This is U.F.O. country.

The spaces are so large that a tremendous UFO could land in an empty field one night, suck in horses, pigs and raccoons and nobody would be the wiser, except for the farmer scratching his head the next day. 

How do you dial 9-1-1 if a UFO glides next to you on I-70 while you listen to country music and try not to fall asleep and fall off the side of a cliff? By the time you got a sheriff to take you seriously, the probes would be in your ass and your car would be a speck of glitter left behind, like sequins after a party. Far, far below as you were pulled toward Mars. The car cold and dirty when looked at by strangers the next morning, curious as to the half-open door and the keys still in the ignition.

These are the thoughts I have driving between towns in Colorado, where the only thing between me and sudden death is a faded yellow line and a truck driver hepped up on speed to stay awake. God bless caffeine.

The longest winter in 30 years just ended on the Western Slope and summer slammed in, butting out Spring who never had a chance. Gardens and flowers don't know whether to die or bloom and lay wistful, deciding what to do. I ate fresh strawberries out of one garden, watched hummingbirds darting in and out of feeders and remind myself: I'm not on vacation. I'm here for good. My husbands relatives start "Happy Hour" at 3pm and I just laugh and drink sweetened iced-tea until the real happy hour which starts between 5-6. I am either burning up in 89 degree heat, much closer to the sun than I've ever been or cold from the slight chilly breezes that always waft off the mountains. My nose bleeds, I've developed a cough, I bought 3 bottles of moisturizer.

My dogs thinks we've developed a new game called: live in a different place every day. Our house will not be finished for at least 2 weeks if not longer so we are vagabonds, leaving one house for a rented room next door to our property. We live out of suitcases and on other peoples pillows and towels. I've eaten pickled okra, gravy and biscuits and drank sangria. We're not in Waikiki anymore, Toto.

This is fly-over country for which the people on both coasts and in Washington D.C. show much contempt. People are clinging to their guns and their religion here. And it ain't bad. Both things are American icons that helped build and mold this country. There is a deep respect for the land and the water flowing in lakes and rivers. Children and dogs and horses are high demographics, outnumbering designer shoes and vegan menu's. Fads and extreme philosophies are the luxuries of those who have never had children or have never been hungry. Meanwhile, somebody has to feed the horses.

I digress. Tonight we are buying hotdogs and buns and heading to our property to build a big fire next to the half-built house and roast weenies and let the dogs chase field mice and listen to the coyotes howl and the river run. Tomorrow is June 1st and there is still snow on the mountain peaks which means the river will run strong all summer. So the crops will grow well and the animals will have plenty to drink.

This is U.F.O. country; this is flyover country. This is cowboy country.

I've landed.