. It never occurred to me to read books in this genre, so the screen images I had of cowboys and lawmen and villains and the American West were firmly rooted. Then, sometime in the 1990s, I had a moment. Having unexpectedly finished the only book I had with me during multiple delays at the very beginning of (what I knew would be) a (long and boring) business trip to Houston, I bought Lonesome Dove in the airport. Chiefly because it was nice and fat and would see me through the week. I opened it, fell in, and climbed out a couple days later, blinking and disoriented and gobsmacked by McMurtry’s beautiful story.

I didn’t immediately jump into reading a bunch of Westerns, though. But I did develop a curiosity about the genre that led me to watch the fantastic Lonesome Dove miniseries, and eventually brought me to the Netflix series Longmire, which I watched early last year. I was instantly hooked on both setting and story. It’s a modern Western whose title character, Walt Longmire, is a sheriff in a county with more square miles than people. He is sensitive yet tough, broken yet redeemable, a stubborn, old-school cowboy who has had his share of hardships in life, which he bears pretty much silently. He’s a lawman, so the show’s episodes are crime- and mystery-focused, though the underlying character development is more important than plot. Unlike his bygone Western counterparts, though, Walt is not a complete loner. He’s got a grown daughter and a chosen family and a community of which he’s a crucial part. I can’t call it a “tribe” — although it sort of is, in the modern sense of the word — because a Cheyenne tribe and its nearby reservation figure prominently in Walt’s world; his best friend is a Cheyenne named Henry Standing Bear, their relationship is the source of some conflicts, a lot of humor, and a great deal of warmth and loyalty. The storylines are both timeless and blisteringly modern. All the characters are complex or at least interesting. The drama is heart-pounding and sometimes heartbreaking.

And, oh my gosh, the setting. The prairies. The mountains. The teeny, quirky town of Durant, Wyoming. The ever-present wind along the plains. The enormous sky. The vast expanses of empty highway. The stark, scruffy loveliness of it all. I didn’t want it to end.

When it did, I took matters into my own hands. It used to be extremely rare for me to watch a movie or TV show before I’d read the book(s). I just think your first love can’t be topped, so I read first and generally subscribe to the wisdom of “the book was better.” In the past couple of years, though, I’ve thrown this rule out the window, and I’m glad I did with the Longmire series because it reawakened me to the possibility that Westerns could be awesome. I started on the books almost as soon as the credits from the last episode scrolled by, steadily inhaling their world, which is both eerily the same and a striking contrast to the Netflix show. Craig Johnson, Walt’s creator, is a wonder. Such a great writer and world-builder. Not only did his characters, setting, and stories charm and captivate me, they were able to do so on both page and screen. Part of that is because the author’s love for the place comes through so strongly in both mediums. Even though the series was filmed in New Mexico, it is Wyoming itself that seeps out of the pages and into your heart. It may be our nation’s least populated state, but its sense of wildness, of times gone by, its offering of the simple life and of honest, proud people were the true inspiration for the characters and the stories. Because I was so affected by this “reading where,” I knew that if I made the effort to find it, this Wyoming of Walt, I would be rewarded with a chance to feel all of this again, like the quiet pleasure of finding a long-lost, long-loved pair of worn-in boots and taking a ramble in them.

Having a one-time real cowboy for a lifelong travel companion made it easy to make the case for the trip, so we tacked on four days to a scheduled visit to our son in California and set out on a whirlwind adventure. For four days, we explored, starting in Cheyenne, traveling north through the whole central part of the state, even skirting the Bighorns before eventually turning east toward South Dakota, gaping in wonder at the sights along the way.

I honestly didn’t do much pre-trip research on Wyoming, so there were no plans, other than getting to wherever we were going to stay each night. Which was kind of wonderful. It afforded us a long and winding side trip to Fort Laramie that had us bumping over dirt roads and livestock grates for miles and miles, for example, and it brought us to hidden gems – a reservoir with a campground and beach, a little town with a memorial to country singer and rodeo champion Chris LeDoux and an adorable museum, and gorgeous ranchland so pristinely vast you could smell the sagey hay smell from 50 miles away. So it was complete bookish serendipity when we wandered into the town of Buffalo.

Something about the town spoke to me the moment I got out of the car, and I had barely turned around before I saw it: the”Longmire Headquarters” sign on a Main Street store across the street. As it turns out, Buffalo is the inspiration for the town of Durant, the fictional town in the fictional county of Absaroka, where Longmire is sheriff. (Which, of course I didn’t know because, duh. No research.) The store belongs to Craig Johnson’s wife, Judy, and it holds a plethora of beautiful Western wares, including a ton of Longmire gear and memorabilia. We spent an hour (and quite a lot of money) in the place, chatting with the woman minding the store as a favor to the Johnsons. She shared my passion for the books, so we geeked out about the differences we liked and the similarities we loved between the books and the series. And that’s when I learned what I probably should have known already (except, of course, no research) – not only is Buffalo the inspiration for Durant; it’s also the site each summer of something called Longmire Days, a long-weekend festival that brings thousands to the little town to bask in the Longmire world and enjoy music, events, storytelling, and fellowship with other fans. The author and quite a few of the actors from the series faithfully attend, as well, making it the ultimate destination for anyone who has fallen in love with the characters and story and setting as much as I have.

So here’s the punchline. I’m headed back to Wyoming within a month, this time to purposefully visit Buffalo and experience Longmire Days for myself. It’s shocking to admit I’m that much of a fangirl, but it also feels like having the chance to be part of something special. I’m sure there are as many reasons for others to make this journey as there will be attendees of the event. But I strongly suspect we all will have these in common: a desire to connect with others, a fondness for good, old-fashioned storytelling, a belief that life can be both much simpler and richer at the same time, and a fascination with the ideals and traits that nurtured our country to greatness (and a feeling they still can, and do). I’ll update you, of course, but I predict it will be magical.

It was when I was first obsessing over Longmire and making plans for last year’s visit that I learned the tourism site for the state of Wyoming has the coolest little slogan: That’s WY. It’s kind of perfect. Why has always been one of my favorite words, as I’m a curious person and like to figure out the answer to that question most of all. (I also like the word where, in case you didn’t catch that yet.) That’s WY! is both a proud exclamation of (the postal abbreviation for) a state and an answer that implies, simultaneously, the completely obvious and the highly subjective. It encapsulates for me, in just a few letters, all the wonder and adventure and beauty and history Wyoming stands for, but that you really have to discover for yourself. I was thrilled to see this slogan is still a thing, and maybe I can actually pick up a flag this time!

What would I say to those who question this obsession that had me traveling thousands of miles because of a book series and its imaginary world? And that now has me planning another pilgrimage to hang out in a picturesque mountain town with those who brought it to life and those who are equally smitten?

That’s WY.

The Ultimate Book Dad

Yesterday was Father’s Day in the U.S., and when I think about fatherhood, the stellar examples in my own life come first to mind. My childhood and motherhood — ok, my personhood — would not be the same without the strong, wise, supportive, unconditional love and guidance of these outstanding men. I’m grateful for their influence and presence every day.

As a reader, though, I have also been granted the gift of an imaginary father figure that has shaped my perspective and expectations ever since I first met him. He is thoughtful, smart, compassionate, and soft-spoken, yet he is also a passionate and courageous crusader for justice and fairness. He had faced hardships in the past but didn’t wallow in grief; instead, he remained focused on making others’ lives better. He is a brilliant and committed professional, yet still finds time to be a pretty great dad. He isn’t perfect, but he is a good man.

In case you haven’t figured it out by now, this fictional character is Atticus Finch.

I first read To Kill a Mockingbird when I was 11 or 12, when it was still a new and surprising (and wonderful) thing to realize books had the power to gut me. It was the first book that ever made me cry. I remember this was not cool, either, because while I was probably safely in the privacy of my bedroom or the back porch when reading most of this book, I distinctly remember being on the schoolbus and fighting back tears while reading the last chapter. I know now that these are experiences to be cherished, when a book can transport you this fully and beautifully, but try telling that to my elementary-school self.

For a “classic,” this book was also accessible and compelling, full of memorable people. I loved Scout and wanted to be her (she drank coffee and called her father by his first name!). I adored Calpurnia and her tough love. I was fascinated with and touched by Boo Radley. But the character who kept coming back to me as I grew (and as I re-read the book for classes in high school and college, and then just for the heck of it) was Atticus, Scout’s dad and defender of all that was good and right, at home and in the courtroom.

When I first read the book, I thought Atticus was dreamy. Maybe subconscious visions of Gregory Peck, from the movie version, were creeping into my thoughts, but I just knew he was not only handsome, but dignified and classy, too. He was book smart, but also wise, two things even at that young age I recognized as important but not interchangeable qualities. He was somehow both a vital part of the book’s small-town community, good and bad, and also above it all.

When I was a teenager and just starting to get fired up about fairness and social justice, wow, was he ever an unwitting poster boy for all I believed was right. After all, Atticus was the vehicle Harper Lee used for so many of the great life-lesson quotes from the book. And it helped my sometimes unfettered passion to remember to hold my “head high and keep those fists down. No matter what anyone says to you, don’t let ‘em get your goat.”

Then, when I was a young adult, first venturing into a professional world where I suddenly couldn’t trust my instincts about people, learning the hard way that life wasn’t always rosy, or even fair, Atticus kept me hopeful. I knew he was fictional, but if someone could even dream him up, he had to be at least possible. I needed to know there where things worth fighting for, whatever the odds against you.

After all, Atticus is the one who said of real courage: “It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do.”

Now that I’m old – er, more mature – his beautiful words are still worth revisiting. I might have become more cynical. From time to time, I am depressed and powerless and feel like all the decisions in my life are being made without me. But even when I’m at my loneliest, Atticus reminds me that integrity is a sacred and personal battle: “Before I can live with other folks I’ve got to live with myself…The one thing that doesn’t abide by majority rule is a person’s conscience.”

Maybe by today’s stereotypes Atticus, as a lawyer, is an unexpected teacher of empathy. I have two children who are currently studying to be lawyers. If law school itself doesn’t do it, I hope Atticus (or their mom’s obsession with To Kill a Mockingbird) gets this message into their heads: “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view… Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” In other words, make the argument. But respect the other side, and try to be kind.

I hope they will remember, too, what a profound privilege they will have one day when they are participating in our country’s legal system. Justice is more than an aspiration, it’s an equalizer.

“There is one way in this country in which all men are created equal—there is one human institution that makes a pauper the equal of a Rockefeller, the stupid man the equal of an Einstein, and the ignorant man the equal of any college president. That institution, gentlemen, is a court…Our courts have their faults as does any human institution, but in this country, our courts are the great levelers, and in our courts, all men are created equal.”

I believe that intellectually. And I get to return to this great fictional dad, in (arguably) the greatest work of American literature, to help me feel it viscerally if I forget.

I’m fortunate enough to have the best ever real-life fathers in my life. But it makes my heart happy to know that books – specifically this one – can give anyone a taste of the mentorship, universal wisdom, and personal compassion of a good man, whenever it’s needed. Whoever we are, we can benefit from reaching for these lessons and listening to them whenever – or however – they’re offered.

For all you are to those who look up to you – thanks, Dad. And thanks, Atticus.

Reading into my journal

I’ve been keeping a book journal for two and a half years now. Funny I never thought to do it before, but I’m glad I finally got around to it because it’s given me some tremendous insights into what I read, how I do it, and, most relevant to this particular venture, where I am while reading it, both physically and spiritually.

I love connections. When I was a full-time communications professional, finding hidden (or at least not obvious) connections between people and leaders, motivations and results, seemingly disparate events and history, actions and consequences was a passion of mine. I’d like to think it’s one of the things that made me successful in some of these roles. Nonetheless, it was a tremendous way to learn and grow, and that’s exactly what keeping a book journal has done as well. It’s allowed me to see connections that have, in turn, helped enrich my enjoyment of the books I’ve read.

A couple of things prompted me to finally start recording a bit about each book I read. First, I got the best notebook (pictured here) for Christmas 2016 from my daughter, who had spent the fall semester studying abroad in the UK. The journal was designed by Cath Kidston, a very London brand I had never heard of before and that just charmed me. Not only was it beautiful, it was that much cooler for being (a) from the U.K. and my daughter, and (b) covered in illustrations of books, so I had to use it for something epic. And what’s more epic than books? Second, I wanted to write more, and I found that I don’t have the discipline required to write a regular journal by hand – I think my mind moves faster than my hand can write, so any traditional “journaling” is best done with a keyboard. Little snippets (like notes on the books I’d read) were way better suited to my analog writing efforts, so this seemed the perfect outlet.

And finally, I found I was losing track of my bookish life. I have an embarrassingly large Kindle library, full of hundreds of books, many bought on a whim or because they were on sale, and a shocking proportion of which I have yet to read. I love having an e-reader for its ease of use and compactness (especially while traveling), but it’s not always easy to find these unread books when they’ve been buried by more and more purchases. To make matters worse, I have always been a bit of a crazy person when it comes to owning “tree” books, as well. I have absolutely no sales resistance when it comes to bookstores, and if you throw any kind of sale or deal into the mix, I become a woman obsessed. The groaning shelves of my library bear witness to this affliction. And my eyes are always bigger than my reading stomach when I go to the library where, for some reason, I find it impossible to leave without at least four books. All of this adds up to a beautiful problem (sorry not sorry) but also mass confusion in knowing what I own, let alone what I’ve actually read.

So Christmas was probably the perfect time to receive my gorgeous blank notebook and to make this decision about how to use it. I was looking at a stack of recently acquired bookwealth that I knew I’d spend the post-Christmas-hangover days tearing through. But it was also good timing because, for many years now, I’ve set myself a book goal each year that begins (as the year does, duh) in January. Good Reads has been a fantastic resource for this because it allows you to set yourself a “Reading Challenge” that reminds you of your progress without having to keep track and count yourself. (Hello, English major over here. Numbers are important, but I prefer someone else does the work of actually adding.) I’m proud to say I’ve met (exceeded) my goal of 100 books (but who’s bragging) every year since I started the journal project, and I’m on track to exceed it this year. (Previously, I hovered around the 60- to 75-book-a-year range, although I was pretty lazy about recording them. Because numbers.) I’m even prouder that I’ve kept up the journal entries to this very day (book). It has definitely become a habit, and it’s been fun and enlightening to look back at all the books that have moved permanently off my TBR list.

What have I learned from reviewing and “reading into” this journal? Well, my writing clarity improved as I wrote more entries, and it took me less time to compile my thoughts. I also discovered that, although I didn’t plan this, I didn’t write reviews or synopses of the books so much as I jotted down how they made me feel. Turns out, connections are still pretty important to me. I recorded context in nearly every single entry: Who gave me the book or told me about it. How or why I selected it to read then, at that particular time. How riveted (or not) I was with the story. What I learned. And oddly enough, I almost always noted where I was physically when I read the book, and I definitely made a big deal about it if the author’s world-building prowess made me feel like I was totally somewhere else.

Each entry evokes more than just time and place. Collectively, they form a road map of where I’ve been, highlighting the paths that took me to amazing places, ones I want to return to, as well as those that were dead ends or slow, dense slogs. I’m reminded of a loved one’s care in selecting, recommending, and presenting me with the gift of reading. I’m brought back to the armchair, bed, car, kitchen table, airplane, coffee shop, garden, backyard, or hammock where I communed with my surroundings or completely shut them out. Keeping a book journal has made me be more mindful of connecting all the dots when reading, and when writing about reading. I have learned I love to think about, talk about, and relive books almost as much as I enjoy consuming them.

My book journal of very recent history began in 2017 because it had a pretty place to live and was necessary to keep my reading life straight and focused. It continues (in a less-gorgeous notebook) because it has been an outstanding way to stick to all my goals — and to force myself to write something down on a regular basis. But more than that, when you read a ton of books a year, it’s lovely to revisit where your reading took you. Though I still lack discipline at controlling my book purchases (and at writing regular blog posts? Ugh.), I have managed to create another habit that brings me joy, and to make reading an even bigger part of my life.