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On our last little jaunt off the ridge, we nearly wore grooves across the breadth of these United States. Didn’t quite make it to California, but we sniffed the Nevada/Cali border, and that alone made it feel like we’d covered the whole country. After all, when you’ve ping-ponged through all four time zones, your body clock gives up, throws its hands in the air, and starts free-wheeling somewhere over Oklahoma. One of the biggest adventures

The last stop on our marathon road trip wasn’t about maps or mileage. It was about a dream come true for the blues-guitar-playing Oklahoma cowboy I happen to call husband. Willie knows his way around guitarspeak—he can tell you why a Gibson ES-355 sings the blues better than a Strat, and why a Les Paul is just showing off. Me? I just nod and smile, the way he does when I start talking genealogy. So

Having been a bit of a tomboy in my early years, I was always fascinated by cowboys. I didn’t just admire them—I downright wanted to be one. The idea of riding horses all day, wrangling cattle like it was a full-time cardio workout, and then sleeping under a blanket of stars (no mosquitoes in my fantasy version, of course) seemed like the perfect career path for a six-year-old with scabby knees and a knack for

We once again left the ridge and somehow—without really meaning to—ended up in a state I’d never put on my “must-see” list. Honestly, I’d never even put it on my “meh, why not?” list. New Mexico just wasn’t on my radar. After all, it’s tucked between Texas—where desert plains, BBQ joints, and western décor have already infiltrated my living room—and Arizona, with its Grand Canyon grandeur, cactus-meets-pine forests, and more turquoise jewelry than a Cracker

From the moment a child arrives—squalling, squirming, and stubbornly refusing to follow the instruction manual we never got—we begin the long experiment of raising them into decent human beings. Some days we nailed it. Other days… well, let’s just say frozen pizza counted as “family dinner” and call it a win. The years sneak by. One day you’re tying shoelaces and packing lunchboxes, and the next thing you know, your “baby” is a full-grown adult