He recorded the first notes of a horned lark on the sixteenth of February. This unseasonable good weather induced him to stay a few weeks with a band of Pawnee camped just south of the Niobrara River. One morning he volunteered to go out with two men to look for stray horses. They found the horse...
The man called here Jack is not named Jack. He does not live near Chinook, which town doesn’t exist in the Coast Range of Oregon. But this story is truthfully set in that country, and what I am about to write down—people’s emotions, a natural history of the region, the description of a wood-fired...
Once, standing on the porch of the hotel, I watched her move through a field of high grass below an abandoned pear orchard a half mile distant. It was a bright day in November and the grass was turning saffron and magenta in the sweep of the wind. She moved in such a tentative way down the hillsi...
We ate without talking and watched dayrise through frost-rimmed glass in the double-hung window. Boys had broken out the lower pane that past summer with a baseball. Virgil had taped clear plastic over the triangular shards, enough of a fix until he had time and money to get a new pane of glass. ...