“That is their medicine,” she said. “They offer themselves up.”
She was speaking of hunting, and so I disregarded her words when they came to me, second-hand. Slob hunters are slob hunters, rednecks in the Adirondacks or wannabe-healers in
… (continues)
I took it upon myself to answer the implied question I posed here, about the existence — or lack thereof — of surviving piñon pines in the Mid-Hills.
I drove up into the burn zone Tuesday for my first thorough look at the place. I’d been up there
… (continues)