Pack Creek Ranch, San Juan County, Utah
Cooler weather – occasional rain showers and thunderstorms.
Aspens turning gold on the mountains. Cottonwoods, too.
POSTCARDS FROM PACK CREEK
The summer of 2026 was the most stressful I can remember.
Extreme heat, extreme fire danger, and the shape of my life seemed to be defined by Murphy’s Law – day after day things got wonky. Power and internet out, plumbing failure, rodent invasions, minor health issues, road repair closures, fiber optic installation noise, unexpected and unwelcome visitors.
But then, life experience tells me that for all the times everything goes wrong, there are times when everything goes just as unexpectedly right. It’s the reverse side of Murphy’s Law.
And when things go right, I should pay attention.
For example:
I pass a lemonade stand every time I drive into Moab. I’ve never seen its owner, but I’ve learned that a 9-year-old girl set it up. It’s been too hot to attend the stand, but she has kept the lemonade cold and trusted those who partake to leave a contribution in a can. And they have. Bless her for her faith in people.
For reasons I don’t understand, several sunflowers have grown across my path from house to studio. I don’t plant or water or care for them in any way. A volunteer garden I must walk through every morning. Slowly. Carefully. Thoughtfully. Thankfully.
Early mornings have been cool enough to eat breakfast out on my porch at dawn. I’ve noticed a cottontail rabbit crossing the open space from left to right while a jackrabbit crosses from right to left – sometimes very close to one another. Every morning. The bunny is a runner. The rabbit is a jumper. They must be aware of one another. But they never interact. I wonder what they think. Clearly, they practice a live and let live point of view.
As should I.
I’ve not been writing or posting journals across the summer. For one thing, my computer had failed to operate. Probably need a new computer – bad news. So, the local electronic wizard came to the rescue. Turns out that my wireless keyboard needed new batteries.
Oh.
Guess Murphy was looking the other way for once.
Or else I am an e-idiot.
The wizard was too kind to say.
Alberta has been cutting my hair for 26 years. She’s a full-blooded Navajo. And I always think – but never say – that I’m going in to be gladly scalped by an Indian. I go because she is always upbeat and interesting. It’s not what she does to my hair, but what she does to what’s under my hair – my brain and spirit. I always leave her shop feeling good about the world and smiling.
Bless her.
For all the stress of an extremely hot summer, one fine product is produce. Palisade peaches, Green River melons, Oletha corn, and local tomatoes. Hard to feel bad when feasting on food like that.
No lemons.
In the hot red soil around my house there are tiny mounds built by ants so small I need to get down on my knees and use a magnifying glass to see them. They reappear every year for a couple of months, despite winter’s cold, wildfires, heavy rains, and predators. Where are they the rest of the year? How did they get here in the first place? How do they survive? I don’t know. But they remind me of the mysterious tenacity in even the smallest forms of life.
It just so happens that I am writing this journal on Friday, September 11th. I cannot and must not look away from the videos showing that day. So much evil. So much fear. 25 years later, what remains are images of heroism, kindness, generosity, and courage. The full spectrum of what human beings are capable of. I cannot look away and shall not forget.