Don't really have an entry tonight. And worse, I don't really know why.

Put up a good, long, long-thought out entry yesterday. And then deleted it all five minutes later. Too preachy.

Mailed in our applications for deer, elk and antelope licenses today, just barely ahead of the deadline as usual. And the check was a lot smaller. Only two applications this year. Eldest son will not be here this fall. He'll be out of state. Life will be different with only the three of us (or three and a half, counting wife's godson). A lot less stressful. And more hot water in the shower for everyone else. And the house will be emptier.

Unmasked heeler will certainly miss her boy.

May actually have more than three and a half of us. Wife's godson's mother just took a job in the gas patch. If the commute gets to be too much, she may move. She and my wife have been talking about the godson staying with us for several nights a week during next school year. Could be interesting. But what to do with his red heeler? Only allowed three dogs per household in this town, and we've already got that.

Just finished watching Girl Interrupted for the first time. Perhaps that explains the melancholy (or is that a "malaise", Alindala?)

Fortunately, if the weather is good, we're flying antelope counts again tomorrow at sunrise. As much as my guts may hate flying, I love it.

Saturday's flights took us back and forth across Pathfinder Reservoir, which was crowded with recreationists. Camps on all the sandy beaches, and boats in nearly every cove. Amazing how everyone waves at a plane going over, even though they usually have no idea who is in it, and we know not who they are. But I waved back, and I noticed the pilot always did too.

If we get up, tomorrow's flight should take us over Independance Rock, which is neat from the air, but no longer remarkable after so many flights. It will also take us over the graves of Ellen Watson and her husband, James Averell. These are hard to get to from the ground, so I enjoy my chances to visit from the air.

Ellen Watson is more commonly known as Cattle Kate, supposedly a prostitute who exchanged her favors for stolen calves, who was lynched in 1889. But that is an intentional fabrication. She and James were hanged because they had the audacity to stake a homestead claim on land used and coveted by one of the larger ranchers in the area.

When word got out the big cattlemen had hung a woman, they made up the prostitution and rustling lie to cover their asses. And it worked, they got away with it. (After one witness was murdered and another "disappeared". And no, it was not his 100-year old skeleton that was uncovered by the sand dune about ten years ago. That was another 100-year old murder that was never solved.) Descendants of one of the lynchers are still ranching on their family ranch.

It's a sad story, and a real injustice. I will give them a nod again as we pass over.