Steve Moseley

How did iconic Heart Mountain leap miles and land right amid the houses of this Powell neighborhood on Dec. 13, 2003? It’s called ‘stacking’ or ‘foreshortening,’ a slight-of-hand photography technique that miraculously appears to draw distant objects together.

Photo courtesy Steve Moseley

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Let’s make this our last Powell reminisce for a while and return to more universal ground; the aches, pains, rants, raves and skewed observations of a give-out old poop.

One thought that lingers despite the passage of 20-plus years since our reluctant departure from Cary Street is the sense some Powell-area residents do not fully embrace and appreciate how fortunate they are to live there.

The occasional discouraging word was even heard aloud, though rarely. This despite the incredible economic boost tourism delivers into the laps of Park County residents (and taxpayers). But I digress. This was to be about the multitude of assets you in Powell accrue simply by living there.

By comparison, I was born in North Platte, Nebraska, on July 10, 1949. If you did the math, I’m busted as a 75-year-old. Although if you saw me flop out of the truck and struggle up the post office steps these days you would think it likely even more.

Since that original birthday I have resided in Kearney, Lexington, North Platte (a second time later), Ord, Broken Bow, Genoa, St. Edward, Grand Island, Aurora, Hampton and our present 1950-built home amidst a ‘Leave it to Beaver’ neighborhood in York. The grand total runs to 15 Nebraska houses.

Some of those communities were great, others not so much. But none — not one including this one — measure up to Powell and northwest Wyoming.

In summer when days were long, Norma and I would routinely run over to Cody, grab a Quiznos sandwich (grill mine please) then continue up North Fork through Wapiti Valley, over Sylvan Pass and down to Fishing Bridge for an ice cream cone. That was our traditional dessert after stopping at Steamboat Point so she could dip her toes in Yellowstone Lake while we enjoyed the vista and those sandwiches. No big deal you say? Consider we did this wee road trip after work and were back home for the 10 p.m. news. It was a great luxury for us.

Over our years in your fair city, we became intimately familiar with all the roads, byways, scenic off-roads and circle drives in the park.

Yellowstone, however, isn’t the half of it. Powell lies in the shadow of so much more: the Bighorns, Beartooths, McCullough Peaks, Pryors, scenery like no other, a world-class Western museum and so much more.

A look inward reveals first-class academic rigor and activities in the Powell school system, wonderfully fussed-over city parks and trails, well-kept neighborhoods, an aquatic center deluxe, a lively downtown, 18 fine, high desert golf holes, a fair that bests any county fair I have ever attended, medical facilities second to none, dang little snow. On and on it goes.

The cherry on top? For us it was the people themselves. Nurse Norma’s welcoming patients, coworkers, friends and doctors. For me it’s the coaches, teachers, city and hospital officials, colleagues at the Trib, firemen, student athletes and parents I remember most fondly.

Your town has so much to recommend it. I’m happy you live in Powell. I hope you are, too.

(Contact the writer at stevemoseley42@gmail.com)