Rocky Mountain High

I contracted an incurable case of mountain fever when I was a kid curled up in a canvas sleeping bag under the big skies of Montana, pondering voodoo spirits while hiking the desert canyons of Southern Utah, running wild in the sagebrush flats of Wyoming, and climbing the mountain passes of Colorado. My fever only worsened as an adult when I sat, day after day, above it all on a fire watch lookout tower in Idaho.

Don’t worry, it isn’t serious, although I do hope it’s contagious! I’m all about a good spread (not only on bread), and propagation is a word I toss around a lot (as in “you just gotta seed that and seed this”).

When my fever elevates, I travel…

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