It’s been snowy and blustery in Telluride for the past few days, turning Bonnie into a little snowbunny. While I try not to subject myself to huge gusts of icy snow blowing into my face unless I’m on my snowboard, she thrives on it. She’ll roll around in the drifts, face directly into the wind like a supermodel posing for the camera, and play with frozen sticks for hours – dropping them down the hills before chasing after them, as if it were a surprise that the stick had rolled away. Yes, life as a dog in the snow is pure heaven. Especially when you’re lured inside with treats and given belly rubs while your owner dries the snow off your fur. Then you can beg to go outside all over again. Ah, winter.

What a Folgers morning. As I made my coffee in the hour before it began snowing this morning, I looked out the window to see my neighbors – a herd of elk – already gathering for Thanksgiving dinner. As they grazed in the field across from my house, I tried to sneak up to them to get a closer shot. Of course, it’s not like they didn’t see someone with a shotgun-looking lens, slinking up the road in her slippers and sweats in the otherwise stillness of this gray Thanksgiving morning. So of course they ran away from me. And I got this wonderful view of their backsides.

So my neighborhood is named after this old ranch that was one of the first homesteads in the area. Now, it serves a very different purpose – it’s a historical landmark on the golf course and it houses the ski resort’s signs (a photo of this will come soon). There’s something about the juxtaposition of this old barn sitting in the middle of multi-million dollar homes and paved pathways that I just love. A reminder of the past? Of how far we’ve come? Or of how we live with nature? Back then it must have been hell living in this climate. No down coats, no heated driveways, no seat heaters in cars, no cars, no Sorels. Just wool and lots and lots of snow. Every time I walk by here I wonder if I would have hated that lifestyle, or if the beauty would still have made it worth it.

Don’t be fooled. Telluride no longer has green grass – only snow. But I found this lovely portrait while sitting inside perusing folders of old photos, thanking the heavens for my awesome partner in crime. You see, I’m now one of the thousands, millions, who knows how many, unemployed souls in this country thanks to the excellent economy and the fact that the job I had Monday no longer exists. But at least I’ve got Bonnie. So I’m brainstorming ways for the wonder dog to start earning her keep around here. Modeling, street begging, Santa’s helper – the list goes on. Send us your ideas.

Last night was one of those times when I feel so incredibly lucky to live here in Telluride, and in particular, in Mountain Village. I wake up to views of Mount Dallas and Mount Emma, and I look out my living room window to see Wilson Peak, watching over us from about 14,000 feet. The clouds around Wilson last night just after sunset were pretty spectacular. And although at first I wished the houses weren’t in the picture, now I’m beginning to like the glow and the realism that they add, because we aren’t always able to view natural beauty from out in the middle of nowhere. Sometimes it’s right from our front yard.

This is just another huge herd of elk sprinting through my neighborhood. It happens all the time. Ok, not really. I’ve never seen such a huge herd moving at such high speeds. I turned the corner in my neighborhood as I came home from work Tuesday to see at least 50 elk stampeding across the golf course. Another car had pulled over, a few golfers had run to higher ground and I grabbed my camera in a hurry. If I had been even a minute later, I would be paying a lot for major car repairs right now. This moment served as another reminder to always carry my camera, and to watch for sprinting elk.