The Carbondale Mountain Fair began in 1972 with 20 booths showcasing local artists and artisans. Today, the Mountain Fair draws over 145 vendors poised to bring their unique and diverse homemade wares to town each summer. In addition to vendors, Mountain Fair features non-stop entertainment-both in live music and various forms of performing arts; a family-area called The Oasis which provides interactive, creative experiences for children; great food; friendly competitions that run the gamut from pie baking to wood splitting, and an amazing spirit. That spirit is best evidenced by the over 300 volunteers who come together to run the fair. Throughout the weekend, over 20,000 people pass through from across the state and all over the country! Hi friends. First thing – thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your support of this game. The fact that anyone might even read this is the most amazing thing to me, I am very grateful for your attention in this brief time we have on the planet.
Missoula: Rape and the Justice System in a College Town by Jon Krakauer: Not a pleasant book. Krakauer picked Montana State to demonstrate the rape culture that is prevalent on American college campuses. Hundreds of sexual assaults were reported, few were investigated and fewer still were prosecuted. There is never an excuse for brutish behavior and it’s shocking that there are men who think it is no big deal. Coaches protect their players.
After snow like this there are snow bombs that fall off the trees and they can be big and heavy. I was raking the snow off the roof yesterday and got hit by one. Took me some time to get the snow out of my ear where it was packed in tight. If losing around 50+ trees in the high winds about a month ago we lost even more in this heavy snow. The weight was to much for them and the tops broke off of several aspens.
I was still doing OK, though, with miles in the high thirteens. Then it happened. Three girls who had been back a ways started a slow run shuffle (you aren’t supposed to run, but some people get away with a flat-footed jog) and passed me right in the last eighth of a mile. I snarled to myself. I hated this in races and I guess I still hate it now, people who let you set the pace the whole way and then sprint past you at the very end.
But perhaps it explains my joy at that full toilet bucket. I feel I am at last starting to do my bit, to make restitution, to walk the walk after so many years of talking the talk. I can’t write or talk about natural beauty, or natural anything, unless I’m trying to do as little damage to it as possible; and at this time in history, that means taking myself away from the heart of the beast. It means stripping back. It means inconveniencing myself. It means paying attention.