Dan Flores

Many of the Western stories I've written about and will tell in this podcast are the stories of the West's wildlife, very much an ignored topic in the West and elsewhere. The cow and the sheep, and to a certain extent even the saddled horse, are the animals we associate with the West of trail driving, ranching, town building.

Many of the Western stories I've written about and will tell in this podcast are the stories of the West's wildlife, very much an ignored topic in the West and elsewhere. The cow and the sheep, and to a certain extent even the saddled horse, are the animals we associate with the West of trail driving, ranching, town building.

Many of the Western stories I've written about and will tell in this podcast are the stories of the West's wildlife, very much an ignored topic in the West and elsewhere. The cow and the sheep, and to a certain extent even the saddled horse, are the animals we associate with the West of trail driving, ranching, town building.

But I have to observe that not one of them appears in Charlie Russell's When the Land Belonged to God. Russell's timeless scene of a bison herd flanked by gray wolves pouring over a divide in a landscape we old-worlders would one day call Montana implied that the divine world in the West was Native America. So let's start there, but not necessarily at its beginning, at least not yet.

But I have to observe that not one of them appears in Charlie Russell's When the Land Belonged to God. Russell's timeless scene of a bison herd flanked by gray wolves pouring over a divide in a landscape we old-worlders would one day call Montana implied that the divine world in the West was Native America. So let's start there, but not necessarily at its beginning, at least not yet.

But I have to observe that not one of them appears in Charlie Russell's When the Land Belonged to God. Russell's timeless scene of a bison herd flanked by gray wolves pouring over a divide in a landscape we old-worlders would one day call Montana implied that the divine world in the West was Native America. So let's start there, but not necessarily at its beginning, at least not yet.

Let's commence our exploration of the natural West slightly later in time. We'll return to beginnings in the next episodes with a story that makes the point that the West is not new, but a very old place.

Let's commence our exploration of the natural West slightly later in time. We'll return to beginnings in the next episodes with a story that makes the point that the West is not new, but a very old place.

Let's commence our exploration of the natural West slightly later in time. We'll return to beginnings in the next episodes with a story that makes the point that the West is not new, but a very old place.

This story stretches our imaginations, suggests how central and fragile Western ecologies have always been to human life here, and illustrates the longevity of the human experience in a country we're reflexively still thinking of as the newest part of America.

This story stretches our imaginations, suggests how central and fragile Western ecologies have always been to human life here, and illustrates the longevity of the human experience in a country we're reflexively still thinking of as the newest part of America.

This story stretches our imaginations, suggests how central and fragile Western ecologies have always been to human life here, and illustrates the longevity of the human experience in a country we're reflexively still thinking of as the newest part of America.

On a sun-drenched November afternoon, I sit in T-shirt and shorts a few feet from the edge of a canyon rimrock, looking through 400 feet of transparent desert air on a thousand-year-old city. My wife, Sarah, is pulling a bottle of water from her pack a few feet away.

On a sun-drenched November afternoon, I sit in T-shirt and shorts a few feet from the edge of a canyon rimrock, looking through 400 feet of transparent desert air on a thousand-year-old city. My wife, Sarah, is pulling a bottle of water from her pack a few feet away.

On a sun-drenched November afternoon, I sit in T-shirt and shorts a few feet from the edge of a canyon rimrock, looking through 400 feet of transparent desert air on a thousand-year-old city. My wife, Sarah, is pulling a bottle of water from her pack a few feet away.

Various friends are scattered along rock cairn marked trails through the uplands behind us, where the faint indentations of ancient highways, 400 miles of them, extend to horizons miles distant.

Various friends are scattered along rock cairn marked trails through the uplands behind us, where the faint indentations of ancient highways, 400 miles of them, extend to horizons miles distant.

Various friends are scattered along rock cairn marked trails through the uplands behind us, where the faint indentations of ancient highways, 400 miles of them, extend to horizons miles distant.

The whole country, sagebrush uplands, the canyon floor, the enclosing rim rocks, and the ruins with odd names that lie in every direction below, is a uniform tannish brown, the color of dust, or perhaps the color of abandonment. During the time of the Crusades in Europe, this spot and another on the east bank of the Mississippi River, just across from today's St.

The whole country, sagebrush uplands, the canyon floor, the enclosing rim rocks, and the ruins with odd names that lie in every direction below, is a uniform tannish brown, the color of dust, or perhaps the color of abandonment. During the time of the Crusades in Europe, this spot and another on the east bank of the Mississippi River, just across from today's St.