I first “met” Chief Crowfoot when we took three grandchildren camping from Idaho into Montana and Canada.
In the Yukon, at the Beringia Center, we learned about the sloth bones found in Kentucky.
One of the things we enjoy at the convent is the gentle sense of humor. Nuns may have serious work to do, but they enjoy the antics of their goats, good jokes, and the quirks of human nature. They share smiles easily.
“Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself where she may lay her young,even Your Altars, O Lord of Hosts.”
“Like thy rocks of towering grandeur, make me strong and sure–” from a hymn we sang at church camp about six decades ago. It comes back to me as we drive through the Canadian Rockies.
Sister Agnes, the goat’s “midwife,” had a nightmare, about the time “Pansy” was due, that the birth was frighteningly difficult and she delivered a moose instead of a goat.
Horses, used before motorized equipment came in, were provided with hard leather hats and did not work double shifts. A coal miner, who could work double shifts, was required to return his horse to the barn and get a rested one for his second shift.
“Desert Gold” in bloom, like area rugs around creosote bushes, hallway runners beside the highway.
How do you celebrate the 100th birthday of a 1908 Buick roadster? If you are Marl Brown, you drive it on a 1200-mile round trip
“There are strange things done ‘neath the midnight sun,But the strangest it ever did see,Was the night on the marge of Lake LaBargeThat I cremated Sam McGee.”