Writing what I live and see
My son, Marty, lives in Montana, the kind of place where the mountains don’t just sit there looking pretty; they dare you to engage with them.He rides a snowmobile, and not the cute little kind you see on postcards. This thing is a beast. He glides over powder, carves between trees, and finds trails that don’t show up on maps. He tells me about the joy, the sheer fun of it, the beaut...