We live in unusual times when what defines life is under constant attack. This got me thinking about two instances in my past that involved the dignity of life concerning two seemingly useless human lives.
The rain was falling in sheets. The wind was howling. And although the temperature was 40 degrees, I could see my breath. My raincoat was soaked through. My umbrella was blown inside out.
The early 1990s book Rising From The Plains by author John McPhee ranks as one of the most interesting and most important books ever written about Wyoming.
There was a twisted, ugly bushy tree in our back yard. It was next to Big Dickinson Creek and had all kinds of limbs that had shot out in all directions.
Like a great many Wyomingites, I suffer from persistent pains in my neck and back. More particularly, my neck has bothered me for 12 years, ever since I herniated a disk.
Folks who live on the east side of the Wind River Mountains have a tradition of getting “looped,” as often as possible. This is my term for driving the spectacular Loop Road.