After the celebration and a near-sleepless night, I stumbled into the kitchen and turned on the coffee machine, then the radio. A male voice came on. It said the Province of Alberta was in the grip of a weasels epidemic.
“The return of weasels is unprecedented,” a second voice said, sounding a note of panic. This one belonged to a doctor. “We thought weasels had been eradicated generations ago, and yet here we are again, having learned nothing.”
Continue reading “Little John”
Anything special happen this week? Well, sir, as we leave our pink adobe cassita at the dude ranch one morning, I see a grey bunny, nose in the air, sniffing. I take this for a good sign.
Later, on my way to hike the Douglas Spring Trail, which begins less than a kilometre from the ranch, a road runner eyes me suspiciously from beneath a large mesquite. The mesquite is all elbows, and in its branches sits a scarlet tanager. More good signs. But alas, no Gila monsters anywhere to be seen. Still on the lookout for those.
Continue reading “Hello darkness, my old friend”
because i said 