By Peter Anderson
I used to live in a Wyoming town known for its consistently high winds. On the rare occasion when the wind quit blowing, everyone fell down. Spring is our high wind season here in the valley–maybe not quite as constant and harsh as in Laramie where my neighbors used to measure wind velocity with an anvil on a length of chain – but significant nonetheless. I’ve witnessed brown clouds of dust bowl proportions carrying newly plowed soils from Hooper and points west to the foot of the Sangres.
