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"Rusty, what in the hell are you doing out here?" He leaves the engine run­ning as he steps out in Levis and a t-shirt, swings a rope around Rusty's neck, and loads him into the back. He nods at me through the rolled-down window and pulls a u-turn in the road. Rusty looks back at me with his wide brown eyes and is gone.
Some people say we're all running from something, one way or another.
"Jim Stiles holds up a mirror to those of us living in the American West, exposing issues we may not want to face. We are all complicit in the shadow side of growth. His words are born not so
much out of anger but a broken heart. He says he writes elegies for the landscape he loves, that he is "hopelessly clinging to the past." I would call Stiles a writer from the future. Brave New West is a book of import because of what it chooses to expose."
Tom Sisson died in prison. The Power brothers spent 42 years behind bars in Florence, Arizona, just a few counties away from the now infamous Sheriff Joe Arpaio, who keeps Iraq War resisters imprisoned in old army tents in the deadly heat of the desert. Sheriff Arpaio is under investigation by the U.S. Department of Justice for human rights violations, but that hasn't stopped him from reportedly abusing war resisters or military deserters in his jail. I wonder if the Power brothers would have survived for 42 years had they been imprisoned under someone like Arpaio.
As it is, Tom and John both died free men, in the very land for which they once ignored a war. Someone had to see after it. I'll walk past the Klondyke cemetery a few miles down the way, where the brothers are buried next to their sister and mother, beside the bones of the Old Man. I won't spend much time studying the headstones - the sun is plunging low in the sky and it's time to move on.
Some people say we're all running from something, one way or another. From wars and calls to patriotic duty, from a lasso around your body and fences keeping you in, from the click of tourist cameras and the advance of modern conveniences. I suppose those people would say that I'm running, too. That I'm hiding out here in the creases and folds of the canyons. I don't mean to hide, really. I'm just here to lay a few desert wildflowers on the graves of nearly-forgotten legends. And, if I can, I'd like to see after the land.
Avy Harris grew up in the foothills of Colorado where she became passion­ate about exploration and environmental justice. She's carried her backpack everywhere from Arizona to Thailand, and is currently wrapping up her time teaching in South Korea. She will move to Ethiopia this summer, and you can follow her travels at http://AvyAroundTheWorld.wordpress.com/.





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