of places and spaces
Things I have done so far in preparation for the arctic blast that is bearing down on us tonight:
1) Assembled a snow blower, which should come in very handy for clearing the projected half-foot of snow in subzero-to-single-digit temperatures tomorrow. At the very least, I can hope that it's faster than shoveling the stuff will be-- assuming the thing works, that is. I'll soon find out.
2) Installed a wall-mounted convection heater in my bedroom. I've been using a little portable version, which does a good job at keeping the room warm but makes me mildly nervous about potential fire hazard. Theoretically, this convection heater is both energy-efficient and the next thing to fireproof - it's cool to the touch and it automatically deactivates if it loses contact with/is no longer flat against the wall. It has passed all kinds of tests certifying it for 24/7 use in commercial installations and government facilities, so I am hopeful. Now, if it'll just keep the room warm, I'll be content.
All in all, as far as storms out here go, I'm feeling decently prepared for this one. (I am also well-stocked on bread and milk.) Coincidentally, storm preparation has me dwelling on human interaction with the landscape out here, which means it's a good night to write about the December post request topic that
agonistes proposed, which is the differences in feeling between Colorado and Wyoming.
It's a good subject, because the difference between the two is very, very real. That's the easy part. Articulating how they're different is much less simple.
* * * * * * * * *
Anyone who just looked at a basic map of the United States and drew conclusions about the two states accordingly could be forgiven for not immediately grasping the difference. They're both Western states. They're positioned on the map one right beside the other, Wyoming on the north and Colorado on the south. The Rocky Mountains run through the western half of each state; the Great Plains and American prairies cover most of the rest. They're both about the same size, on the order of 100,000 square miles, and both have about two-thirds of their total area still classified as frontier.
The map can't show you this, but that last is where the difference begins to be felt.
A frontier area is where there are six or fewer people per square mile. To give you an idea of how much space that is, the Chicago Loop is 1.6 square miles. Go ahead, click on that link - scroll through and see how much is there.
Now, imagine the Loop with only 10 people.
That's frontier.
Of course, that's an oversimplification; frontier areas don't have all the infrastructure that goes along with supporting masses of people. There are no high-rises on the frontier; there aren't many streets and highways, either. Nor are there things like hospitals - those that exist relatively near such areas are few and far between.
What does exist is space. Lots and lots of space; empty space, space where the earth and sky define the shape and feel of the world around you without being interrupted with the persistent intrusion of urban infrastructure.
Now, with all that in mind, I think the difference in feeling between Colorado and Wyoming can largely be summed up by two factors.
One is population. Colorado has over five million people; Wyoming has five hundred and seventy-five thousand - fewer than any other state in the US. There are more people in the city of Denver alone than there are in the entire state of Wyoming.
The other is geography - in particular, the geography of the Rocky Mountains themselves. Although the Rockies run through both states, they're far, far different in Colorado than they are in Wyoming. The Colorado Rockies are both tall and wide; there are over 50 mountain peaks in Colorado that reach or surpass 14,000 feet above sea level. In contrast, the Wyoming Rockies are both lower in elevation and narrower at the base; the highest mountain in Wyoming is 13,804 ft (Gannett Peak).
The mountains feel older in Wyoming, and it shows. Boulders jut from the landscape in the Sherman Mountains (part of the Laramie Range) like the eroded teeth of a weary earth, or perhaps like lines showing the forgotten foundations of some unthinkable structure, some impossibly huge city that's long ago been worn away.
In contrast, the mountains in Colorado stretch across the horizon with elemental power and definition, casting themselves against the sky. I will always, always remember driving into this state from the east on I-70 for the first time in June, 1995, emerging from a thundering hailstorm into the slanting light of sunset spearing down across the Front Range, casting the mountains into indigo shadows painted in gold. They're not only visible from Denver, of course, but as an example, those who live here are accustomed to checking the weather by glancing to the west, looking for signs of rain or snow on the peaks or the clouds that build in a wall along the heights before cascading down upon the city and the plains beyond. Streaks of green and gold are visible as fall and spring foliage spreads; breathtaking sunsets of orange and pink and red are commonplace. The mountains are always there, whether you live in Denver, or Boulder, or Fort Collins, or Colorado Springs, or Pueblo, on and on and on. They don't fade away unless one heads east, far enough east that the plains take precedence instead.
And speaking of the plains - they're different, too, between Colorado and Wyoming. It goes back to population, I think. Although most of Colorado's people dwell in the shadow of the Rockies in one way or another, even those that make their home in the plains have larger enclaves, relatively speaking, than exist in Wyoming. There's more developed farmland, more row crops, more defined spaces, even though they stretch out under the wide blue skies.
In Wyoming, the plains dominate the landscape in waves of silver, green, and gold. You can tell when the wind's blowing, because the prairie grasses bend with it, giving you the very real impression that the land is shifting around you. It's the only thing that is; the blue sky arches overhead in almost painful contrast, leaving you with the sense of being eerily suspended between heaven and earth. It feels as though the sky itself has weight, just from the sheer impact of the unbroken horizon. It also leaves a person feeling very, very small, and not a little amazed.
I could go on, but that's the heart of it, I think - or at least, it is for me. And I love both states, in all their wild beauty, and respect them for what they each are and what they always will be.
This entry was originally posted at http://silveraspen.dreamwidth.org/304279.html and mirrored to LJ. Please comment where you wish! (There are
comments currently posted at Dreamwidth.)
1) Assembled a snow blower, which should come in very handy for clearing the projected half-foot of snow in subzero-to-single-digit temperatures tomorrow. At the very least, I can hope that it's faster than shoveling the stuff will be-- assuming the thing works, that is. I'll soon find out.
2) Installed a wall-mounted convection heater in my bedroom. I've been using a little portable version, which does a good job at keeping the room warm but makes me mildly nervous about potential fire hazard. Theoretically, this convection heater is both energy-efficient and the next thing to fireproof - it's cool to the touch and it automatically deactivates if it loses contact with/is no longer flat against the wall. It has passed all kinds of tests certifying it for 24/7 use in commercial installations and government facilities, so I am hopeful. Now, if it'll just keep the room warm, I'll be content.
All in all, as far as storms out here go, I'm feeling decently prepared for this one. (I am also well-stocked on bread and milk.) Coincidentally, storm preparation has me dwelling on human interaction with the landscape out here, which means it's a good night to write about the December post request topic that
agonistes proposed, which is the differences in feeling between Colorado and Wyoming.
It's a good subject, because the difference between the two is very, very real. That's the easy part. Articulating how they're different is much less simple.
* * * * * * * * *
Anyone who just looked at a basic map of the United States and drew conclusions about the two states accordingly could be forgiven for not immediately grasping the difference. They're both Western states. They're positioned on the map one right beside the other, Wyoming on the north and Colorado on the south. The Rocky Mountains run through the western half of each state; the Great Plains and American prairies cover most of the rest. They're both about the same size, on the order of 100,000 square miles, and both have about two-thirds of their total area still classified as frontier.
The map can't show you this, but that last is where the difference begins to be felt.
A frontier area is where there are six or fewer people per square mile. To give you an idea of how much space that is, the Chicago Loop is 1.6 square miles. Go ahead, click on that link - scroll through and see how much is there.
Now, imagine the Loop with only 10 people.
That's frontier.
Of course, that's an oversimplification; frontier areas don't have all the infrastructure that goes along with supporting masses of people. There are no high-rises on the frontier; there aren't many streets and highways, either. Nor are there things like hospitals - those that exist relatively near such areas are few and far between.
What does exist is space. Lots and lots of space; empty space, space where the earth and sky define the shape and feel of the world around you without being interrupted with the persistent intrusion of urban infrastructure.
Now, with all that in mind, I think the difference in feeling between Colorado and Wyoming can largely be summed up by two factors.
One is population. Colorado has over five million people; Wyoming has five hundred and seventy-five thousand - fewer than any other state in the US. There are more people in the city of Denver alone than there are in the entire state of Wyoming.
The other is geography - in particular, the geography of the Rocky Mountains themselves. Although the Rockies run through both states, they're far, far different in Colorado than they are in Wyoming. The Colorado Rockies are both tall and wide; there are over 50 mountain peaks in Colorado that reach or surpass 14,000 feet above sea level. In contrast, the Wyoming Rockies are both lower in elevation and narrower at the base; the highest mountain in Wyoming is 13,804 ft (Gannett Peak).
The mountains feel older in Wyoming, and it shows. Boulders jut from the landscape in the Sherman Mountains (part of the Laramie Range) like the eroded teeth of a weary earth, or perhaps like lines showing the forgotten foundations of some unthinkable structure, some impossibly huge city that's long ago been worn away.
In contrast, the mountains in Colorado stretch across the horizon with elemental power and definition, casting themselves against the sky. I will always, always remember driving into this state from the east on I-70 for the first time in June, 1995, emerging from a thundering hailstorm into the slanting light of sunset spearing down across the Front Range, casting the mountains into indigo shadows painted in gold. They're not only visible from Denver, of course, but as an example, those who live here are accustomed to checking the weather by glancing to the west, looking for signs of rain or snow on the peaks or the clouds that build in a wall along the heights before cascading down upon the city and the plains beyond. Streaks of green and gold are visible as fall and spring foliage spreads; breathtaking sunsets of orange and pink and red are commonplace. The mountains are always there, whether you live in Denver, or Boulder, or Fort Collins, or Colorado Springs, or Pueblo, on and on and on. They don't fade away unless one heads east, far enough east that the plains take precedence instead.
And speaking of the plains - they're different, too, between Colorado and Wyoming. It goes back to population, I think. Although most of Colorado's people dwell in the shadow of the Rockies in one way or another, even those that make their home in the plains have larger enclaves, relatively speaking, than exist in Wyoming. There's more developed farmland, more row crops, more defined spaces, even though they stretch out under the wide blue skies.
In Wyoming, the plains dominate the landscape in waves of silver, green, and gold. You can tell when the wind's blowing, because the prairie grasses bend with it, giving you the very real impression that the land is shifting around you. It's the only thing that is; the blue sky arches overhead in almost painful contrast, leaving you with the sense of being eerily suspended between heaven and earth. It feels as though the sky itself has weight, just from the sheer impact of the unbroken horizon. It also leaves a person feeling very, very small, and not a little amazed.
I could go on, but that's the heart of it, I think - or at least, it is for me. And I love both states, in all their wild beauty, and respect them for what they each are and what they always will be.
This entry was originally posted at http://silveraspen.dreamwidth.org/304279.html and mirrored to LJ. Please comment where you wish! (There are
comments currently posted at Dreamwidth.)