Winter Rye II

A bottle of rye for Christmas. The good stuff, formerly from Iowa. I quit buying it when I learned they weren’t even bottling it anymore here in Iowa. But by then I had drunken my way through the twin deaths of first my father in the spring, then my son in the late summer of 2010. Not my idea of good memories. I had a few drinks with the bearer of the gift.

A relaxing few days in the hot springs healing in Colorado. A very scary trip over the great divide but well worth it. Even if we picked the most dangerous pass to transverse. Nine miles down grade in low gear through heavy snow behind a loaded semi truck. After fifteen hours on the road. Reminded me of the harvest, and why I was there. My slice of paradise here on earth.

I may move there permanently. South central Colorado is small town enough to be attractive to a life long farmer from south west Iowa. I ran into many Iowans both times I’ve traveled there for the hot springs. The local paper was loaded with want ads for jobs. There was even one for a ranch hand fixing fences, no experience with cattle and horses necessary but helpful.

Hard to leave a place with hot springs to come back to one without. Very hard.