DAY 62 - Lusk, WY - 1167 miles from home

Esther Lisa Tishman
Sep 4
3 min read

I've often said that I come from the land of "snark" - as in, I grew up in your typical American Jewish family, living in a pretty typical midwestern suburb, well-schooled in the wit of lowered expectations, complete with self-deprecating humor and a sharp, cynical tongue. It makes sense: my parents were German Jewish refugees, who hardscrabbled their way in an America that offered refuge and opportunity, but also plenty of prejudice and obstacle. So we grew up, in our home, always ready for the other shoe to drop.... Snark was good self-protection. And although I've mellowed over the years, learning how to lean in to a world of earnest connection and trust, the snark in me is strong - like a Jedi superpower.

And then I encounter a town like Lusk, Wyoming - the county seat of the least populated county (Niobrara) in the least populated state in the nation. Lusk can't help but charm even the snarkiest snark in me - with its adorable Main Street, its well-manicured lawns, its historic store fronts and delightful Stagecoach Museum. (There are only two surviving stagecoaches from the renowned Cheyenne-Deadwood route; the other is in the Smithsonian).

Lusk was born in the heady days of the Black Hills Gold Rush, and maintains a sense of crossroads - accustomed to passersby, fortune-seekers, and the occasional pilgrim like us. Strangers, like kind Carolyn from Lusk State Bank, literally stop us on the street to ask "How are you liking our little town?" Carolyn, a transplant from O'ahu, moved here some 28 years ago (if I'm recalling correctly). She adores Lusk - would never leave it. Yes, it sure is different from Hawai'i - although equally remote. With Carolyn we talk about snow, we talk about weather. Apparently Lusk gets the brunt of snow and storms that towns like Douglas, just 50 miles away, are spared. The weather is not a worry, for Carolyn. If anything, perhaps, it helps foster the community spirit that Lusk residents value. "It's a small town, so you know everyone - for better or for worse, and mostly for better."

With Vicki Boldon we drop a bit more deeply into this sense of community. Vicki too is a transplant, originally from a Nebraska town so small that they had to travel to Merriman, NE (population 87) to get their mail. Vicki's been in Lusk since 1976 - raising her family, then building a business as seamstress and shopowner. Hometown Country Gifts has veen serving locals and visitors for nearly 35 years. Her store includes a greenhouse, custom sewing, Carhartt apparel and local crafts and gifts. "Each season I see the same hunters come back, the customers come back." I notice a plaque on her wall - high up, dusty and disregarded. It's from the Wyoming State Homemakers Association:"Unsung Hero" for 2018. Vicki shrugs when I ask about it. "You just do the things that you should do," she says.

We laugh and joke for a time. What is it really like to live in the least populated county in the nation? Vicki says that health issues can be a concern - if it's anything serious, you'll need a helicopter, she quips. Then she unexpectedly shares the story of her brain aneurysm 9 years ago. She woke up three days later in a hospital in Denver. Three brain surgeries later, here she is - a miracle. Doctors told her that two-thirds of similar patients don't survive - and that she's the 1% that not only survives, but returns home relatively unscathed. I share that I used to be the neurology chaplain at my hospital, and that both my brother and my husband have had their share of craniotomies. "Oh so you know," Vicki says.

And then Vicki grins slyly and says: "Every day's a gift when you're supposed to be dead!"