That Spouse o' Mine, The Boy, and I traveled west across the United States this past weekend. With us, we took 4 bicycles, a plethora of running shorts, socks and shoes, a chess set, a guitar, and a 50+ year old Aussie. And even more things.

The Boy is heading to college, his freshman year at Western Washington University, in Bellingham, Washington (State. I often have to add that. Where in the world would Western Washington be? - in the District of Columbia??) The Aussie is That Spouse o' Mine's college roommate from 30 years ago. (Is this beginning to sound like the prologue to a screenplay??)

When we arrived here in Colorado, there was a haze in the air. It wasn't terribly discernible, but hazy nonetheless. I thought there must be a fire somewhere in the mountains, since there are so many dead pine trees scourged by the mountain pine beetle. Shop keepers throughout the town could be overheard complaining about the smoke. But I couldn't smell smoke. My eyes didn't burn like they do when it's smoggy. Finally, I asked one of the locals where the fire was. "It's from the fires in California - carried by the jet stream." Interesting!

But...worthy of complaints? Ha! As a Flatlander, I thought to myself (instead of out loud to the locals), "These Front Range nature folk have got NOTHING over the locals of the Flint Hills in the spring!" Now, THAT'S a smokin' place come April and May. The ranchers of the tall grass prairie land annually burn the Flint Hills as a means of maintaining the grassland, keeping it free of unwanted weeds and woody vegetation. For weeks, the smoke invades your senses - your eyes, your nose, your throat. Some people are affected more seriously than others, and asthmatic people are particularly uncomfortable in the smoke. But it is an interesting time of year as well. It's really pretty to look out in the nighttime, and see miles of blazing land. And, yes, sometimes it can look alarming. Occasionally the fires can get out of hand. But generally, the millions of acres of rolling hills go from wintertime brown, to scorched black, and then: amazing! a week or two later, the Flint Hills are the greenest green around.