T. dreams of moving to Nevada.
No taxes.
No traffic.
No people.
Mr. antisocial.
I say: I'll write.
He hears: Alright.
He dreams and plans.
A couple of years later I clarify:
I will write to you when you move to Nevada while I stay here.
All this time he visualized a happy couple isolated in the desert, poor guy.
Me 'n Misty have got to be able to get to the beach!
Salmon creek south.
No horses allowed to the north to interfere with little guys digging moats.
What I like about riding is this:
You can really get somewhere.
Down the long beach, waves crashing in their blues, driftwood and kelp decorative on the rich sand. Then, back up the beach. Climbing up through the dunes, winding through the campground.
Trailer the horses and head home.
All in time for lunch.
Thus, the necessity to live near the ocean.
Too cool to move!
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