#chugwater | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iamprchung · 3 months

Text

The Spider and the FBI: Part 3 "Without Ever Knowing the Way"

FYI: Anyone who thinks I'm strictly a Skinner/Scully fan fic writer. This story is equal parts Mulder.

Synopsis: On the run from a hitman, Skinner and Scully scramble to convince their terrified prisoner, with a crippling fear of flying, to return to D.C. for his own safety. Meanwhile, Mulder's pursuit hits a snag when his car breaks down, forcing him to hitch a ride with two enigmatic young women who detour him deep into the Wyoming wilderness, leaving him stranded with no way to contact his colleagues.

References in-story of note: Circa 1999: Bugle Boy Jeans Commercial – Search YouTube, it worth the reference. Reference: Romey and Michelle - IMDb

"Without Ever Knowing the Way"

Part III of "The Spider and the FBI"

by PR Chung

I-84 BFE, Wyoming Friday, July 2nd 6:47 a.m.

"Shit! Piss! Damn it!"

This was not the usual manner in which Fox Mulder greeted the breaking dawn light, except when forced to the shoulder of the road by a knocking, failing rental car.

Steering the faltering vehicle to the side of the road he sat there watching the sunrise wondering if he should get out and look at the engine; he didn't know what good he could do, he wasn't much on mechanical tinkering. At least he had to try, it was the least he could do to maintain some sense of dignity for his gender, even if no one knew he had tried.

Shrouded in the saffron predawn light Mulder stood before the daunting spectacle of American engineering, feeling intimidated, incompetent, and doomed. Oxford had not offered a shop class, not that he would have taken it if they had, and his father hadn't been the type to pass down the traditional patriarchal knowledge of car mechanics either.

He glanced around at the nothingness- hills, mountains in the distance, deserted road to the right, deserted road to the left-- Squinting back and forth across the landscape and down the road again. He couldn’t help but wonder what the hell was he going to do?

Out of habit he had reached for his absent cell phone half a dozen times before spotting headlights on the western horizon. They grew closer, coming into view as a semi-trailer truck, then passed up the motioning federal agent like a speeding freight train.

Mulder coughed and hacked away the dust blown up into his face by the truck. Wiping his eyes he didn't see the car immediately behind the truck. It stopped a few yards ahead of him across the road, hesitating a long moment before it began backing up slowly.

He stifled his coughing, cautiously eyeing the car, expecting the unexpected as it stopped directly across from him.

It was an early model Mustang hard top with Idaho plates, maybe a 69', the blue body paint fading and the white vinyl top yellowing with age. The windows were rolled down, and he could see two young women smiling back at him.

The fare skinned redhead behind the wheel had her long curly hair pulled back into a loose, carefree bun and wore horn-rimmed glasses, while the lightly tanned brunette passenger's hair was bobbed and far too short to pull back except behind her ears.

"Are those Bugle Boy pants you're wearing?" The redhead called across the road to Mulder.

He glanced down briefly. "If I say no, are you going to drive off leaving me in a cloud of dust?"

The two women swapped playful grins.

"I won't let her." The brunette called back.

"You got help coming yet?" The redhead questioned him.

He glanced toward the open hood. "No, but after I set it on fire and make smoke signals help should come."

The two glanced at each other as if communicating telepathically.

The brunette leaned forward to look at him. "You're not a serial killer or something are you?"

Mulder laughed. "No. Are you?"

"I'm not, but I'm not too sure about her." She jabbed a thumb toward the driver grinning. Then, she called to him again, "you want to get breakfast?"

*******************************

The Chugwater Inn Chugwater, Wyoming 7:15 a.m.

Feeling relatively restored, Dana Scully opened her motel room door to a crisp, bright morning. The air was cool and still fresh with the smell of the overnight storm. It had sounded like quite a violent storm in the distance, and probably had been rather severe to the west, but only a moderate amount of rain had fallen over the motel for half an hour or so, helping sooth her restlessness and lull her back to sleep.

Closing the door, she scanned the parking lot taking a deep breath of the clean air, noticing a couple packing up their car across the way. The man appeared older than the woman did, but not by a great deal Scully noted as she watched them exchanging chat and laughing briefly, working together loading bags and rearranging the miscellaneous necessities of road travel in their vehicle.

What was their story? She wondered for a moment, setting aside her instinctive deduction fine-tuned by so many years of analyzing and observing. How had they met, she wondered, through friends, relatives, perhaps a crowded bar had set the scene, or maybe a business meeting? Perhaps some peculiar incident in a park or along a busy street? Something common or the likes of a light-hearted comedy-romance film...?

After a few minutes, the couple took a step back to scrutinize their work then kissed as though rewarding one another for a job well done.

Scully lowered her eyes from the private scene, feeling a stitch of sadness as she started toward the next room.

Just a few feet before she reached the door of Skinner and Bernstein's room she stopped as it opened suddenly. Travel bags in hand Skinner came out, stopping when he saw her standing there.

They looked at each other as though silently asking just what the hell had occurred last night. Was he angry with her? Was she angry with him?

No, she thought. Irritated maybe, but not mad. There were more than a few times when she had truly hated him, but anymore she could remain angry with him only very briefly and even then, it was more hurt than anger.

"Good morning, sir." She greeted him quietly, taken back some by his attire; a navy pocket polo shirt, jeans and navy wind breaker were a striking contrast from the definitive FBI uniform of a starched shirt, suit and tie she was so accustomed to seeing him in.

Skinner dipped his head. "Scully," he replied and appeared to be appraising her clothing as well. She too had dressed more casually than she had been the last few days; navy slacks and a baby blue cotton knit blouse rather than the two suits she'd been alternating between since Tuesday.

"I guess I should have thought to bring something more casual myself." He commented finally then nodded toward the bag in her hand. "Packed and ready?"

"Yes, I was just coming over to get the car keys."

"Good," he grunted starting toward their rental car. "My assistant just sent information on the man Mulder has in custody to the Albany County Sheriff's department."

"She did?" She questioned following him, puzzled. "How did...?

"Mulder copied my office with what came back on the prints and photo," he explained popping the trunk open.

"Who is he?"

"Steven Machenko, an ex-cop out of Pittsburgh, wanted for the disappearance of four people in three states." He announced taking her bag and putting it in the trunk. "And currently running with one Lawrence Martin Gryzwac according to Mulder. He picked Gryzwac out of a group of mug shots of those Machenko had been associated with in the past as the man who got away."

"Gryzwac?" She repeated. "The same man under suspicion for the disappearance of a witness in the DiGiovanni trial last year?"

"The same. And also suspected of the disappearances of several other federal witnesses who choose not to take protection from the bureau." He shut the trunk and looked at her. "We've got to get off the open road with this guy, we're nothing but moving targets."

Scully glanced around their surroundings. thinking. "Perhaps we can persuade Bernstein to be sedated for air travel. Stressing the reality of his life being in immediate danger we can avoid the issue of infringing on his rights. "

"The only rights anyone's going to be concerned about are last rights if we don't do something and fast." Skinner declared. He took the eye drops from his jacket pocket he’d taken from Bernstein and handed them to her.

Scully frowned at the small half empty bottle he had just placed in the palm of her hand. "What's this for?"

"You're in charge of Bernstein's pharmaceutical needs from here on out."

"All right, but..."

"I have a feeling it wasn't a stomach virus Mulder picked up."

***********************************

Wet? Gooey? What was this...? What's that rushing sound? I'm moving. I'm in a vehicle, but I'm not driving. Scully?

With a thousand questions in his mind at once, Mulder awoke to find his cheek resting in a pool of his own saliva and a wicked wind whipping at his face and hair. Next he was aware of being on his side, lying on a vinyl bench seat and staring at the back of another, only this one was a bucket seat- the fading black vinyl covered in smudges of dirt, the sort of marks gone unnoticed and uncleaned by those who rarely got in the back seat of their own car.

Wiping his face, he pushed himself up slowly, seeing the back of two heads coming into view- chocolate and cinnamon tendrils swimming in the wind.

"Hey there, sleepy head," Sally driving said looking back at him through the rearview mirror.

The brunette twisted in her seat throwing an arm over the headrest gazing closely at Mulder.

He vaguely recalled the introductions that had been made once he'd crawled into the back seat... how long ago? Good God, hadn't they reached civilization yet? How long had he been asleep?

"Or should that be sleepy-fed, G-man?" The brunette playfully questioned him.

He offered a thin-lipped smile. "I must have dozed off, sorry about that."

"No problem." she said and mirrored his smile, her eyes flickering devilishly.

He glanced at his wrist to look at the time, but his watch was in his bag, and it didn't much matter because it wasn't working.

"Uh," he began, glancing around at the sun-drenched landscape rushing past the open windows. "How long have I been asleep?"

The brunette shrugged and looked at the driver.

"A little while." The redhead answered, grinning.

Mulder nodded, beginning to feel odd about his decision to accept the ride.

The two of them seemed harmless enough, coming from St. Anthony, Idaho on their first fledged road trip, heading to an Uncle's Fourth of July celebration in Cheyenne. They seemed like two free-spirited young women who enjoyed getting away just as much as the next guy... But Mulder wasn't that next guy, he had business to take care of.

Inconspicuously he pressed his arm against his side making sure his gun was still securely in place. Relieved, he felt the solid metal pressing between his arm and his ribs.

"Um," he racked his brain for the redhead's name, plucking it up out of a sleepy notch still lingering in his mind, "Mary... Lou, uh, how long until we get to... to the next town?"

"Not long," the brunette answered turning back to face forward in her seat. She bent forward and Mulder could hear her rummaging through what sounded like plastic cases. Tapes, he thought as she straightened and put a cassette into the player. "Maybe twenty minutes."

He nodded to himself, wondering if he'd gotten the names mixed up earlier. "Uh, Sally," he tested the name on the redhead, "what’s the next town?"

"Didn't the sign say something like Jacob's Notch?" Again, it was the brunette who responded to his question.

"Yeah, that's it. Jacob's Notch." Sally answered glancing back at him through the rear-view mirror, jade green eyes just visible over the top of her horn rims.

Mulder rolled the name over in his head a few times studying the roadside and expansive landscape. He didn't recall seeing a town with that name on his maps, how big-- or rather, how small- was this place? Would he be able to get another car there or would he have to make further arrangements to get to yet another town for a car?

"We're not on the interstate anymore." Mulder realized aloud. Neither of the women responded.

"Why did you leave the interstate?" He asked.

"Jacob's Notch was closer than anything on the interstate." Sally finally answered but Mulder knew that couldn't be true, but as long as they got into a town with a phone soon, he was fine with this little side trip.

***********************************

Jacob's Notch.

It wasn't quite what Mulder had hoped for; downtown consisted of two buildings on either side of a gravel covered road that was barely wide enough to fit two cars side by side. The post office, a tiny slat-board house to their left, was white-washed and startling bright set against the blue sky, while the general store, a slightly larger slat-board building to their right, was in varying states of disrepair.

Mulder noticed an old-style phone booth set away from the general store, a black cable running directly to it from a telephone pole along the road.

"Hey, look, they serve home style breakfasts," one of the women exclaimed as they pulled off the road into the parking lot.

"Jesus," the other replied, "what, do you have to eat standing up?"

Mulder didn't care if he had to eat standing on his head as long as he had some food in him and the use of a phone.

"How far back did you pick me up?" he asked as he climbed past the front seat and out into the blaze of daylight.

Marylou and Sally looked at each other over the top of the Mustang.

"Fifteen or twenty miles?" He asked. "I'll need to tell the rental agency so they can tow the car."

"Um," said Sally, or was she Marylou?

"Well, uh," said the other.

Mulder jutted his jaw out at them. "Thirty?"

Marylou opened her mouth, but the redhead spoke first. "I think it's closer to maybe ninety-five miles."

"Ninety-five? How long was I asleep?" He exclaimed.

"Well, I think it's really closer to about a hundred and twenty-five." Marylou adjusted the total mileage between him and his rental car.

Mulder pulled his mouth in tight against the volley of curses he was on the verge of shouting at them. Hands on hips he lowered his head shaking it. "I knew we were off the interstate," he told them after a second of composed consideration. "But how the hell far off the interstate did you take me?" His voice rose in volume as he brought his head up.

"Well, duh, I just told you,” Marylou rolled her eyes, "about a hundred and twenty-five miles."

"North? South? And why?"

The redhead shook her head then cocked it to the side. "Some thanks that is for picking your butt up off the road."

"You never said where exactly you were going, you know." The other one told him.

Mulder shook his head and focused on his shoes for a moment, collecting his thoughts. God help me, I hitched a ride with Romy and Michelle. "North or South, ladies?"

"North." The redhead answered, snatching her purse out of the car, and slinging it over one shoulder. "Highway 220."

"Just off of highway 287." The other one added.

"Thank you," he said with amazing control and started for the phone booth.

"Don't expect us to buy your breakfast now." The redhead yelled at him stomping toward the general store.

"I'll save you a seat." He heard Marylou call back to him before he shut the phone booth door.

He watched her trot off after her friend, unintentionally noticing the sway of her hips and the contours of her bare legs seeing how her cut-offs didn't leave a great deal to the imagination.

"No, no, no," he warned himself, and jerked the phone receiver up to his ear.

Silence.

“No, come on,” Mulder flipped the receiver tab several times and listened intently.

Silence.

The phone was dead. Beyond pissed, Mulder slammed the receiver down and tried to jerk the phone booth open. The door resisted, jammed, the hinges caked with ages of dirt. He fought with the door a second or two before he freed himself and started for the general store, having only more trouble with that door as well; pulling instead of pushing as the faded sign announced on the dusty glass.

Pushing through the door he immediately heard a crash, then saw a chaotic spill of cans at his feet, flowing from behind the door. He craned his head around seeing that he'd hit a shelf that was far too close to the door.

"Easy there," he heard someone warn. Turning his eyes up seeing Marylou coming through a jumble of shelves and barrels jamming the small confines of this store. "This place is even smaller on the inside than it looks on the outside."

"I had no idea..." he tried to explain kneeling to pick up the spill.

"We almost did it too," she told him kneeling as well.

"What in the hell is going on out there?!" It was like the voice of God raging from somewhere beyond the cluttered cracker box of a store.

Mulder, with his arms full of canned meats and soups, looked up to see a man who looked as old as God emerging from the clutter of shelves. He glared down at the two of them, and Mulder was convinced if the man had the power to smite them, he would have.

"Always in a damn hurry," he declared with a stereotypical grouchiness of a storeowner in a small town. "Never looking at what you're doing or where you're going."

"Okay, Yoda," Mulder mumbled then lifted his tone to be heard, "I'm sorry. I didn't realize the door... was so close to the shelves."

"We'll get all this back on the shelf for you, sir." Marylou assured the old man.

"Well, hell, that's fine and dandy but shut that damn door while you're at it," he reprimanded, "you think electricity grows on trees."

"Oh, not at all," she answered motioning Mulder to let the door shut.

Moving aside Mulder fumbled a few cans that hit the floor rolling. The old man looked at this and grunted disapprovingly before he turned to go back to what he'd been doing.

"That was a quick phone call," Marylou said helping pile cans into Mulder's arms.

"The phone doesn't work." He told her.

"None of the phones are working!" The old man's voice boomed from in the back. Apparently his hearing was in perfect, if not above average condition.

"The storm knocked them out last night." It was Sally. She was standing over the top of them, hands on hips, her mouth screwed up to one side derisively.

"The storm knocked them out last night." The old man repeated her. "Swoll up the river and knocked out the Battle Creek bridge, made a damn mess of everything all the way down to Laramie from what I heard on the radio."

Marylou looked at Mulder, her eyes etched with genuine sympathy. "We'll get you to a working phone, I promise."

*****************************

Route 34 North Albany County, Wyoming 8:17 a.m.

"How long would the flight be?"

"Two and a half hours at the most," Scully assured Bernstein over the back of the seat. He looked pale, truly torn by the idea of being killed and flying on a plane. "With the sedative, I promise you'll be half asleep before we even get you on board."

"You know this is coercion, don't you?" The man told her nervously looking out the window.

"If that's the way you see it, then fine," she replied, tired of trying to be decent with him. She had been as easy about it as she could since they had put him in the car; gingerly working his confidence, being honest and patient. "We, as agents of federal government, are fully within our rights to do whatever is necessary to keep you out of immediate harm, and if that involves administering a sedative by force then that's what I'll have to do."

"Scully," Skinner said, his voice low, cautioning.

She glanced at her superior. His expression was tense-- not an unusual thing in its self-- but he was shifting his focus between the road ahead and the side view mirror guardedly, as though watching something.

"What is it?" she asked, checking her side view mirror.

Far back on the road she saw another car, its chrome bumper gleaming in the morning sunlight.

"What?" Bernstein demanded straightening in the set. "What's the matter? Why are you so quiet?"

"Sit back and be quiet." Skinner told him.

"No. No, I won't," he jerked around in the seat looking out the back window. "We're being followed, aren't we?"

"Sit back and shut up." Scully ordered him harshly, watching the car in the side mirror. "How long has it been back there?"

"I noticed about half an hour after we left the motel. It's pacing us." Skinner announced grimly.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." His voice was gruff, a tinge of indignantly thrown in with the growing tension.

She should have known better than to question him on something like observation, nothing quite like interrogating your boss while he was under pressure.

"They're coming closer!" Bernstein declared, still looking out the back window.

"Get out of that window." Skinner ordered him stepping hard on the gas pedal.

The car was close enough now that Scully could see it was a large early model American made vehicle- possibly a Lincoln or Cadillac, and likely with a massive engine that would overcome their gas efficient rental easily.

"Here it comes," she announced needlessly.

Skinner already saw the car surging forward, closing the gap between the two cars rapidly. He floored the gas and the engine roared, but the six cylinders were no match for the monster eight-cylinder car racing up on them.

Bernstein ducked down in his seat while Scully braced herself, just in time. Seconds later the rental car was violently rocked forward as the larger car deliberately rear-ended it, Skinner's hands grappled with the steering wheel his teeth gnashing.

A blast sounded and instantaneously the rear window exploded, glass rained down on Bernstein and flew into the front seat, tiny chunks skipping off Skinner's head, landing in Scully hair.

"Hold on," Skinner called out jerking the steering wheel to the left, taking the car onto a side road at a harrowing speed, the mid-sized rental car fishtailing wildly as the tires hit the unpaved surface.

Narrow and winding through brush and trees the road was muddied from the previous night's rain, riddled with potholes, and definitely not meant to be traveled on at any high rate of speed.

Struggling against the violent jolting, Scully turned to look for the pursuing car; it had gone sideways on the highway trying to duplicate the crazy turn Skinner had made but was quick righting itself and following them onto the road.

They hit another rough depression in the road, the car shuddered from the impact and Bernstein bounced off the rear seat and onto the transmission hump on the floorboard yelping miserably.

Skinner felt the car suddenly veering out of his control, the rear swinging in the opposite direction that he steered. Instantly, before they could react, the car pitched off the road, sliding down a muddy incline into a thick line of brush and trees leaving the car all but resting on its side.

Knowing it would be useless to try driving the car out of this situation, Skinner unbuckled his seatbelt quickly and drew his gun, ready for the driver of the sedan was undoubtedly above them on the road they'd just come off of by now.

Scully, fighting against the fun-house-like angle they'd been placed in, unbuckled herself and drew her gun, turning then to check Bernstein. He was pressed against the passenger’s rear door, shaking his head, his knees pulled up to his chest.

"You people are going to get me killed!” He yelped at her.

"A plane ride doesn't seem so bad now, does it?” Scully huffed as she rolled down her window.

Tree branches bowed toward her, threatening to spring inside the car through the window that had been holding them back. Scully turned, leaning with her back against Skinner's for leverage as she brought her feet up and began kicking at the branches, forcing her way through the window and brush.

"Follow her,” Skinner ordered Bernstein who refused to move until the rear driver’s side window exploded into a shower of glass.

"Knock, knock!” A man's voice shouted from out of sight. "I know you hear me down there!"

Bernstein had the other window down in a heartbeat, going out headfirst, Skinner following. The three of them, federal agents, and prisoner, crouched together in the thick tangle of branches and brambles, bullets zinging past them, pinging off the car.

"I hope you took the insurance on that rental,” Gryzwac yelled.

"I can't see him,” Skinner declared searching for the shooter.

"Boy, Chief, they are gonna' be pissed when they see what you did..."

"We've gotta' get out of here." Bernstein panted darting his eyes around the area desperately seeking passage through the brush. "We have gotta' get out of here now!"

"Shut up," Scully told him harshly after a bullet whistled past her head.

She too was searching both for the shooter and an escape route, but it was Bernstein who found the way-- or least what appeared to be. The man lunged away from the cover of the car headlong into the thicket, branches snapping and cracking as he trudged away like a spooked Bull Moose.

"Bernstein, stop!" Scully shouted after him.

"Damn it!" Skinner growled sparing only a glance back over his shoulder before he returned two more rounds at their unseen assailant.

Swatting at branches and bugs Bernstein crashed through the brush with Scully gaining on him despite the constant barrage of foliage slapping at her face and tangling her feet. Panting, near hyperventilation, he burst free of the second and third growth nearly stumbling straight into a swollen churning river. Wild with anxiety Bernstein started left then right, tramping along the soggy bank.

Scully stumbled free of the snarled grove stopping short of the river before spotting Bernstein.

"Stop!" She shouted and started to aim her gun at him but stopped. There was more gunfire from behind her, only closer now than where she had left Skinner at the car. She could see movement in the thicket and hoped it was Skinner.

"Bernstein, wait..."she turned and called after the frightened man trying to follow him down the slippery bank. She saw him stop and thought for an instant he had yielded but realized he had only stopped to fan something away from his face... and quite frantically.

"Watch out!" She called seeing him pitching too near the edge of the bank.

Bernstein was ducking and fanning at the wasp-like insect buzzing dangerously close to his face, only irritating it more by smacking it with the back of his hand.

"Bernstein?" Scully called out to him just as he shouted grabbing his face with both hands. "Bernstein! No!" She exclaimed sprinting toward the man, watching him stumble off the bank and into the river.

In the seconds he was still in view Scully saw Bernstein struggling against the strong current, handicapped by his cuffed hands. Reflexively she followed the man into the water, intending to help but only to quickly realize her own need of help.

She was a good swimmer, a strong swimmer, but the current was even stronger than it had appeared, and it was all she could do to keep her head above the torrent of muddy water.

Skinner stumbled out of the undergrowth firing back in the direction he'd come, just in time to see Scully dive off the bank into the raging river. His mind reeled for a second at the sight. Her action could only mean that Bernstein had gone in...

"Damn-" the curse was cut short as a bullet whizzed past his cheek. Ducking down Skinner heard a distant call, small and desperate.

"Help...!"

His hesitation was meteoric, a quick check of the woods to make sure the coast was clear. On the run he pulled his glasses off and shoved them as deep as he could into the pocket of his shirt—

better that they should break there than while wearing them, he thought briefly before heaving himself into the swirling river.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Continued in part 4

#The Spider and the FBI #skinner scully fanfic #the x files #xfiles #scully #skinner #mulder

2 notes · View notes

cu-taibhseil · 2 years

Text

Western Magic & Prairie Folklore Part One: Geography, Weather, & Farming

═══ ⋆★⋆ ═══

attribution to the Wyoming Bureau of Land Management's website

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Western Magic & Prairie Folklore Masterpost

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

For those of you who don't know me, slàinte mhath! My name is Reggie and I'm a folk magic practitioner. This is the first post of many I'm going to do on the very specific kind of folk magic that traveled West with the pioneers in the 1800s and developed with the settlers and cowboys in the "Equality State."

Fun fact: Wyoming is called the "Equality State" because on December 10, 1869, Wyoming passed the first unconditional law in the U.S. permanently guaranteeing women their inherent right to vote and hold office.

Out of everyone on Tumblr, why am I qualified to speak on this topic? Well, I was born and raised for 23 years in Wyoming. I am from a family of people who were all born, raised, and lived their entire lives in Wyoming. (Specifically the Bear Lake Valley of Wyoming and Idaho, and that little corner of Utah where all 3 touch.)

If you're a prairie folk magic practitioner and would like to participate in this post series, then feel free to send me an ask!

Otherwise, let's get to it.

This first post is a little taste of history and kind of setting the scene to discuss the culture and life of different "folk practitioners" in Wyoming. Be sure to check out the other posts in this series! I linked the masterpost at the top of this post!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Geography

Wyoming has 5 different classifications on the Köppen Climate Classification Scale: BSk, Dfb, BWk, Dfc, and Dfa. A majority of the state is dominated by BSk or a "cold, semi-arid climate." (source) The type of climate that dominates the state is important to remember, because the geography of the area had a huge influence on jobs, people's routines throughout the year, how and when they grew and stored food, and the different plants that were available as medicine.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Weather/Climate and Farming

Because of the eclectic climate in Wyoming, the typical growing season is only between 20 and 130 days long. (source) At its best it's dry and too hot, and at its worst it's unpredictably cold. I have distinct memories of winter some years lasting from Labor Day weekend (the weekend of the first big snowstorm every year) to the last day of school in June. Doesn't sound like the best climate to be sustainably growing food year round, does it?

To combat that issue, people in the Wyoming Territory learned to "dryland farm" without extensive irrigation systems. It's said the first successful cases of dryland farming came from Swedish settlers near Pine Bluffs in Laramie County. But by the late 1800s, it had grown in popularity across the state. Now that there are irrigation systems in place, people take advantage of the fertile river bottoms and grow sugarbeets, dry edible beans, barley, corn, and dryland winter wheat. Some farmers even grow oats and sunflowers. The people of Wyoming have gotten so good at farming that "Our pasture and hay are regarded as the highest quality anywhere. Wyoming hay is known for high protein, leafiness, and excellent feed value and is shipped throughout the United States and the world for horse and dairy feed." (source)

With such famous hay, of course people cattle-farmed in the area! There are multiple stories told about how the cattle industry really took hold in the state, and they all try to frame it as an accident. Different cattle farmers left their cattle for the winter near Chugwater, WY (just North of Cheyenne; famous for its chili) and were surprised to find thriving beef cattle instead of carcasses in the spring.

But it wasn't an accident. As is always the case, there are actually multiple historical and documented points that preceded the boom of the cattle industry in Wyoming. To summarize quickly: (1) In 1849 Fort Laramie was established and there were soldiers there who needed to eat; (2) In 1851 the Missouri Pacific Railroad began laying track headed West and these railroads revolutionized beef cattle transport as well as had surveyors plotting lines through Cheyenne and not Denver (because of Cheyenne's milder winters); (3) The Civil War both centralized the beef processing industry and plants moved to Nebraska from eastern cities like Chicago AND caused a huge surplus of Longhorn in Texas that were unattended as men left from the ranches to go fight in the war; (4) The unattended cattle bred unchecked and their numbers exploded; (5) When people came through looking for places to put their cattle Wyoming basically had a huge neon sign that said "Free Range and Free HIGH QUALITY Grass." (source)

Although when most animal-industry people think of Wyoming they think of beef cattle, "The high plains and mountain meadows of Wyoming are well-known for producing some of the finest sheep and wool in the world. Wyoming ranks second in the U.S. in wool production and lamb crop." (source)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The plants and animals in a specific area have a profound impact on the people that live there. Most of the people I knew during the first part of my life in Wyoming came from farmers or ranchers of some kind. The biggest industries are cattle and sheep, and peoples' livelihoods reflect that. People in Wyoming take better care of their stock than themselves.

As a direct result of the kinds of jobs everyone's families came from, people in Wyoming have huge amounts of respect for ranchers and farmers. When I was in high school one of the biggest programs (besides football) were the FFA programs that were sponsored by the local college, trying to get more people into farming and ranching. And unlike suburban or city places, I wasn't raised around people who were trying to "catch their big break." People generally had regular jobs that they were passionate about, and are more interested in working hard and providing for themselves. In my experience it was common for people to hold multiple jobs that weren't just jobs to them, but "passion projects."

I think this way of life directly translates to the culture surrounding folk magic. I will get more into that in future posts in this series.

Another huge point in the culture in Wyoming life is outdoor recreation and protecting federal lands. People are very interested in reducing carbon footprints, recycling, and leaving campgrounds/recreation areas better than they found them. If you're a litter bug you're basically the worst person to ever exist, and people get (understandably) angry over people who litter or otherwise disrespect the environment (taking things from the state/national parks, etc.). The same energy exists for people who poach in any context, and the state's laws reflect that. If someone is caught poaching, they lose their ability to legally hunt in the state forever without any chance of appeal.

That's how I try to live now, even though I live in a different state. I've always had a deep-seeded hatred for litterbugs and people who disrespect the environment around them. I didn't meet people who didn't care about that kind of thing until I moved out of the western part of the United States. That was probably the biggest culture shock I experienced.

═══ ⋆★⋆ ═══

#my craft #western magic #prairie magic #prairie folklore #prairie folk magic #western folk magic #wyoming #western history #history of the west #witchcraft #witch #folk magic #folklore

14 notes · View notes

rpcburnbook · 2 months

Note

stories are full of weird town names lmao // also real life names like hell, michigan; truth & consequences, new mexico; bear bottle crossing, ding dong, okay, whynot, booger hole, pie town, Satan's kingdom, chicken, little Canada, chugwater, big bottom, worms... and my fav North, South Carolina [which is south east of Due West, South Carolina]. We contain multitudes. Plenty of room for violence springs... especially in a state like Texas

0 notes

marie1-kersaint · 5 months

Text

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/Mj6dgkyGEu7cqDQC/?mibextid=WC7FNe You’re welcome 😇 PILGRIMRADIO.COM helps me a lot

i started with THE BIBLE PURE & SIMPLE driving tired 😪 Sunday night from Cheyenne 55 miles to Chugwater,maybe 2010

DR CRAIG MILLER MARK YOUR LIFE 2020 and several other great BIBLE Teachers

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/zpiXPR2DmLEXdZav/?mibextid=WC7FNe https://www.facebook.com/share/p/Nq8vGjnz6ZxUWME2/?mibextid=WC7FNe https://www.facebook.com/share/p/SniYtDfPkratzNaF/?mibextid=WC7FNe https://www.facebook.com/share/p/UwpVCAQhr98busei/?mibextid=WC7FNe PILGRIMRADIO.COM #PILGRIMRADIO.COM https://www.facebook.com/share/p/c8x4oujW5rZiKzVB/?mibextid=WC7FNe

THANK YOU GOD FOR PILGRIMRADIO.COM

#youtube #aviation #boeing #beautyangel #bethereforservicemembersandveterans #delivery #avgeek #tiktok #facebook

0 notes

snaark · 7 months

Text

Chugwater WY, July 4 2019

1 note · View note

wimpydave · 1 year

Video

youtube

Two tornadoes touch down east of Chugwater Wyoming - 6/23/2023

#youtube

0 notes

thenewnio · 1 year

Text

Home on the Range 2

The story starts out with a redhaired girl with a braid being chased by the Auger Gang on horseback. Just as they’re about to capture her, a cow with a red bow on her head charges into the scene, sweeping the girl up onto her back and bounding off. With the rogues in hot pursuit, girl and cow reach Chugwater town, which is having a Spring fair. Among those visiting are Maggie, Mrs. Calloway and Grace, here to check things out. What nobody expects is for this mystery heifer to come running over with a girl riding on her back, begging for the girls’ help. The Auger Gang arrives, causing a ruckus until the bovines step in to protect the newcomers, at which point all heck breaks loose. The arrival of Buck and Sheriff Sam is what finally prompts the gang to retreat. The new cow then introduces herself as Beulah and the girl as Martha Youngerman. As Sam speaks to Martha, it’s revealed that she and Beulah were separated from her family when the gang attacked their wagon. Sam offers to put her in protective custody, but Martha declines, feeling safer with the cows who rescued her. As the girls are being escorted back to Patch of Heaven, Martha and Beulah reveal a secret: Martha can communicate with animals, having had the ability since she got on the good side of a Sioux shaman by saving her mink friend from a condor. She proves this by holding a conversation with the bovines. Back at Patch of Heaven, Pearl agrees to let Martha stay until her family can be found. The next day, a man by the name of Balthazar Darleston arrives and tries to bribe Martha into staying with him, but Martha, suspicious of this stranger, turns him down. Sam’s posse soon comes back, having found no sign of the Youngermans. Figuring that there might be something that was missed, the girls and Lucky Jack agree to head over to the scene of the crime. On their way there, Martha and Beulah recount how they first met: When Beulah was about to be made into steak, Martha rescued her and all the other cows from their horrible owner, leading to their friendship. Figuring the girls could use some help, Buck follows them. At the spot where the Youngermans were attacked, the group’s hunch proves correct when Beulah accidentally discovers hidden hoofprints that don’t belong to anyone in the posse. Figuring that Martha’s family was captured, the group follow the trail. Meanwhile, in a secret lair, we learn that the Auger Gang works for Darleston, who is after Martha for her ability. Darleston intends to have Martha speak to Deacon, a canary who worked in the lost silver mine of his robber baron grandfather, and is the only living being who knows of its secret location. Having failed to lure Martha into his clutches, Darleston hears from one of his men, Hazard, that she has left Chugwater with the cows and jackrabbit; He sends the gang to intercept the group. Speaking of which, the protagonists meet up with another jackrabbit named Jill, who fantasizes being a jackalope. As it turns out, she’s encountered Martha’s older brother Dudley, who also managed to escape from the Auger Gang, and has let him hide in her cavern home. She agrees to take the group to him, but then a pack of coyotes shows up. The group leaps onto an old wagon to escape, and a chase ensues. Lucky Jack and Jill launch improvised projectiles at them, but when they run out of ammo, they try to lose their pursuers in a tunnel. Unfortunately, they manage to tick off two cougars and a bear, who join in the chase. When Beulah realizes that they're headed towards a cliff, Maggie gets the idea to let the predators catch up with the wagon, then have everybody jump off at the last minute. The plan works, and all the predators fall into the river, after which it’s smooth sailing for the crew. They reach Jill’s home, where Martha and Dudley reunite. Dudley reveals that Darleston is the one pulling the strings, and has their parents captive. As night falls, the Auger Gang arrives to nab Martha, wrecking the place. Buck arrives to help Martha and the others escape, but Beulah is captured. Hearing from Dudley that the gang makes their lair in the ghost town of Phantomrun, Martha rides there on Buck to rescue Beulah, with the others following. In Phantomrun, Martha tries to give herself up to Darleston for Beulah’s freedom, but then when the others try to intervene, he has Dudley and the animals locked up with the Youngermans while he has Martha consult Deacon on the whereabouts of the silver mine. Lucky Jack and Jill manage to evade capture and have the wild animals spread the word of what’s happened. This news reaches Rusty, who sets out with Barry, Bob and Junior to help the group, who manage to outsmart their guard, Fluke, and get the keys to their prison. As Mr. and Mrs. Youngerman head to civilization to get help, the others follow Darleston’s trail to where the secret mine is located, and there doesn’t seem to be any silver in there at first. But then Deacon leads Martha to a hidden chamber, where there’s plenty of silver. As the bad guys are distracted, the good guys get Martha and Deacon and attempt to sneak out, intending to trap Darleston and the gang in the mine for the authorities to find. Darleston gets wise to them, though, and a fight ensues. Soon the gang is defeated, but Darleston whips out a rifle and prepares to shoot Dudley. Just then, Lucky Jack, Jill, Rusty, Barry, Bob and Junior come barreling in, and the fight becomes a melee against this one guy. It all culminates in the mine starting to collapse due to the beams getting damaged, forcing everyone to bail. Once outside, they all watch as the mine is completely destroyed. Darleston, enraged that his grandpappy’s mine is lost forever, grabs Martha by the braid and tries to shoot her, but she frees herself by cutting off her braid with scissors and pummels him. The heroes then drag him back to Chugwater in a procession which astounds everyone, including Martha and Dudley’s parents. The Youngermans decide to stay in Chugwater, and everyone lives happily ever after. But there’s still some loose threads to be tied: On a cliff overlooking Chugwater, the shaman who gave Martha her gift, Chupa, and her mink friend, Weeko, watch the heroes. Chupa reveals that their adventures are far from over: In fact they’ve only just begun.

OC Cast:

Christine Marie Cabanos as Martha

Sarah Stiles as Beulah

Rhenzy Feliz as Dudley

Michael Gross as Mr Youngerman

Bonnie Hunt as Mrs. Youngerman

Jennifer Coolidge as Jackalope Jill

Kelsey Grammer as Balthazar Darleston

Ritchie Montgomery as Fluke

Bill Fagerbakke as Hazard

CMoF

Anytime Beulah starts ramping up the Joisey accent is always worthy of a smile, at least.

Also, basically anytime Beulah does No Indoor Voice, her voice actress is so talented at screaming for comedy.

The first battle with the Auger Gang is a riot of slapstick.

"WE'RE CLOSED!" (BLAM)

Really, the banter between the girls just makes the entire sequel:

Mrs. Calloway: A human who understands us? I’ve never heard of such a preposterous...

Maggie: Well actually, everybody knows about this sorta thing, we just didn't tell you!

Beulah attempts to butter up Mrs. Calloway:

When Darleston attempts to bribe Martha into coming with him with a silver nugget:

Beulah: (dazzled by light) Okay, I-I don't care what it is, just keep it outta my eyes please!?

This gem, after Sheriff Sam’s posse comes back empty-handed.

Beulah: They’ve gotta have missed something!

Maggie: Well then, if they did, why don’t we go over there and see what we can find?

Lucky Jack: Now, that ain’t a bad idea!

Mrs. Calloway: No, absolutely not!

(Cut to the group leaving Patch of Heaven)

Mrs. Calloway: Not a word.

Beulah‘s pained reaction to Grace’s singing.

“Am I dead yet?”

While the girls are searching for any trace of the Youngermans, Beulah drops this line while accidentally uncovering what is obviously where some hoofprints were swept away:

Beulah: IF ONLY THEY WOULD'VE LEFT SOME SORT OF CLUE! (sees the trail) ...Oh.

Auger Gang member Fluke's reactions to a fly landing on his face that he tries and fails to swat away. Finally he traps it in a gun barrel. When it stops buzzing inside, he checks to see if it's dead, only for it to start buzzing again.

Fluke's expression when he sees the fly on the bench, like "Oh, God, no..."

Pretty much anything said or done by Jill.

Especially her using rocks like a phone.

Jill: Hello? No, I can't talk right now. Yeah, I met some new friends. Heh heh. (gives the "one minute" sign) I know, I know! They think I'm crazy. Okay... we're going to my place, so... Yeah, love you too, Ma. Alright, bye. Goodbye. (throws the rocks away) Sorry ‘bout that. Dead parents calling.

Martha: (to Lucky Jack) You’re sure she’s alright?

Lucky Jack: Yup! She’s my kinda gal!

The fight scene with the heroes vs Darleston and the Augers. One hilarious Curb-Stomp Battle.

#home on the range #my fan sequel

1 note · View note