The smell of new air

As soon as I graduated high school I knew I had an itch to branch out to see the world. Unfortunately my title as a recent graduate did not give me the opportunity to travel in style. So I grabbed my keys and drove until I ran out of gas. The first time I left for an adventure, I ended up in Colorado.
A quaint little town, about fifty miles west of Denver, called Kremmling, was where I called home for about four months. It was alive with small town charm and the people were more than happy to welcome travelers into their community. Nomads were commonplace in Kremmling, due to it's ideal location between Denver and Silverthorne. Some stayed a few days, some never left.
The town was built upon the humble art of sheep farming. I use the word "art" because of my first-hand knowledge of the difficulty of the practice. The town vet owned the livestock and let me have a crack at herding the giant, walking, cotton balls. I had a companion for my adventure (one who knew much more about the task at hand than I). A three year old black lab, named Belle, literally ran circles around me. I didn't know much about sheep and I wouldn't label myself an expert now, but the little knowledge I gathered during my stay will last a lifetime. Most of all: They are not easily intimidated. As Belle rounded up the herd I did my best to lead them where I wanted them to go. I suspect they were aware of this and of my novice abilities. They leaped past me at amazing speed, leaving the formation Belle had carefully created, making sure to stop, turn and give me a mocking "meehhhh", before skipping to the opposite side of the field. I thanked my lucky stars that Belle couldn't speak, though, I am almost certain I saw the sweet black lab roll her eyes at me before rounding up the escapees. Getting fifteen sheep into a crowded barn proved to be an enjoyable challenge, and loads of entertainment for local onlookers.
An hour and a half after Belle and I hit the field the last sheep filed in for her hair cut. My breathe gone, my clothes dirty and my body exhausted, I left the field to find the onlookers waiting to give me playful criticism and tall cold drink. I will never forget my attempts at a farm hand or the kindness of the locals, who treated me as a long lost friend. I couldn't ask for a better beginning to my nomadic lifestyle. But true to the nomad way, I couldn't stay. I left in good spirits three months later, with the blessings of the community. Maybe not Belle's.