i sometimes forget how intense this place is, but then a fog rolls around and the whole place is shrouded in a kind of hazy mystery. one thing that is a mystery is where all these roads go, that go off into the fog, into the mountains. usually it's off into someone's land, where they are surrounded by woods and elk and deer, and are generally armed to the teeth.

but that's ok, everyone in this country is armed to the teeth, and these are at least nice people, people who know how to use and take care of guns, and even know how to dress the deer they kill. and probably, they also know the hunting regulations, and follow them. that makes them many times better than the people in the rest of the country, who are also armed to the teeth, but who don't give much credence to the local regulations.

so these roads go off into the back country, and one by one, i'm learning where they go and who lives up where. it's a delicate country, because it's so dry, and just about every piece of property has a well and pulls more water out of the ground for our own needs. i feel slightly responsible for the imbalance in water in the rest of the country: hurricane after hurricane pounds the southeast, and the west coast dries out and burns up. no such thing as climate change? i'm sorry, but we people have some reckoning to do. when the big glaciers fall into the sea things will change a little, and i think it will become obvious.

but in my own small way, all we're doing is occupying a remote five-acre plot out in the sacramento mountains of southeast new mexico, and trying to hold on to our children, who are learning lessons the hard way and trying to make their way in a pandemic. we will be happy if all of them live to be responsible adults. the first part of that is simply to live. and even that is a delicate compromise. how can a teenager not go mix in with the rest of the world?

today there's more running around. the fog has lifted. time to get supplies. meds, for one thing, have run low.