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Corners Diner, which looks sadly defunct.
Such unique rock formations.
Curves ahead.
Roadside barn.
And roadside shed.
My stomach was disappointed that it could not have a burger at the Dog Bar. A little too early for the season.
Happy Mailboxes.

Today’s gratitudes:

  • That MKL came up for the day
  • Only nine more days until I actually live with my husband
  • That the Fire Department is trying to contain the fire four miles northwest of here (which is really stressing me out)
  • A successful experimental smoothie

Via a rather circuitous route that included Hwy 69, Hwy 96, and Hwy 165.

The Sangre de Cristo range.
Abandoned.
But still watchful.
The Three Trees.
Contrasts.
My Best Friend.
Grazing.
Aspens on the verge of Spring.
Higher and higher.
I found some bison!
Along the road home.

Today’s gratitudes:

  • Trying to figure out the cat
  • The first tree in bloom
  • That K is back safely from her trip
I suppose it’s more of a ghost community than a ghost town.
It was right on the side of the road, up a small hill, with a great view.
Window frames seem to stand the test of time.
This table didn’t fare quite as well.
This looks like the sort of door I might have made.
Remarkably, the only graffiti in the town.
Leftover.
The sunroom.
As I stood before this doorway, I heard a sound. It sounded like a long, low, gentle bray, like a distant donkey. There was no wind. I surveyed the landscape and saw no beasties. I’ve decided it was a ghost donkey, just letting me know it was there. Otherwise, I got no vibes of the past from the little community.
In the shade.
But with a view.
I loved exploring this place. Admittedly, It was a little dicey, as many of the places I walked were clearly above rooms dug into the hillside. I knew there was a risk of falling through. But what’s life without a little risk? The only thing missing from this part of the adventure was K. She’d have loved it.

Today’s gratitudes:

  • What aspen leaves look like when they start to bud
  • Fuzzy socks
  • Robins

October 11 is “It’s My Party” Day.  Not so much for Meriwether Lewis of Lewis and Clark fame, however.  Today is the 200th anniversary of his suicide at age 35.  While admittedly one of the great explorers and renaissance men of the age, he was also apparently bipolar, with mood swings, hypochondriacal symptoms, deep depressions and rumored substance abuse.  His remaining family (he left behind no heirs) argued for many years that his death was murder, not suicide, but no hard evidence of homicide was ever found.

What kind of qualities go into the makeup of an explorer?  Is a certain degree of insanity required?  Part poetic spirit, part romantic, part insatiable curiosity, part hard and fast pragmatist?  One who needs to see a place (or the truth) for herself, not just hear about it from others?

The word wanderlust comes to mind, but I discovered that it actually comes from two german words which, when put together, mean ‘a desire to hike’.  That’s not exactly the classic definition.  The classic definition is closer to the German ‘fernweh’, which means “an ache for the distance.”

An explorer wants to see everything there is to see, as if one life does not hold enough time to do it all.  It’s not just seeing – it’s experiencing.  And for me, though I don’t know if I have the courage to merit the title of explorer, it’s also sharing what I experience, whether it’s through writing or through photography.

The world before them is not enough – they must see what more there is.  It seems that different explorers had different intentions – some to enslave, some to educate, some to rape the lands they discovered, some to claim lands that really weren’t theirs to claim.

Some people just explore for the sake for exploring, for pleasure.  You can never run out of new things to see, new places to go.   And yet some people are content to stay by the hearth, happily, until the end of their days.  What makes some people wander and others remain where they are born?

I have no idea.  I only know which type of person I am.

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May 2022
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