Jobs, days, small things worth keeping. Written when the dust settles and the horses are watered.
Two hundred head of small commercial drones, four of us riding alongside, a kid named Brigham learning to swing. We made Vegas Thursday.
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A four-thousand-dollar bird in three square miles of willow brush. Two bearings on a faint beacon and a buckskin gelding named Bishop.
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Twelve kids, four days, dawn to dinner. Day one is rope. Just rope. Sister Hansen's pie is non-negotiable.
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A runaway Wingtra over the Gallivan Center plaza. SLC PD radioed it in for me so I wouldn't get pulled over again. The crowd applauded.
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Forty-three birds, eight farms, fourteen volunteers, one very large dutch oven of peach cobbler. Mary Beth Harker does not trust the cloud. Mary Beth has reasons.
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