Wyoming

When I see birches bend left and right
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
Robert Frost

I began exploring the world with my family when I was very young. I grew up in south Louisiana, a land of bayous, steamy summers, and the astonishing biodiversity of coastal bays and marshes and the Mississippi River estuary. Every weekend was spent with a paddle and pole, immersed in the sights and sounds of this backwater land of enchantment.

In those days I wasn't concerned with acid rain, ozone holes, or climate change. Nature was not fretted over, it was a place to play and a wonderland from which to learn. I knew the fields and forests at the "wild edge" of my neighborhood, each bend in the bayou and bump in the trail. I spent hours in the woods, just me and my dog. Starmy hunted while I listened to birds, watched clouds sail by, and swam in the creek. And I built luxurious tree houses where I could escape, and dream about horses and other important stuff. In my mind the world was a pretty hip place, and life rolled lazily along, season after season.

My dreams came true when I was eight years old and the family moved to a "hobby" ranch on the outskirts of Baton Rouge. It was a magical place of field and fence, and barns and ponds. There were more horses than people on this spread, which suited me fine. And so it came to pass that the rod and reel were succeeded by a new and consuming passion, for horses and all that they imply.

For the next ten years I lived and breathed the world of Highland Road Farms, surrounded by similarly passionate family and friends. This was a different world than the swamp, but nature nevertheless. Stately live oak and pecan trees shaded barnyard animals and a menagerie of wild critters that had plenty of room to roam in those days. Trail rides were punctuated with horse shows and rodeos, blended into the perpetual summer of south Louisiana, Disney's "Song of the South," come to life. Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah! Only Uncle Remus was missing.

From these early years came a reverence for the outdoors and all living things that would help chart the course of my life.

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When I see birches bend left and right I like to think some boy's been swinging them. Robert Frost I began exploring the world with my family when I was very young. I grew up in south Louisiana, a land of bayous, steamy summers, and the astonishing biodiversity of coastal bays and marshes and the Mississippi River estuary. Every weekend was spent with a paddle and pole, immersed in the sights and sounds of this backwater land of enchantment. In those days I wasn't concerned with acid rain, ozone holes, or climate change. Nature was not fretted over, it was a place to play and a wonderland from which to learn. I knew the fields and forests at the "wild edge" of my neighborhood, each bend in the bayou and bump in the trail. I spent hours in the woods, just me and my dog. Starmy hunted while I listened to birds, watched clouds sail by, and swam in the creek. And I built luxurious tree houses where I could escape, and dream about horses and other important stuff. In my mind the world was a pretty hip place, and life rolled lazily along, season after season. My dreams came true when I was eight years old and the family moved to a "hobby" ranch on the outskirts of Baton Rouge. It was a magical place of field and fence, and barns and ponds. There were more horses than people on this spread, which suited me fine. And so it came to pass that the rod and reel were succeeded by a new and consuming passion, for horses and all that they imply. For the next ten years I lived and breathed the world of Highland Road Farms, surrounded by similarly passionate family and friends. This was a different world than the swamp, but nature nevertheless. Stately live oak and pecan trees shaded barnyard animals and a menagerie of wild critters that had plenty of room to roam in those days. Trail rides were punctuated with horse shows and rodeos, blended into the perpetual summer of south Louisiana, Disney's "Song of the South," come to life. Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah! Only Uncle Remus was missing. From these early years came a reverence for the outdoors and all living things that would help chart the course of my life.

© Danny Kimberlin 2015