Sweet little Finn had a few unexpected tooth extractions yesterday, so he's sleeping, which makes him an ideal writing companion.
In the meantime, I am on an extended visit to Montana in April 1868. It's an interesting time for the territory, with men looking to get rich off the land (lots of mining and ranching) and men, women, and families searching for new beginnings and second chances away from war-time memories and nightmares.
Two loaves of peasant bread are in the oven, the sourdough bread dough will spend the rest of the day rising, garden beds and flower pots are watered, the smoke has somewhat cleared away, and I'll spend the hot afternoon with friends—new and old—in Crooked Creek.
