Pipe Spring National Monument

I stopped at Pipe Spring Natl Mon to get water. Autumn, a Ranger, came out to meet me on the front stoop, saying they weren't, due to Covid, letting people inside. She waved a brochure which she said had been disinfected and went on to try and regale me with the travesties of the Mormon Incursion. They'd built their effing brick edifice atop the spring so only THEY could get to the water. Autumn said the water in the restrooms (at the Visitor's Center) was partially Pipe Spring water and the hose down at the Chevron was definitely from Pipe Spring....but I couldn't find it, the hose, that is. Still, the water from the myriad spigots was good.

Lately, when asked how I am I've begun telling folks I'm dying. Some folks say: "That's nice." Others just say, "Oh." Some ask how it feels.

Each day has been slightly more difficult -- mostly in terms of energy -- but when I rejoined to Autumn's inquiry she took it in stride. Always one to pry, I asked about her heritage. She'd been raised by her grandmother, a Ute, and told how the Ute's have a different perspective on death than the Kaibab Paiute (who apparently "claim," with a BIG sign, Pipe Spring Natl Monument).

She said the Ute believe that everything is comprised of energy and interconnected. And when we die our "shell" dies but our energy continues on just as it always has. I like the idea and on the spot, similar to "converting" to LBJ (Lead-Better Johnson's), I adopted it on the spot.

There was a garden out back that had this bit of rock art.

I didn't see any

Kim R. Fuka - Ranchester, Wyoming

I noticed the sign for Indian Art in Ranchester (red on yellow next to pole), but it was late in the day and I wanted to get to the Bighorn Nat'l Forest and make camp.

But I had time the next day and followed the arrow through the alley to the gallery. Unfortunately, it was closed. But the business card taped to the door had a number. Ah whuppt out muh trusty cell, 'n' begin tuh punchin' numbers. ('Member duh daiz when we dialed?) It wuz then ah heard sumbody yellin'. Ah turned tuh see a guy and dog approaching. He allowed as how the dawg wharn't too friendly and sed he'd return after putting him away. 

When he came back he unlocked the door to the unprepossessing house

and we stepped into an oasis. The mix of old and new is museum quality and arranged in a way that inspires comfort and curiosity. 

Kim R. Fuka came to the area in the early '70s from the south side of Chicago. Over the years he's raised two boys, now 19 and 20, and has developed a relationship with the Crow Tribe such that all three have been adopted in. This Spring he's featured in an article on pages 10 and 11 of Destination Sheridan magazine, a bi-annual publication showcasing the cultural amenities of the area.

Renowned for his quill work, Fuka can barely keep up with the demand. Custom orders are welcome and he also does restoration. He can be reached by phone at 307-655-9157 or via email at kimfuka@yahoo.com.