764 Words. 3 Minute Read.

As I meandered through the hills with a giant plug in my cheek, I got to thinking: what would it be like to have Willie Nelson in the White House?

530 Words. 2 Minute Read.

He exists in mountains and oceans I visit. He’s in eddies that swirl, in wind that races past peaks I’ll never climb. He’s everywhere I want to be—but I can’t go.

1,701 Words. 7 Minute Read.

I just read an article in the Wall Street Journal on the insane cost of real estate in Jackson Hole, and it got me thinking about my college summers there in ’97 and ’99, and how to start a revolution.

865 Words. 4 Minute Read.

As I read about Sam Johnson, LBJ’s father, I took a hard stop and wrote, in all caps, AM I THIS MAN? in the middle of the page.

449 Words. 2 Minute Read.

It’s eight-thirty in the evening, and I’m settling into a thick plug of tobacco in my left cheek. Why left, you ask? I don’t know—it’s where I place my chew. Always have. In fact, using the right side of my mouth would be like asking me to throw a football left-handed.