Corn Palace and Creativity

Corn Palace and Creativity
It’s an ingenious concept really. Imagine a game show that challenges contestants to use make scenes from twelve colors of corn.

Elvis and Judging

Elvis and Judging
She remembered skinny, sexy Elvis and I remembered paunchy Elvis in the jumpsuit and cape who starred in campy movies. Hearing him sing those spiritual songs was a chance to reconsider someone I thought I’d known.

Saskatchewan, Physics and Love

Saskatchewan, Physics and Love
Before the end of the first week on my first cross-country camping trip, my bike tipped over twice. It took me 6000 miles and two windshields to learn how to pack.

Coyotes and Snap Judgments

Coyotes and Snap Judgments
Just as we were loading out, the llama went into his guard mode, stamping and making a sound that I can't describe (but which you can hear on the podcast -- just hit the button). Coyote alert!

Canadian Inukshuit

Canadian Inukshuit
Many of them resembled human figures, and although I had no idea of their significance, they gave me the sense that I was part of an infinite whole, transcending the limits of time.

The Buffalo Zookeeper

The Buffalo Zookeeper
I couldn’t get enough of the retired zookeeper's stories about spitting snakes and reluctant-to-mate primates; one of my childhood fantasies was zookeeping!

The Needles Highway and Unconventional Thinking

The Needles Highway and Unconventional Thinking
Imagine being in a forest of sewing needles soaring thousands of feet above your head. You'd feel like a “Who” in Dr. Seuss’s classic book "Horton Hears A Who," wouldn't you?

The Goodwill of Strangers

The Goodwill of Strangers
Who needs a rainfly if you spray waterproofing stuff on your tent? As Pippin said in The Hobbit, “Short cuts make long delays.”

The Banjo and Unlearning

The Banjo and Unlearning
My grandparents loved Bluegrass music & "Hee Haw." The Blue Ridge Music Center taught me to appreciate the music that I thought was so unhip while growing up.

Artists have to Eat

Artists have to Eat
To my left, over the Postmaster’s door, was a mural that I somehow knew, even without an art history degree, had been hand painted in my grandparents’ time.