Earlier this year, photographer and filmmaker Robin de Puy's road trip across America concluded in New Orleans. Recently, she returned to the land of great ambitions but even greater division, in search of 'the American.' Episode 9: a determined woman in the small town of Dubois.
The Outlaw Saloon in the small town of Dubois, Wyoming, appears closed, but looks can be deceiving. The wooden, creaking floor makes it impossible to enter quietly, yet no one looks up or turns around. Drifting dust and cigarette smoke dull the colors, and as long as no one speaks, it feels almost serene.
After a drink or two and unabashed staring, my attention is drawn to a woman in the midst of a row of men at the bar. Short, tousled strands of hair peek out from under her faded cap, her bright blue eyes fixed on the racing horses on the large TV screen above the bar. "I used to do a lot of chariot racing. You hang in a cart behind a group of horses, and you run like hell." Initially, she tried mainly not to fall out of the cart, but soon she proved to be a great talent, both physically and mentally holding her own in the male-dominated world of horse racing.
"I’ve won a couple of races," she says modestly.
The next day, we arrange to meet at her home. Her entire life, she lived outside the village, surrounded only by her furry friends. "But I slowly went blind and had to move to the village. I don’t like it. Too many people." A cat cuddles comfortingly against her calves. She and the cat live in sync; both occasionally lose a few teeth, both gradually go blind. While Earleen goes through the day with her oxygen machine, the cat purrs along. The cat also had a hard time transitioning from the countryside to the "city" (Dubois has 910 residents), but so far, they have both survived the move.
Later that day, we ride in her manual white pickup truck to the local cemetery. A small mule with luminous eyes leads the way on the hood. After taking care of the grounds and the deceased for a whopping twenty years, Earleen has treated herself to a resting place under a large pine tree. "I have no living family anymore, and I don't want to burden anyone with my death." Her tombstone already bears her name and birthdate. Hopefully, the date of death will be a long time coming. Next to her tombstone is an iron pipe. "What is that?" I ask.
"When I'm dead, a friend of mine will put a parking meter on it with the text: 'Time expired.' You gotta have some humor."
