We drove out to the Last Chance Saloon for lunch, over bridges, along the meandering Rosebud River, and heard blackbirds whistling in the rushes. This was my father’s early country, a landscape hard and austere and beautiful. At the museum later with my grandchildren, looking at dinosaur skeletons and the tiny fossils of ginkgo leaves, I remembered my father telling me how he’d walked endlessly in those hills as a boy. “But I never found anything worth keeping in my life.” What’s left? Everything. I wish all of you were here. Love.
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[…] cabin we’d booked and then we decided to drive out to Wayne for lunch. (I sent a postcard from Wayne for those of you who read this blog on a regular […]