We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
View from that bed I posted yesterday. Our family camp is at the extreme end of a 40-minute dirt & rocky single-lane road. About 90 hard minutes and 2,500 vertical feet further up that hill, you can intersect the Pacific Crest Trail on the ridge barely visible through the trees. My dad's ashes are scattered on that rock ledge center left.
My grandfather was a geologist and loved roaming such areas. Fortunately, he took us on many vacations that opened our eyes to such indescribable peace and beauty. One such trip took us to the very remote mountains of northern New Mexico in the late 1950's where he said a prayer and recited a Kipling poem (L'envoie) over the grave of a prospector who'd died the winter before. They had met in the 1930's when he traversed the area by horseback looking for opportunities for the gas and oil company that employed him.
That area is now a commercial ski resort and my grandfather is buried in a cemetery next to my grandmother in a suburban Midwestern town amenable to my folks, but I think both he and his lovely wife would prefer to share space with your father.
That's the NM of Ansel Adams and Georgia O'Keefe --really a frontier, still. That corridor from Santa Fe to Aspen, back in the late '60s & early '70s, was gorgeous to the point of hallucinatory, to a young feller fresh from the Gulf Coast swamps.
You've reminded me that time is awastin'. My kids and grandkids are returning from, hopefully, their last tour abroad with the Army, so our next road trip will be that border area between NM and CO. Little hairpin turns that take hours to traverse. Tree lines -- that's where I learned about tree lines. Quaking aspens. Fishing cricks with bread balls. Collecting samples of minerals and such from the washes. Good memories.
BTW, what part of the Gulf? Though I live up north, Rick and Bubba of B'ham fame are my go-to program every morning. Keeps me grounded.
9000' + 2,500', the Pacific Crest Trail must be off & on above timber line? Dunno if i could still make it that high up --t'were easy once upon a far-fewer-Marlboros time --ah but smoking is as much fun as breathing, almost --