Monthly Archives: April 2023

Drift Fence

Deep Map of Place

A twist of hair caught on a barb of wire, also a twist around the smooth barrel of the strand. Auburn shot through with white speaks of a roan hide. I pluck the coarse fibers free, feel with a fingertip the sharp point that snagged them, look out over ashen sage and a wash of bunchgrass to the rise of granite jagged ridges and the sweep of horizon climbing up the clouds to the sky above, squint beneath the bright sun and imagine but do not see the strong back, straight legs, and supple neck of the horse. My fingers work the tail hairs into a slim braid, perhaps with which to make a bracelet or necklace or a stampede strap but more likely just a magpie souvenir, like spent shell casings and wind smoothed stones, a thing without purpose but for its bright echoes. Probably this slender lock caught the wire whisking after a fly, but I like to imagine flight, the powerful action of hock and hoof across a broken land wide open for running. As I close the gate and walk back to the rumbling of my truck, I reflect on the new drift fence, the drift of time, that which shifts and that which does not in a place like this.

My Brother, the Judge!

Author Update

One of the biggest events of the year for my family occurred this spring — my brother, Dan Stebner, was appointed as the Wyoming Ninth Judicial District Circuit Court Judge in Riverton. He asked me to speak at his robing ceremony, which was last week, and I am so proud and pleased for him that I wanted to share my words about him here. I owe Danny many things — he is an outstanding big brother and great friend — and I can add yet another entry to the list: I have been experiencing some writer’s block since finishing my first novel and sending it to agents, and having an assignment with a deadline got me writing again. I enjoyed writing this speech, and though I was nervous to present it in front of the Wyoming Supreme Court, Governor Gordon, and many other esteemed guests, I enjoyed delivering it.

Below is the text of the speech, or, you can watch the robing ceremony here. My portion starts at 20:20 mark, but all of the speakers were excellent, and it was an honor to be included among them.

Justices, Governor, esteemed guests, all – it is my honor to address you today as we celebrate my brother’s appointment as the Circuit Judge for the Ninth Judicial District. I could not be happier for him nor prouder of him, but I have to admit up front that I simply can’t bring myself to call him Judge Stebner. To me, he’ll always be Danny.

When he asked me to speak, I was flattered, surprised, and little panicked. One of my first thoughts was that it should be our father addressing all of you today on behalf of our family, and I know we all wish he was here. Unfortunately, his health precluded that from happening. And so, over the last few days, I have reflected on what I might tell that would shed light on Danny’s character and what makes him so well suited to this profession.

I could tell you about how we wrote and illustrated stories when we were little, how my stories were always about fast, wild horses and his were about a talking gerbil who became an attorney and then a judge. I could tell you about how Danny has always been certain of his place in the world, has always loved Wyoming so much that he hesitated to pick me up from the Denver airport when I was in graduate school because doing so would break his eighteen-month streak of not leaving the state even though he lived in Laramie, a mere 2 hours from DIA. I could tell you about how, after he did pick me up, we joined our parents and friends at our family’s camp in the Red Desert and how I listened to his passionate, articulate discussion of constitutional law around the campfire.

And that’s it, that campfire. For when I think of my brother, I think of Wyoming’s wild country. You see, though Danny and I were born in Rawlins, we both came of age in the Red Desert and the Wind Rivers. As often as they could, our parents, Ken and Karey, took us camping and backpacking, and many of our formative experiences unfolded in that big country. This is a tradition we have both continued with our own families — as many of you know, Danny, Stacy, Bess, and Charlie spend more nights in the spring, summer, and fall at our family’s cabin near the Sweetwater than they do in town.

And when I think about being with my brother in the wilderness, I see him most clearly walking ahead of me over Windy Ridge. Our parents started backpacking in the Winds in the 1970s, and they discovered many beautiful spots that they later shared with us. The fastest route to and from one of those camps is over Windy Ridge. If you are especially motivated, you can walk out from our camp and back to the truck in one day. And I do mean one day – it is over 15 miles, with a two-thousand, three-hundred-foot elevation gain in the first two-mile stretch, and if done well, it easily takes 10 hours of steady walking with only a handful of thirty minute breaks. Those of you who know our father and mother will recognize that they think this sort of thing is normal.

So, Danny and I grew up believing this is what most families did for vacation, and we have walked over Windy Ridge together many times. Danny walks faster than I do, and the image of the back of his pack is indelibly etched in my mind.

My brother is fond of saying that you never remember the trips where everything goes perfectly – he usually says this when we’re stuck in a bad crossing or standing around a campfire in the backcountry in a five-day downpour. But I remember with clarity a trip over Windy Ridge that did go perfectly, or at least as perfectly as a 10-hour hike can go. Our parents left camp a day before Danny and I did, opting to take a different way out that they could split up with an overnight. So, it was just the two of us walking over Windy Ridge.

Most of the trip is above timber line, over rocky ground and through multiple boulder fields. It requires attentive route-finding – there is no trail. One saddle in particular is especially tricky to navigate – if you get too high, you end up stuck in the boulders. If you get too low, you get stuck in the boulders. Pick the wrong route through the middle, you get stuck in the boulders. These rocks are huge slabs and chunks of granite – if you’re on a good path, you can walk across them and take small hops between them. But if you get sucked off course, you find yourself scrabbling around in scree fields and having to crawl down into the pits between the boulders, which are favorite haunts of rather large, black spiders. You can spend hours trying to get across this boulder field if things go awry.

What I remember best is this – my brother deliberating on our parents’ stories and our own previous trips through this saddle, the topo map spread between us, and the landscape and moment before us. That we discussed all of this, the precedent and the current facts, that we used that information to chart a course through the boulders. That my brother made decisions based on history and advice but not rigidly beholden to it, that, as we walked, he adjusted our path as the circumstances dictated.

It was the smoothest route I have ever taken through that patch of boulders, the fastest we have ever traversed that saddle. I will always remember that sterling trek over Windy Ridge. It wasn’t easy – it never is. Yet, the sun was bright, the eponymous wind was still, and my brother walked before me, studying the country and waiting for me to catch up when it was time to ponder what line we would take.

Danny, I know that your time in Wyoming’s wild places will serve you well in this new adventure. You will bring the same thoughtful, careful consideration to your judicial decisions that you do to choosing backpacking routes. You will treat those who appear before you with the same compassion and fairness you bring to your companions in the country, listening carefully to what they have to say. You will bring to bear both your intelligence and your sense of humor. You will respect the law as you respect the mountains and desert, as something you are a part of but not in control of. The Wyoming legal community and Wyoming at large are lucky to have you serve in this role, just as I am lucky to call you my brother and my friend.

And when you need to get away from the pressures of your job, you know I’ll be ready to go to the hills with you, just like our parents showed us how to do.