November 1, 2011
I once read that it takes eighty acres of trees to print the Sunday edition of the New York Times. That made me really mad. So I emailed a minor editor and asked if he’d please use a smaller font, or maybe leave out a few unnecessary sections, like Dining and Travel and Fashion and Weddings.
No Place for Biddies
September 30, 2011
An excerpt from The Thrill of the Chase, A Memoir by Forrest Fenn. The book may be purchased from Collected Works Bookstore in Santa Fe, New Mexico, phone 505-988-4226.
Mirror on My Bathroom Wall
September 25, 2011
If you happen to ask my age I’ll say I’m forty-one with forty years experience. That makes people laugh. But more and more the protesting yelp of age echoes around my body, making it difficult to continue denying the norm. Never before have I been called upon to live within such unreasonable dictates of nature.
River Bathing is Best
July 18, 2011
In the little village of West Yellowstone, Montana in the early 1940s, my father had a small one-room cabin where our family of five spent our summers. It had two double beds, one for my parents and the other for the three kids – Skippy, June and me. It was more than cozy so no one got cold at night.
June 21, 2011
Once in a while someone comes along who seems to make us feel warm and comfortable. Norman Rockwell was one and Amelia Earhart was another. And you’d have to add J. R. Williams’ name to the list. He was a rare and vanished breed of artist who drew single-panel cartoons, most of which had a melancholy air and the stark, grim, face of home-cooked authenticity. His work was syndicated in 700 newspapers in the 1930s, and he must have come from the same gene pool as Mark Twain and Will Rogers.
Jumping the Milk Truck
April 28, 2011
On winter mornings before school Mickey Goolsby and I jumped the milk truck. It was a squarish, van-looking vehicle, custom built with no back. It was just open, and had long pipe handles on each side and across the top so we could hold on. Milk and cream were delivered house to house in glass bottles – quarts and pints.
After retiring from the Air Force in 1970, I built an art gallery in Santa Fe that my wife and I ran for seventeen years. Since then, my energies have been directed toward excavation of a large Indian pueblo and writing books about art and exploration. I hope you enjoy my blog!