Ted, my older rancher-turned-butcher friend, handed me the white package, as we wrapped up business in his spotless cutting shop. His apron still had some telltale marks of his trade, the color red slightly Jackson Pollock-ed across the canvas of his white cotton …
Secret Springs of the Beef Road
Little Hat Monkeyflower Springs. It’s what my two girls, my trail partners for today, called the secret place where ice cold clear water bubbled out of the steep mountainside the rugged trail traversed. In the heat of that July day, we slid off our sweaty mounts, and grabbed our …
On Planting Apples
Even though I only have one grandchild so far, I find myself fervently hoping my grandkids will like Honeycrisp apples. I swing the pick high overhead and bring it down, business end striking the soil like steel on flint. Daylight has long since faded as I have already planted 9 …
Respect for the Mystery of History
I yanked on the stubborn cheater bar to no avail in an attempt to open the rickety gate in the barbed wire fence. Caryl would just love this gate, I thought. The cobbled together fence marked our property line with the BLM; it was probably easily over 60 years old. Many hands had …
Range Riding Realities
It’s hard to be inside on a day like this. The wind has picked up, and there is a fresh breeze that streams in rivers down off the rocky heights. Big cumulus clouds roll like tumbleweed across a canvas of deep azure. A tiny tinge of green can be seen out in the pastures that …