I will always bushwhack; I can’t help myself. But, while so doing, I try to minimize my presence and my impact. (Or at least I tell myself I do.)
As these words are being penned, the largest wildfire in New Mexico history is still active right on the other side of the ridge directly to the west of my house.
Life in New Mexico is weird enough without having a weirdly named dog.
I now have 13 deceased people (and five deceased entities) listed in my Rolodex, and those listings amount to something of a Who’s Who? of mountain culture.
The trip to Central America became probably the defining component in a relationship that has spanned almost three decades.
From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
Regular MG contributors make New Year’s resolutions.
Tales of excitement and woe featuring Earth’s eight-legged menace.
It is not often that one has the opportunity to actually bear witness to a phobic reaction being played out right before one’s very eyes.
It’s important to make a few things perfectly clear right up front, if for no other reason than, by and large, horse people are generally far better armed than I am.
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