If there’s anything worth comparing with a forest trail winding off into summer-drenched hills it would have to be the snow-covered forest roads of winter leading mysteriously away into those same mountains and canyons.
Feb. 1, 1968 If the man with the butterfly net had been lurking on a recent night at Buck Prairie Road at the crest of the divide he would, without doubt, have pounced with a whoop of glee on the small congregation of Nordic Clubbers…
Jan. 28, 1968 If I live to be as old as Methuselah I don’t suppose I’ll ever learn the lesson or remember for long that no matter how top hole we feel or in what excellent physical condition we may be (according to the assurance…
Thursday, Jan. 23, 1964 The mournful, musical sound of the rising wind as it plays its melancholy tune on the edges of my aluminum roof, indicating the approach of a storm, instills in me an indescribable feeling of wonder and contentment as Isit at home…
Thursday, Jan. 16, 1964 In the cutthroat competition of today, whenever the news gets around that a new and radically different enterprise is about to be launched, excited businessmen cast suspicious and avaricious eyes on the upstart newcomer who dares to horn in on their…