The Circle Game
I have begun to consider the many ways that my life as a 22-year-old in a ski town will soon change
I have begun to consider the many ways that my life as a 22-year-old in a ski town will soon change
My first journalism job was equal parts fascinating and frightening, in part because the crime beat provided a front-row seat to a veritable theater of the macabre, but also because I was paralytically shy, a condition whose code I’d been trying to override since childhood.
A barbershop, it turns out, is full of stories and storytellers — and there’s always room for another.
Already I can hear them crying out. Tortured souls, stomachs full of chicken wings and chili, who for 15 minutes found themselves watching something on the TV that wasn’t to their liking
For now, my life is changing, and so is its accompanying menu.
Nearly 25 years ago, HBO’s “The Sopranos" touched off a golden age of prestige television now dominated by “Yellowstone.” There's a reason why only of those shows ignited a tourism boom.
Where casual enthusiasm and hyper-elite athleticism collide
For several weeks leading up to the Glacier Glide, an event poster promoting the storied contest begged the question: Are you a Nordic Warrior?
Take a leaf out of the diary of Ernest Shackleton when faced with winter frigidity
The ability and desire to see the stories in life’s mundaneness is the reason I got into this work. I think it’s the reason that a lot of us did.
Already prone to ascetic solitude, my hermitic propensities grew compulsive. I never encountered a crowd I hadn’t already calibrated how to avoid, and I never entered a room without first plotting my exit
Season-pass sales at Glacier Nordic Club help lay preparations for the youth ski-education programs for children between the ages of 4 and 18 and ensure that a stable of groomers is prepared to perform this yeoman’s work all winter long
I am, admittedly, a transplant with a lot to learn. But, I am also a person who gets to call the Flathead Valley my home.
Musings on Our State’s Banner
When Jack Frost comes nipping at my throat, I turn up the vaulted collar on my pea coat, heat up the kettle and crack the cover of a survival tale to put my discomfort in perspective
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