My Dearest Mabel,

I apologize for taking so long to answer your letter, but you should see how busy my summer has been. Just today, Roger and I spent hours shopping and running errands in Central City. After spending nearly an hour getting through that horrid construction at the Junction on the way up, we decided to take your advice and go through the Bow on the way home. And there we saw such a sight, I just knew I had to write and tell you about it.

You remember that conversation we had last month about the heat of summer bringing out the strangeness in people? Well, you would never believe what we saw on our drive home today.

It was hot then, with nary a cloud in the sky. Not like the wonderful thunderstorms and rain we've had to cool things down this evening. We were coming south on that long, straight stretch, where the land looks as flat as Nebraska, or better, the grassy plains of Kansas, and the highway just as straight and narrow. The fences along the highway the only interruptions in the golden coloured plains of summer.

There's that one spot, where another fence comes in from the left, and ties in making those perfect perpendicular angles that Mr. Funk loved so much in geometry? Well, the heat had apparently gotten to some folks there, today.

First thing we noticed was the truck. Nothing unusual there, of course. Just a beat up old brown truck with a white shell. (Roger says it was a Dodge, but what does that matter?). The sides were all caved in like it had rubbed an aspen too close, or maybe a guardrail. Perhaps both.

It was parked by the gate at the corner, inside the highway. And there was this woman, standing right next to the fence corner, holding up a... well, she was holding up a ladder!

That's right, an ordinary step ladder, like painters use.

But that wasn't the odd part.

There was a man, her husband I assume, since what other sort of man would do such a crazy thing? He was standing on the ladder. Not just anywhere on the ladder, but on the step next highest to the top. You know, the one just above the little sign that says "Not a Step"? (Now Roger has never explained that to me. If it isn't a step, then why do they put a step there?)

Anyway, this man was standing as high as he could, and reaching as high as he could. (And remember, there is absolutely nothing taller than a jackrabbit out there. The only thing he could possibly be reaching for was the sun.) As we went whizzing by this strange apparition, I saw that he was holding a camera in his outstretched arms.

And pointing it back down at the ground, on the other side of the fence!

Can you imagine that? If you want a picture of something on the ground, why in the world would you want to climb as high as you can reach, first, and then take a picture?

Roger thinks nobody told him (the man on the ladder) how to take the telephoto lens off the camera. That he carries that ladder everywhere with him, so he can get high enough to take flower pictures, or something.

Now, I know nothing is blooming anymore, except the thistles, but Roger may have a point. I mean, they must have brought that ladder with them. You certainly wouldn't accidentally have a ladder in your truck, so you can take pictures of the ground from twelve feet up.

I tell you, it was the strangest thing. Roger wanted to turn around and ask these folks what in the world they were doing, but I wouldn't let him. Even if they did have local county plates on their truck. We have our share of weirdos (do they even use that word anymore?) too, you know.

Oh, and I forgot to mention. In the truck, they had a pair of the cutest dogs. They looked like Corgis, or something, only with pointed ears and tall, like normal dogs. They looked friendly, even if their owners were odd.

Well, anyway, I just wanted to let you know what we saw, and ask if you have any idea what these strange people were doing? And to let you know, not all the weirdos are in the big city!

Your Country Cousin,

G