Ranging

New England, yesterday, tried to finally show some grit in an attempt to avoid being remembered as the wimpiest winter ever. Thankfully Mother Nature waited until much too late in the season to throw a haymaker. We were pelted with a steady stream of sleet and snow throughout much of the day but the ground is thoroughly thawed and nothing stuck. Eventually defeat was acknowledged and everything came down as rain. It’s sad to see such a formerly potent champion so weakened; but I’ll take it.

LOVE this Picture of my Daughter and Granddaughter

The Favorite Panamanian checked in from Panama where she was traversing her home province with a couple of high school classmates trying to track down others from their class. I’d like to think she was inspired by how much fun I admit to at my own high school reunions. If I told her the truth she’d probably never let me attend another. Wives seem to distrust it when their spouses wax too eloquently about how much fun they’re capable of when the wife is not present. I’ll abandon this topic on the off chance she’s reading this.

I finished off the latest Joe Pickett novel, Out of Range, by CJ Box. As with each of the books in this series, Box keeps getting better and better. Joe is detailed to replace another game warden who recently committed suicide in Jackson, Wyoming. Jackson is a much bigger pond than Joe is used to swimming in and his steadfast ethical approach soon has him in conflict with just about everybody when he looks into the death of his predecessor. Back at home his capable wife is dealing with a stalker and ably assisted by Reacher clone, Nate Romanowski. This was a very good mystery as Joe slowly puts the pieces together amidst Box’s usual superb description of the awe inspiring terrain the story unfolds on. A very good read; I’ve already started on the next one in the series.

Here are some of Box’s words as Joe rides a horse into the back country to check up on hunters:

“It had taken an entire day of steady riding to get here, and the light was fading. He had ridden through two snow squalls, a half dozen streams, and a surprise encounter with a skinny black bear who had not heard him ride up because she was so intent on extracting every last grub from a rotten log. The bear had thankfully run away, crashing loudly through the timber. Joe was pleased that his horses showed no fear and were, in fact calmer than he was when it happened. The sight of the bear had reminded him to load his shotgun with slugs. The butt of the shotgun was now within quick reach in the saddle scabbard. Will may have preferred his .44 magnum, but Joe felt much more comfortable with the shotgun. His bear spray was clipped on a lanyard that hung from his neck. He embraced the wilderness around him as he would his daughters and welcomed the real danger and beauty it presented. He felt alive, and alert, in contrast to how he’d felt since his arrival in Jackson. He could not completely remove himself from the world, but he tried to put it on a back burner to be dealt with later. But it refused to go away.”