I came away from my performance review a couple weeks ago with a list of six things that abso-positively needed to be done. With deadlines.

Finished number five this morning, on time, and sent it off to the boss. Number six is larger, but less urgent.

I haven't been out in the country since the helicopter flights in December. The heeler sisters are so hyper they're tearing into each other on the walks to the post office, and barking at every other patron that has to walk by them to get their mail.

So you know what we did this afternoon.

Officially, we were trying to classify elk. And while we're at it, stopping by and picking up the two wing barrels that are still out (the last grouse season having ended, ohhh, the last day of November). But the truth was, we were just out.

The country is wide open. The skiff of snow from this morning is gone. There are just dustings and small drifts on the north slopes of some ridges and draws. The land looks like March or April, but without the sneak of green on the sunny spots.

The sisters were whining so bad as soon as we left town, I had to stop early just to get them out. So we pulled in at the Scenic Byway kiosk.

And surprise, surprise, surprise! The feds finally got their signs inside the kiosk! It's only been, like, three or four years. Maybe five?

Our sons helped build this kiosk:

No, they didn't design it, or mold or weld the metal. It came as a kit. But one of the young men from our youth group set this kiosk up for his final leadership project, and our sons volunteered their time. Putting it together, putting on the roof, and setting in the guard posts.

And then it sat. And sat. Waiting for the special signs inside. For years, literally (obviously not contracted through your shop, huh Rift?) There were no signs in October, but they're in now. Explaining the history of this trail turned highway.

I had never heard the story behind the establishment of one of our local gold fields. It seems three prospectors found gold in 1868, and one went up to the Fort to file their claims. But he was apparently gunned down in camp, presumably for being so lucky.

The army officer sent to advise his two surviving partners of his demise supposedly found them killed by Indians (the politically correct federal sign says "Native Americans", but they were Indians back then). But said officer happened to come back with gold nuggets, and filed claims on the site with some of his friends. Buffalo Bill was sent through the country with an army expedition to roust the hostiles, but came back empty handed.

Which makes me wonder if they even existed, or if the army officer and his friends took advantage of an opportunity, and blamed their murderous deeds on the "Native Americans" so that they could jump the claims.

Fortunately, their claims never panned out. The gold field is full of elk and cows, now.