Mountains and Islands

Last week, 60 Minutes aired a segment on child farm labor. Yes, it still exists in America and it's still legal. Kids do it to help their families. They're strong, these kids, resilient. They work hard and make the best of those long, hot days. But ask any of them, as the 60 Minutes reporter did, and they'll tell you they don't want to do it forever. They plan to graduate high school, go to college, make a better life for themselves and their children. When I was a kid, I worked as a farm laborer, too. No one forced me and I did not do it to help my family. I did it because many of my classmates were doing it, and because my parents had done it as children, and their parents before them.  I did it for cash, for a pair of Levis and a Nishiki 12 speed bicycle. It was tedious, dirty work, but like today's farm worker kids, we made the best of it, picking to the rhythm of transistor radios tuned to the same, top 40 station. Backaches and sunburns aside, I have fond mem

She was the world's most brilliant, brave, mischievous, and beautiful border collie in the history of the universe. Hopps made us smile every day of her life. She came to us from friends who adopted her from the Denver Dumb Friends League. She had been abused as a pup and was shy then, afraid of anything with a long handle, scared of belts and loud noises. Our friends loved her, but with a fledgling business and a baby on the way, they had little time for. We fell for her instantly that weekend they came to visit, and when they asked if we'd be willing to take her, we said, in unison and without hesitation, "Sure!" Hopps transformed from city pooch to country girl and quickly became the happiest dog in the world. Now, free from old age and disease, she can shag tennis balls all day long.  "Hello, Hoppsy," my father says, as though he's been expecting her. He sits on the tailgate of his long-bed '65 Chevy, Crawford, our English shepherd, content