We’ve just been through Labor Day Weekend. The highway is full of vehicles, and there’s a big fire in the upper valley. Highway 75 is closed ten miles from us, which means cars and pickups go past us headed for Ketchum, and then come back by twenty minutes later. Yesterday we sat on the beach at Redfish and watched tanker planes scoop up water from the lake and take off again, heading for the fire. Four planes made five trips while we were there. We’re waiting to see if the fire reaches any structures today.
I’ll be posting blogs every two weeks. After four more entries and a post-election epilogue, I’ll put Ghost Dance in mothballs, but will still post the occasional piece of fiction on the Blog section of my website. Fiction is a kind of ghost dance itself, and I hope what I write will explain what I mean.
That’s assuming we’re all still here. Sunsets have been getting apocalyptic lately.
Tourists squeak and gibber in the streets of Stanley, on the beach at Redfish, on the trails in the Sawtooths. I think they’re up to something.
Have a good September, everyone. Pray for frost.
John