My wife tried to convince me that I should write my blog post this week on her broken toe. I considered it, but wasn't sure that I could stretch that topic out to an appropriate length. I mean, really. She has toes. Ten of them. One is broken. Now if each one of them had a unique story, then I would have a blog post topic. Black Mountain Ranch sits on 1000 acres in the Rocky Mountains, and each one of those acres does indeed have a unique story to tell. BAM! Segue to actual relevant blog post topic! But, really, each acre does have it's own story. Pack camp alone is an acre that could tell volumes worth of stories. Some of the stories feature campfires, guitars and shooting stars and would be fit for all audiences, and others would feature characters such as Tequila Sally, and would probably change the family-friendly rating of this blog. There is another acre way back up Whiskey Creek that I don't get to often enough. I have a great memory of riding up there on a beautiful summer day with my great friend TJ and just a couple of our guests. We stopped back up there for leisurely lunch, and a full bellies and sitting in the shade led to everyone napping in the grass before riding back to the ranch. A perfect "work" day. Far, far back in the woods sits an acre that as beautiful as it is, reminds me of how tough I'm not. A couple of miles to the east of the crossroads to the northeast of Black Mountain itself (you got that?) there is a lonely old cabin hidden in a little drainage a pretty long ways from nowhere. It looks like the roof caved in sometime during the Eisenhower administration after being abandoned during the Roosevelt administration. Teddy, that is. Not Franklin. Whoever lived there was certainly a hardy soul. I use "thirty miles from cell coverage" to tell people how remote the ranch is. This guy probably gave people the " my mail takes six months and I have to ride 2 days to get it" to describe his home. Elk park is an acre that, for me, almost defines the Colorado experience. A beautiful hillside meadow, dappled with Aspen trees shaking in the breeze and just a single trail winding it way through. I pass through Elk Park frequently and it is the image I have in my head of home. But I have one acre that means more to me than all the others. I'm not gonna tell you about it or where it is, though. It's mine. Go get your own favorite acre.