Do you folks in Powell recall the years-long series Longmire? Of course you do, it was set in your backyard.

OK. OK. You want to split hairs? I said ‘set’ in Wyoming and Montana, not filmed there. The ground upon which the endless action played out was actually New Mexico. A whole lot less vicious winter weather there, I bet.

But let’s not hold that against our Wyoming heroes Walt, Vick, The Ferg, Branch, Cady, Henry, Ruby, Mathias and even sketchy Jacob Nighthorse. The stories were authentic in my view, right down to the confusion of Absaroka being pronounced two very different ways, both apparently correct by some mystery. One has a ‘soraaaka’ in there. The other demands a few invisible Zs.

This and other puzzlements; the Popo Agie (poe-pozia?) River, Meeteetse and this whole Shoshone/Shoshoni business are but few among many names that confused this simple flatlander upon his arrival from the mind-numbing corn stubble of New-Brass-Key where the Big Red N stands for Nowledge.

I was a Longmire devotee when the show still held the blush of youth, and I’ve seen countless reruns in the years since. I was smitten as much by the depth portrayed by the characters as the feel of familiarity from having lived several years in northwest Wyoming on staff at this newspaper.

Then lately, two lines converged; retirement (nothing useful left to do in an expired life) and blundering into all six years of Longmire: Click, click, click one episode after the other on Paramount-Plus, which it turns out I had access to all along but was too dumb to find.

Having obsessed through Game of Thrones many times over, both seasons of Landman and now with time to spare, I plunged headlong into Longmire.

Soaked up 10 shows in each of the six seasons. A few times I took the bit in my teeth and refused to spit it out until four-ish in the morning. I read the full series encompassed 63 episodes, each an hour in length including commercials (which, thank goodness, I did not have to suffer).

Round down to 50 minutes per show in the blessed absence of ads, multiply by 63 episodes and I get 3,150 minutes. Divide 3,150 by 60 and it looks like 52.5 mindless hours plugged into the laptop headphones.

I can’t watch Longmire, Landman or any other of my faves (oh dear, someone might cuss) on the TV directly in front of my recliner and hers. Good Wife Norma set that one to HGTV, Magnolia and a couple other ‘house beautiful’ channels then yanked off the knob and buried it in the yard probably.

Over most of two weeks, I soaked up every existing minute of Longmire. It was a dream come true. Having seen it all years ago didn’t matter one whit. Turns out memory loss and retirement go hand-in-hand. So I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.

By the time Walt retired, saddled up and loped off in search of Fenn’s Treasure, all the most despicable desperadoes had been duly dispatched to the Happy Hunting Ground, save the rehabilitated Nighthorse who was trundled off to prison.

Malachi Strand, the worst of the scofflaws played brilliantly by the late Graham Greene, got his just rewards at the end. So did Darius Burns, Malachi’s heartless enforcer. The Irish mob was done in, too, along with most members of the Longmire Adversary of the Week club.

Barlow Connally and Chance Gilbert (the latter played chillingly by the truly scary Peter Stormare) got theirs the hard way, which also goes for Eddie Harp and Shane Muldoon. Corrupt Cumberland County Sheriff Jim Wilkins survived but was revealed as a sleaze.

Vick and Walt finally surrendered from six years of platonically confused chemistry we all could plainly see and ended up ‘together’ in that intimate way every viewer knew they must. Cady replaced her dad as sheriff and we saw Mathias, the steel-eyed skeptic and bitter reservation cop, make admirable progress toward cooperation with Walt’s folks.

All the above begs the question; gosh, what’s next for shufflin’ ole’ Mose?

Hard to tell. Perhaps there are a few hundred episodes of NYPD Blue hiding out there in Paramount Plus land.