““I’m Kara McMillan with the Denver Independent. I’m investigating Northrup and was told by some of your neighbors that you might have something to say.”Mr. Perkins lowered the rifle, pushed the wolf-dog back with his leg, opened the door a crack, and took the ID card from her hand. After reading it closely, he opened the door and handed it back. “Sorry about the gun. We get some weird people out here. You never can be too careful.”“No, I guess not.” Kara slipped her card back into her pocket.“C...ome on in. Don’t worry about Yukon here. He’s a big chicken. I’ll get my wife.”In short order, Kara was seated in another living room, this time with a couple of aging hippies, a large marijuana plant, and a snoozing wolf-dog, listening to an almost identical story. Dust clouds that blew in through the windows, stripped the finish off cars and houses. Dust that coated peonies, tomatoes, and apples. Dust so thick it drifted across the landscape like a suffocating fog.Two years after moving into their home, Dottie and Carl Perkins had both been diagnosed with asthma, which they blamed on the dust but which their doctor blamed in part on their penchant for smoking ganja.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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