I remember being a little girl. Well, possibly not all that little -- probably between nine and twelve. My father had purchased a ranch about thirty-five miles out of town on what was called the South Fork because it went out of town on the south side of the reservoir. The road leading out of town on the Northside of that same reservoir (the North Fork) led in about fifty miles to the East Entrance to Yellowstone Park.
If you have ever been to Yellowstone Park or seen documentaries about it, you can likely imagine how beautiful that ranch was. And, it truly was. We were in Wyoming, however, and it was not possible to spend all our time outside no matter how much we might want to. The ranch house was very near a river (I remember big-mouthed, sharp teethed tiny mosquitos) and nights could be very cold. So could days for that matter.
I was a child and it didn't register then, but the previous owners must have died in the place with no ravenous relatives coming after any of their possessions, or . . . well, I don't know what else it could be. And, oh the great stuff that was there! How sad I didn't realize then what I would come to desire to have in my possession later.