For the last nineteen years, I’ve lived within 30 miles of scenes like this. Could have been doing something else, I guess, but hey. To me this kind of space and clarity comes close to peak existence. It ruins you for ever moving to a city, though. We ate our sandwiches at a pristine picnic [...]
Building fires is still a thing here. Callie the Wonder Cat is no dummy, although she’ll sit there sometimes when the Ashley’s cold. Cargo cult cat voodoo: if I lie here, heat will come. Oh that Ashley. I used to read the original Whole Earth Catalog when I was plotting my escape to northwest Arkansas. [...]
When our 2007 Pontiac Vibe was new, it had a tinted windshield—one without the shaded band across the top, what I call “clear”—but that was quickly cracked by stones thrown off the tires of cattle trucks in eastern Colorado. When I went to Santa Fe to have it replaced, the shop installed a shaded one [...]
Now see, back then they didn’t need to call them man caves. (I hate that term, even though I’ve turned everywhere I’ve ever lived into exactly that.) No, they just had all kinds of manly things and had to put them somewhere. Dozens of rifles behind that door, for example, just in case, I guess. [...]
You’ve probably never been to a place like Rayado. Kit Carson had a house out here once, or rather someone important (I forget who) gave him the place on the old Santa Fe Trail at the edge of the plains in the hope that his mere presence might discourage Comanche raiders. I don’t know about [...]
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