A large black bear foraging inside of a knocked over garbage can in Torrington, Connecticut.
I drive two Chevy Silverados. Both have been well used. You could almost say my Chevy trucks appear to be abused.
Our final stop came into view. We’d traveled bend to bend. I wondered if the forest road would ever have an end.
August and September remind me of when I was a teen. We’d be loading horses tight without a smidgen in between.
My first experience, at driving a truck, was when I was seven years old. Back then farmers’ boys learned to drive at a young age simply becaus…
This year our grandson stays two weeks and time is flying fast. A 9-year-old can steal your heart. I wish the days would last.
This dude ranch is much nicer than most ranches I have seen. The cowboys feed us hay and oats, yet keep us mighty lean.
The old man’s name was Johnson and he loved the game of chess. But his eyes and face weren’t normal, kinda creepy I’d confess.
I stood next to my aged father, of ninety-seven years. He looked around the saddle shop. His brown eyes shed some tears.
The gray-haired man of ninety-seven didn’t stand so tall. But the soul inside this country’s son was the greatest of them all.
