In the almost-darkness just before sunrise, a retired cowboy emerges from his house and silently walks the short distance to a small, tidy log building with a sheltered porch. He takes a seat near the handmade door, easing his old bones onto a bench created from a split log. There, with Oregon’s high desert spread out before him and the sun coming up pink beyond the distant dark mountains, he makes his preparations for the day. Once inside, he builds a fire in the little, round wood stove in the corner, warming his hands before the flames. In the thin
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