Other Writings

The herd of horses gallop up the ranch lane in a clatter of hooves, snorts, and swirls of dust.  Sorrel, palomino, dapple-gray, buckskin, and black

“My name Susie. I your tour guide.” A young Chinese woman with straight black hair hops on the minibus. Since 6 a.m. I’ve been jouncing

Pat Benedict Jurgens and Mark A. Joyce, Co-authors Colorado history was built on the larger-than-life men and women who came west to build new lives.

In the winter of 1873 Isabella Bird, a Victorian Englishwoman, journeyed through Turkey Creek Canyon alone, on horseback.  Undaunted by harsh weather, spartan accommodations, or her own safety, she exemplified the hardiness of early Colorado travelers.  Like others before her, she relied on herself and the animal that carried her.

The day is full of delightful smells.  Old leaves rotting beneath layers of snow melt and the warm whiff of morning air that blows across the pine needle duff under the sun. I plunge my snoot into the brush again and again, inhaling the delectable aperitif in short, swift snorts. But the best scents are those pungent ones…