The rangelands are alive. They speak to us. They teach us. Made by God’s hand, in His beauty. Ever growing, ever changing, but somehow...

The wind wakes me at 3 am; it sounds as if it’s going to blow the roof off my house. I lay there listening until I get up at 5, praying...

Written by my great, great grandfather, William Julian, in the early 1900s while he was out herding sheep. 'Twas Christmas Eve on the...

Everything is blue. The shadows, the bushes, the snow reflecting against the sky. Everything is blue. My heart, my mind, my emotions....