MICHELLE CURRY WRIGHT

Category: Nature, Make Me Your Humble Servant

  • #waffle vs. peach

    Telluride Daily Planet, Sunday, September 20, 2015 I am staring down at my phone, at an Instagram post from a food blogger I like, trying to fathom how a sweet potato waffle gets 13,616 likes. Yes, of course, she has a lot of followers — 841K is what it says — with some of those followers…

  • Raven

    Telluride Daily Planet, Sunday, June 14, 2015 We are standing at the trailhead with daypacks and raincoats, scanning the sky, semi-dark and changeable. There is not a soul in sight on this middle-of-nowhere hike in south central Utah, on a mini-expedition we’ve selected from the lodge’s friendly little handout. Canyon country. The weather’s not great, but at…

  • Peabody, here

    Telluride Daily Planet, Sunday, August 3, 2014 We’re in the staff cafeteria (Enders Hall) of the Rocky Mountain Biological Laboratory in the ghost town of Gothic right outside Crested Butte where we are having lunch. Beef brisket sandwiches with barbecue sauce, a substantial salad bar, and, astonishingly, fresh cream puffs filled with chocolate crème patissière for…

  • Captain’s Log

    Telluride Daily Planet, Sunday, June 8, 2014 Enterprise, Stardate: 42073.1 Recent days have spawned at outbreak of what ship’s science staff are calling “nostalgia” – for lack of a more precise definition. (Can one call it nostalgia if one has not ever experienced it in the first place? Lieutenant Commander Data posits that in the…

  • April pings

    Telluride Daily Planet, Sunday, April 6, 2014 We are driving along Mountain Village Boulevard one blustery day, Celine is about 10, when she screams, “Mom! Stop the car!”I pull over.There’s virtually no one on the road. The sky is that ridiculous blue, and stretched-out clouds scud by like pages of a book, ripped and let…

  • Doers: Black-headed grosbeak

    Telluride Daily Planet, Sunday, March 23, 2014 A male grosbeak, still famished from its northbound migratory flight, sits perched in the 40-degree March sun. A cold wind gusts, and the medium-sized bird, gripping and tipping on its aspen branch, bursts into eight seconds of song-line. Then looks over. MCW: [recognizing the very bird] It’s you!…