The Journal
Essays, entries, and notes from the high country — published in the open, or kept close.
This is a place to share thoughts and ramblings. It began as somewhere for me to set my own thinking down — quietly, mostly for myself — but the more I wrote, the more it felt like something worth opening up. Some thoughts are better for being shared, and better still for being answered.
So if any of this speaks to you, you’re welcome here. Read what you like, linger as long as you want, and pass along or link to anything that resonates. And if you feel the pull to add your own voice — a piece, a response, a rambling of your own — I’d love to hear from you. You won’t find a signup button — that’s on purpose; this stays a small, invited circle. Reach out and I’ll send you an invitation. This is meant to be a place we build together, one voice at a time.
— Mike
Latest, in the open
-
Twenty-Two Dollars
Ida Etta Borland bought up half a mining district and ran the town's namesake out of his own claim
In October of 1928 a widow walked into the office of the Cripple Creek Times and Victor Record and bought three months of legal notice. She was sixty-four. Her…
-
The Price of Idaville
A town gave up a woman's name to get an oil man's
There are about thirty of us in Guffey most of the year, and not one of us is named Guffey. They do turn up, though. Every so often somebody comes through with…
-
The Empty Sky
A Bet on Another Season
Written in the truck with stops for sanity and soul, Taylor Park through Grand Junction, on toward Salt Lake and Idaho. Twenty-five years ago this morning, I wa…
-
Twenty-Five Years Above Timberline
Twenty-five years ago this morning I was sitting on the side of a mountain above timberline, waiting on light. My uncle and I had walked out of camp in the pred…
-
More than a Job
Today, big things are happening at Park County surrounding the county manager position and the person the commissioners chose to replace Mike Smith. And as I wa…
-
Dolly was a Doer!
Verse 1 She came down from the Smokies With the mountains in her voice, Born into a house where hope Was less a gift than choice. In a coat of many colors, Stit…