Where My Heart Can Roam
This is one of my favorite photographs from our nomadic summer. I’d like to have a print made to hang around these barren walls but, as I said before, I don’t usually keep track of the original full-size images I finally choose among them all, which I find very annoying about myself at this moment. It’s our favored campsite on the BLM land near Castle Gardens, outside of Ten Sleep, Wyoming. There was something about the smell of the sagebrush, the open range, the red hills in the distance, and the solitary feeling that appealed to us. If I could build a home anywhere on Earth, it would be right…
And May You Need Never to Banish Misfortune
Things are troublesome here at the moment. When I wrote the mini bio for this blog I said, “the hovel I call home,” but hovel was written about 60% in jest. A hovel is defined, according to dictionary.com, as “a small, very humble dwelling house; a wretched hut.” Originally, I was hinting at the humble dwelling portion of that definition, now we’re approaching the wretched hut portion. Our bedroom floor has collapsed. I can’t believe I have had to write that sentence. Now, to avoid giving the wrong impression, our bedroom floor isn’t caved in with all the contents in a heap down a giant crack through the room. There…
A Cold Wind’s Whispering Secrets in Your Ear
In every state I’ve lived in, someone has used the line “If you don’t like the weather here, give it ten minutes and it’ll change,” but never has that been more accurate than my time here in Montana. Last Saturday we had our windows open, enjoying the mid-sixty breezes that brought the smell of crunchy fallen leaves and wood smoke drifting through the house. By Sunday night we had the heater cranked up to counter the drop to single digits and snow was whipping furiously in every direction. In our tiny Connecticut cabin, we had a monstrous wood-stove we relied on for all our heat. There were a few baseboard…
Nothing Compares to Waking Up in the Sunshine
Since the last time I posted a photo here we: 1. May 2013: Left our old farmhouse in Iowa and moved to Connecticut where we lived in a tiny cabin. It was nestled in a valley along the Housatonic river, in the Berkshire mountains, in the “quiet corner” of the state. There was no cell service or internet and everything was at least 40 minutes away, but there were bears, coyotes, peace, and beauty. 2. June 2014: Bought a cap for our truck, put all our belongings into storage, and headed west — vagabonds with a dream of living in Montana. 3. Summer 2014: Spent three months (hot, hot, hot,…
