I crossed out of Arizona and into New Mexico, aptly nicknamed "The Land of Enchantment". It's no wonder I seem to linger longer than planned whenever I visit this wonderful state. There's always something new (or even better, something old) waiting to be discovered. Just three miles past the Arizona-New Mexico border a sign by the side of the road made me swing impulsively off the Interstate. Read more...

 

The road was dusty and deserted, without a car in sight. Gentle, rolling hills stretched out in every direction. I looked around, leaned against a barbed wire fence to peer at the lone sign. I supposed it made sense, with a posted population of three, that I wouldn’t see anyone on this back Texas highway. Still, I was in search of a visual image to go with a musical memory from years ago. I was close enough, there was no reason to pass by without at least looking around. Read more...

 

 

I decided years ago that I would celebrate each birthday with a trip to a new destination. Maybe a seaside cottage or a rustic mountain cabin. Perhaps an old western hotel room or a rejuvenating desert oasis. It didn’t really matter where I went, only that I treated myself to a new exploration. This past year was no exception. With a little browsing through options, I found a perfect opportunity for adventure. For this year’s getaway, I was going to Ross Mill Farm, home of the pet pig. Read more...

 

 

John C. Campbell never saw the school that bears his name, but it's a living legacy of his life. Born in Indiana and raised in Wisconsin, he traveled through the Appalachian area, where he was impressed with the local people, who he found to be living a life of their own making. Blankets were from local fibers and chairs offered to visitors were hand crafted. Evenings were spent entertaining themselves, with singing and storytelling. Read more...

 

"Ocracoke isn't a place, it's a planet,"  Russ Newell tells me, as he leans against his open-back vehicle and pulls out a copy of his latest poem, just published in the local Ocracoke Observer.  Propped against the car, he carefully places reading glasses on his nose and takes on the tone of a master storyteller.  He reads to me of his friend Wahab, a perfect cadence of words floating across the island air. Read more...

 

 

I climbed the steep ascent on the one mile loop trail, listening for the sounds of men returning from hunting mule deer, women carrying corn, squash and beans home from nearby fields and young children singing or listening to story-telling.  I strained to hear the gossip young girls might be telling while plaiting sandals from yucca leaves.  I wanted to watch clay pots being formed and jewelry being designed from shells and feathers.  Read more...