About Me Less

I call my place the Three Horse Garden. One of the horses was wild and now is dead. I found its skull near Massacre Rim a few years ago. I don’t know how it died. From dehydration, starvation, or a rancher’s gun. Not a storybook ending.

If you’ve come here expecting deer and antelope and the cloudless sky of the rural West you’ll be disappointed. Maybe even discouraged. People who’ve lived here all their lives don’t see the mountains or the sunset anymore, they’re consumed with survival. My life is taken up with them, how we live in this wild place that doesn’t care about us, no matter how much we believe we belong here.