I grew up in Wyoming. I was educated in its fine four-year university. I landed my first journalism job in one of its few bustling metropolises. I have hiked its mountains, kayaked its rivers, biked its roads, and gazed upon its sunsets.
I am a Wyoming girl at heart. I will always swell with pride at the sight of Steamboat a buckin' high. And I will always curse those states -- ahem, Montana -- that try to steal our emblem and our national park (Yellowstone is ours! Ours, you hear!)
But alas, though my blood be brown and gold, life has led me north. To Montana. And, to be fair, I really like this state, in spite of its sly, thieving ways.
As is customary (and required by law), I had to bid farewell to my license plates and driver's license 60 days after establishing official residence. I hit my deadline just last week.
And so, I saluted the buckin' bronc-emblazoned plates of my beloved Wyo and affixed the bright and simple blue badge of being a Montanan.
Given the make and model of my chosen liberal hippie automobile, I suppose it fits. Still, I am sure I'll be driving those blue plates south into the vast landscapes of my Cowboy State neighbor. I am, after all, a Wyoming girl at heart.