Not all that counts can be counted. Sometimes though, numbers can tell a story.
Steven’s been running. As his friend, this worries me. It’s out of character. And arriving as it does hot on the heels of his move to Bozeman, I can’t help but wonder what other lifestyle shifts I’ve missed. Does he do hot yoga now too? Has he retained a veterinary herbalist for the dogs?, Read More
This is supposed to be a story about an elk hunt – a chronicle of scouting, spying and scrapping all fall; a tale of braving the elements, rugged terrain and early morning dark for a chance at a chance. There should be tracks in the snow and fateful first glimpses, stalking, crawling, held breath, Read More
“Dada, Dada did you get a elk?” called my four year old from the front door as I slid from the pickup into the icy, floodlit driveway. I used to greet my Dad in much the same way, I realized, when he returned from a business trip, hoping he’d brought me a toy or, Read More
The pinks and golds of reflected sunset disappear from the virgin snow with the last straggling rays of sunlight. What meager warmth the day had on offer dissipates as quickly as the color, and an insistent voice in my head urges me back to the house. Take your armload of firewood and go, it, Read More
Sometimes, despite my best efforts, my mind wanders. I can only manage so many hours of hyper-vigilance before the tastes and sounds of the here and now are diluted by the curious voices of the nowhere and never that fill my head. Hunting helps, but even in those precious hours, I am not entirely immune., Read More
I am an unabashed, unapologetic Luddite. (And yes, I do recognize the irony of making that declaration via the internet). What’s true for my home life is doubly so for my days afield. When I head for the hills, I’m looking to unplug completely. The thought of the latest technological gewgaw hitching a ride, Read More
Your heart is in your throat, but it can’t choke off the torrent of sounds and smells and tiny clues that have swallowed you whole.
The tenderloins were the first to go. The backstraps weren’t far behind. You then spent the rest of the year whittling your way through the sirloins, round steaks, roasts, and burger meat, keeping one eye on the calendar and the other on the inventory. This year you were going to pace it just right. But, Read More
Shuffle… shuffle… drag. Mr. Teavendale, my sixth grade science teacher, taught me that movement is one defining characteristic of life. Shuffle… shuffle… drag. Inching through the bowels of an airport qualifies, I suppose. Shuffle… shuffle…drag. But it’s not my ideal form. Step… step… glass. Slinking through broken timber is movement too. Step…step… glass. The, Read More