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The time is 6:48 PM. The date is July 29. The temperature is 53 degrees.

Say what?

I'm in one of my moods again. You know the one: I'm listless, quiet. I go out of my way to avoid conversation, crowds, individuals, anyone at all. I find a quiet place, close my eyes, and find myself in my cozy log cabin somewhere deep in the mountains. Outside the window there is a wide grassy meadow, divided by a cold mountain stream. The meadow is ringed by a think pine forest, and the whole thing is guarded by a wall of mountains.

The horses are over by the barn. There's elk meat curing in the smokehouse. There's a fire crackling in the hearth and two dogs sleeping on the bear skin rug in front of it. There's an elk roast simmering in the cast-iron dutch oven.

I'm standing by the window in my favorite flannel pajama bottoms, a warm mug in one hand. I can feel the cool evening air pushing through the glass. It's going to snow. In the distance I can see a large bull moose by the creek. I watch him for a long time until he finally ambles into the green-black wood. I turn away from the window and the pine floor quietly creaks beneath my bare feet. Dinner's ready.

If heaven exists, this must surely be it.

Steamboat Springs

I'm a lot more prone to sudden road trips these days than ever before in my life.

Saturday morning after the farmer's market, we were putting away the produce when I said, "Grab the tent. Let's go to Steamboat."

And off we went.

North Central Colorado was one of the last regions of the state we had never set foot in. I had always heard the area around Steamboat is one of the last vestiges of the old west, with sprawling old-tyme ranches and lots of green summer grass, thanks to the nearly 350 inches of annual snowfall. (Yes, that's right; nearly 30 feet of snow each year.) It's late July so we didn't see any snow (except on distant mountain peaks) but I was able to verify first hand the accounts of those ranches. When I make my millions, I think I'm going to Steamboat.

There is a lot of geothermal activity in the area of Steamboat Springs, which produces a lot of hot springs. One such spring, the so-called Steamboat spring, gurgled and steamed like the vessel it is named for. It was, naturally, blasted into oblivion during railroad construction in the early 20th century. (I'm reminded of the most apt description of suburbia I've ever heard: SUBURBIA: WHERE THE TREES ARE BULLDOZED AND THE STREETS ARE NAMED AFTER THEM.)

Still, plenty of other springs remain. If you're ever in the area, I highly recommend stopping by Strawberry Park to soak in the hot springs. It is absolutely gorgeous. Unlike many other springs that have been tapped for a buck, this one was, at least, very tastefully done. The springs flow in steamy cascades down to a number of man-made pools, all built of natural stone from the mountain. The waters are clear and not chemically treated, and the bottom of the pools are natural stone and sand. There is also a cold water stream running through the whole thing, and the waters mix in various pools so guests have the option of soaking in a range of water temperatures. It's all very natural and outdoorsy, and there are massage therapists, teepees for changing, deer grazing in the grassy areas, a sort of outdoor sauna, and the whole thing is clothing optional after dark. We'll definitely be back.

We also had the best BBQ I've yet had outside of Texas. We also hit a few shops, hiked the breathtaking Fish Creek Falls, camped in Routt National Forest, and discovered Winona's, a breakfast place whose cinnamon rolls have been featured in numerous gourmet magazines. I can confirm they're as delicious as they're touted to be. (I'm sorry Upper Crust Bakery of Austin, your famous cinnamon rolls have fallen to a distant second place.)

On the way home we had a particularly nice surprise when we spotted three bull moose, two of which were enormous, grazing just off the road. I could only get two of them in one snapshot.

As I write this, there is a perfect double rainbow stretching from horizon to horizon. A cool front is coming through and the high tomorrow is only supposed to be around 70 degrees. The smell of warm cherry pie is wafting from the kitchen, mixing with the damp smell of a cool afternoon rainstorm. I never want to take for granted all the simple, unexpected pleasures that make life really sweet. I am so grateful.

A Day

Watching the sunrise over the plains from the peak of Mount Sanitas + an afternoon of riding one darn fine horse + watching the sunset with hot burgers, cold beer and some good buddies = a good day.

Forever West

This week is Frontier Days in Cheyenne, Wyoming. It's the largest outdoor rodeo in the world.

Cheyenne is the birthplace of the rodeo. It started when one cowboy challenged another to see who was better at common cowboy tasks. It didn't take long before the event was formalized, and the first organized rodeo event took place in Cheyenne in 1872. Cheyenne is also less than two hours from home so I took the day off and headed north.

I grew up going to the rodeo. My family went to the Houston Livestock Show & Rodeo with some regularity, and I continued going throughout my early college years. I have to say that I enjoyed the one in Cheyenne much more. It was big, but it was still a whole lot smaller than Houston. I also like being under the western sky much more than being inside the Astrodome, as it was called back in the day.

Cheyenne Frontier Days (CFD) also had a chuckwagon cookoff which I really enjoyed. The cooks were in period costume and all their equipment - from the wagon to the fire pit - looked authentic. Wyatt Earp and other historical characters were seen walking around and there were quite a lot of western-themed crafts and other things for sale. There's also an Indian village with story tellers, dances and, of course, crafts. There's a history museum, a very nice western art exhibit, and big name performers. I also took a behind-the-scenes tour of the chutes which was pretty cool.

Then, of course, there's the main event: the rodeo itself. It was awesome. CFD has a huge pot and stricter rules, so it's one of the tougher and more sought after rodeo events in terms of attracting professional rodeo cowboys. There were some big names competing and there was never a dull moment. A couple of cowboys were injured in the bull/bronc riding competitions. Also there were two particularly ornery, massive bulls that absolutely refused to go back into the pens when their 8 seconds was up, and they each had to be roped by as many as five cowboys at the same time and literally dragged out of the arena. It was pretty awesome to see. And then there was a horse that had to be taken out of the arena by "animal ambulance" after it collapsed. There was also a wild horse race, which I had never seen before, that was wildly entertaining.

I did a lot of people watching and just sort of immersed myself in the culture. I struck up some conversations with some cowboys, some Cheyenne residents, and various people throughout the day. One thing I didn't expect was how the experience reminded me - fondly - of my early college years attending Texas A&M in College Station. In those days I had my heart set on getting into veterinary school. I spent my days in class and my nights getting drunk and having wild nights at Northgate. I didn't drink today at all, but much of the crowd reminded me of those days.

I left a couple hours before sunset, after the events had ended but the nightlife was just starting up. There was a huge tent set up with live music, a lot of cowboys standing around drinking, and a few couples already tearing up the dance floor. At that moment I wished I had been there with a group of my old party buddies. It was the strangest thing. I had this powerful but brief urge to drink, get loud, and shut the place down. Instead I got in my truck, put on some soft cowboy music, and took in the sunset over the Rockies. And I dreamed.

High Summer

We've just reached high summer, the point at which the farmer's market really hits its stride. I was noticing this morning the differences between a mid-July kitchen and a mid-January kitchen. I love a well stocked kitchen, and six months from now I'll have one - cupboards full of pickles, popcorn, jams and jellies, honey, winter squashes, hard cheeses and potatoes, and a freezer stocked with frozen fruits, vegetables and meats.

But right now in high summer the stock looks very different. Instead of edibles hiding in dark places for months on end peering out through glass walls, my countertops are overflowing with a rapidly changing assortment of super-fresh goods. The pantry is bare, but everywhere I look there are shiny red cherries, fuzzy apricots and peaches, strawberries, beets, radishes, sweet corn, tomatoes, tomatillos, grapes and greens, greens, greens among much else. There's no room in the fridge, there's no room on the table, there's no room on the kitchen counter.

It's always a race to eat as much as we can, because every three days we come home with another armload. This, of course, is no chore. We only get each delicious treat for a short time - from a few weeks to a few months - each year. It's pure ecstasy to indulge in several pounds of sweet juicy peaches every week during peach season. When they're gone I won't get another for 11 months, so I have no qualms about diving head first into this agricultural hedonism.

On the menu last night:

1. We started with local organic salad greens and backyard tomatoes tossed with basil from the garden and drizzled with Italian olive oil and red wine vinegar
2. The main course featured 100% grass fed, organic, locally raised round steaks from Panorama Farm - grilled medium rare with a spicy salt & pepper rub
3. A side of organic, locally grown "peaches 'n cream" sweet corn and summer squash sauteed with hand-churned local, raw butter, bit of sweet onion and dill from the garden
4. A side of mashed purple potatoes from the garden, prepared with raw milk and raw butter, salt & pepper
5. Colorado grown and produced organic red wine
6. For dessert, a warm, bubbly rhubarb crisp with the very last of the year's rhubarb served with whipped farm-fresh cream

Virtually Real

Many years ago - certainly over a decade ago - I discovered Apple Computer. Shortly after that I discovered 3D modeling, and I fell into a mental hole. I spent countless hours sitting at my computer building 3D worlds. I could build mountains, lakes, houses, drop in people, trees, rocks, and even animate the whole thing. The software was pretty crude back then, but these days we're only limited by our technical skills and our imagination. And probably our budget too. Software and hardware ain't cheap.

I remember once I had stayed up for 48 hours straight sitting in a darkened room in front of my computer snacking on junk food and building a world - rather, a scene from a world - that existed in my mind. I was stiff, my neck hurt, my eyes were bloodshot, and I just felt mushy, like my body was a wax figure in a tin shed. In Laredo. In August. I felt bad. I remember pushing back from my computer and looking at what I had created. I didn't really know what time or even what day it was. I had completely missed two sunrises and two sunsets and I had indigestion. But my little picture was neat.

This wasn't the first time I'd spend an entire weekend doing this. What was I really doing here? I was wasting entire weekends putting my body and my mind through this torture just to rebuild a completely intangible, and frankly 3rd rate, representation of the world that actually existed somewhere outside of my apartment. My images always contained mountains, sunsets, lakes or oceans, maybe a cabin or a castle, or a four wheel drive or a horse or maybe a dragon and invariably some muscular, masculine fellow all alone in the middle of it.

So I asked myself why I sit here melting in front of a glowing box trying to draw this when the world is full of mountains and sunsets and horses? REAL ones! There may not be dragons, but there's a gym down the road and I could easily conceive of being the incarnation of that guy in my scene.

I shut down the computer and, I can say with all honesty, I never created another 3D scene or bought another 3D model again. Instead I finished college and moved to Colorado.

This is on my mind tonight for a couple of reasons. I talked to a friend on the phone today that I haven't talked to in a long time. We got on the topic of technology and I touched a little on my tendency to shun much of it because it doesn't feel real to me. That said, today I also bought an iPhone and spent a good portion of the day playing with it. It was fun and it's so much more intuitive and useful than any other such device. But I could feel myself becoming absorbed with it, and in the end I asked myself what was I really getting from this device that I wasn't getting previously? Convenience, probably. But I could check my email, make phone calls and calculate tips before I had an iPhone. There was really nothing revolutionary going on here except the way everything was packaged and accessed, and yet I just wanted to be poking around on it. Perhaps it was the novelty, because it wore off pretty quick.

I'm not giving up my iPhone, but I'm not going to be one of those people standing at the bus stop completely engrossed in it either. I don't have the unlimited texting plan and I have the minimum package of minutes. (I can hear several of you gasping.) I just don't use it. It's supposed to be (well, in my mind anyway) a tool for doing what I need to do, NOT a device through which my life is lived. Today's events just got me thinking again about all the pointless distractions we have in our lives. An hour perusing the app store in iTunes will make that pretty clear. Seriously, have you seen that thing?

I'm taking a day off next week to go riding. There's a stable just outside of town with some horses I've been wanting to meet. I won't be taking my iPhone.

Perfect Morning

It's 73 degrees, 20% humidity and sunny, with not a cloud in the sky. The creek is flowing, the birds are singing, the mountains are green, flowers are still blooming, and every window in the house is open.

A more perfect morning I could not ask for.

Dalhart

I just finished reading The Worst Hard Time. I'll never look at Dalhart, Texas the same way again.

I was first introduced to Dalhart years ago when I was working for Texas Parks & Wildlife. We were studying the black-tailed prairie dog and I got to spend a few weeks roaming the dry plains around Dalhart looking for dogs. Dalhart isn't much to look at. It's small, run-down, and in the middle of the great nowhere that is the Texas Panhandle. There's not an organic or locally grown anything to be found in town and it's about as redneck and unlovable as a remote Texas town in a sea of flat can get. But for some reason, on some level, I bonded with the place. I've eaten at the handful of restaurants, slept in the fanciest hotel (Holliday Inn), talked to locals, shopped the grocery store, driven all the roads in and around it, shopped one of the two antique shops (it's closed now) and even hiked Lake Rita Blanca State Park, the only thing to do in town besides eat and gas up. In fact my fondest memory of Dalhart was hiking Rita Blanca. It was me and three others from TPWD: a gal named Rain who was up from Austin with me, and two cowboys who lived in the Dalhart area (towns within 100 miles.) I will never forget them. The cowboys were youngish: one in his late 20's, the other in his 30's. They were never without their boots and hats or that good 'ol Texas drawl. They were lean and lanky and mustached. They were on permanent dog huntin' duty while Rain and I were just up for a few weeks to help out with the field work, since we had already done all the preliminary analysis and mapping back at the lab in Austin. After a long, hot day of driving the dusty back roads counting dogs, noting ground cover conditions and the presence of interdependent species such as burrowing owls and ferruginous hawks, we met back up in Dalhart for a steak dinner. Over dinner the subject of food came up (hard to believe, I know.) Rain and I were talking about the virtues of various newfangled urban hippie foods we liked. The cowboys listened intently but quietly. When the subject of turkey bacon came up, one of them very politely broke in with, "What about reg'lar 'ol pork bacon? Don't anyone eat that no more?"

Funny the things we remember, but I'll never forget the inquisitive, slightly pained look on his face when he asked that. Turkey bacon? What's the point? Why replace bacon when the original is so good? And turkey ain't bacon nohow. I think he'd be happy to know that my bacon these days is 100% pork. Locally raised on a small farm, of course. I bet he'd like that too.

We finished off the evening with a hike through the state park just as the sun was setting. The cowboys actually suggested it, and they more or less lead the trip. Turned out they were both avid bird watchers, something I didn't expect. It also turned out that the lake, actually just a small reservoir, has become a major rest stop for migrating water fowl in that arid landscape. As we walked around, the cowboys would raise their binoculars, study a distant point for a moment, and then announce the name of the creature they were viewing. Then they'd pass the binoculars to me or Rain and lean over our shoulders trying to help us locate the bird.

You can see two short blog entries from 1995 (before I actually had a blog - I retyped them from my handwritten field diary) by clicking here and here and there are a few photos here.

I've been back through Dalhart each time I've driven home to Texas, and I always stop for fuel, stretch my legs a bit and visit a few old haunts.

So my point - the book I just finished is about the Dust Bowl, the epicenter of which was Dalhart. The book traces the life and times of numerous families and individuals, the evolution of the Dust Bowl, and how they all came together. It's really cool - and a little frightening - to read such a tragic book that focuses on places you actually know pretty well. Amazing to realize how much has happened in a place most people dismiss as nothing more than a fuel stop on a road trip. It has been easy to poke fun at Dalhart over the years - the rednecks, the feedlots, the hilarity of finding oneself in such a backward place. But I can't do that anymore. I know the history. And one of the main characters in the book still lives in that town. He was a boy, the son of a real-life cowboy who grew up during that nightmarish decade in that hellish prairie town and lived to tell the tale. I know where he was born. I know what he and his family went through. I know how his father died. I know how his father felt about the land that was destroyed and how the son, now and old man, still feels about what the whites did to that prairie and the devastating consequences to the environment, the economy, and the country.

Again I find myself desperately wanting a release - to express emotions that I just can't put into words, and in so trying just sound like a rambling fool.

"The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them - words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear."

- Stephen King (Different Seasons)

Maybe I'll just sleep on it.

Happy 4th

Despite the long weekend we didn't really do much. I was ready for a weekend "in."

We did however pick about 20 pounds of cherries from a neighbor's tree, and we've got pies cooling in the window and preserves simmering on the stove. It smells a lot better than the skunk which sprayed outside our open windows the other night, causing us to wake up gasping and confused at 2AM.