Don’t forget Winona

Yes, just like the lyrics to the song. The small and most likely forgotten town of Winona, just a few miles outside of Flagstaff, is where I’m heading to lay my head for the night after a day out at Edge of the World. I’ve no doubt that the few people that live here are not too pleased by the attention to their small community I might be bringing to them by telling this story.

Snow has dusted the San Francisco peaks off in the distance, but only rain is falling around me as I open the door to my one room homestead. Chickens in the coop huddle together for warmth, horses head in from the pasture for shelter in the barn, and the dogs that roam the property go inside until the bad weather passes.

Only animals, no people in sight. Just the way I like it.

I make a simple meal, and sit in silence while eating, just taking in the pitter patter of rain hitting the rooftop. I start to read, but my eyelids grow heavy after only a couple of pages. Soon the Sandman takes me away.

Morning comes for me at 4:30 a.m. I brew coffee and see what the weather brought overnight.

A slight dusting of snow and bitter temperatures.

It is a cowboy kind of life out here in Winona along the old Route 66.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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