Growing up, I watched my father, the sculptor Burl Jones, make wildlife. He’d start with an armature. Coarse blocks of foam that he shaped and pared down with a kitchen knife. Heavy-gauge wire for arms or legs. Using green clay warmed in a kitchen Crock-Pot, he would tilt his...
Summer arrives to the Northern Rockies with its own kind of relief. There should be a word for it. That long, long exhalation. February, March, April. Then … whew. You’ve had your skiing at Big Sky or Jackson Hole, sure, ice-fishing, maybe a few days spent slinging brassies on the...
When I think of winter, minimalism is not what comes to mind...
From the desk of Seabring Davis ...
Ode to the Arts...
Spring came early to the Northern Rockies this year...
At best I am a beginner fly fisher...
Before the snow flies there is a nearly imperceptible pause...
It’s not often that so much talent can be folded into the pages of a single issue...
I’m reminded of my own daughter’s summer adventure with her godfather...