Land of many uses

Last week I read a book that spoke to every surpressed childhood fantansy of mine; sitting on picket fences, waiting for seeds to grow, milking cows and sewing patchwork quilts, feeding chickens and getting dirt in my fingernails. I want land. I want to own "a bit of earth." And I don't mean I want land and a house in one of those neighboorhoods where people tell you what size your mailbox needs to be, or that you can't have chickens because it will wake your neighbors who live two feet away. . . I don't want to beg for a non-natvie species garden or be denied pets because "I'm only a seasonal." I'm not venting-- as a matter of fact, I don't even feel impatient. I'm only expressing a dream that I want to happen, but I'm perfectly content waiting for it. Someday, Brian and I are going to build a house.

We spent all day yesterday playing in the La Sal mountains. We climbed mt. Peele (12,720 ft) and Tukunakavitz (a few feet lower). We didn't see a soul the whole time. There were no trails and no cairns and the air was cool. It hailed on us, it thundered and wildflowers were everywhere.