Mounds of a low-growing, spike-leafed grass form a mat in front of prairie dog holes on a ranch just north of Billings. The grass is not native, the prairie dogs

I’d never really noticed all the different types of grass. Standing in a field of grassland with our cycling crew and Steve Charter, Steve is talking about the forage kochia.

I was pedaling. Hard. Each gust of wind blasted my raw face, and I leaned into it, groaning. The wind groaned back, hitting me with gusts upwards of 35 miles

The house at the corner of 7th Avenue and 23rd Street looks like a 2,400-square foot lunch box with a brilliant tin roof and desert-like landscaping. Mellow, yellow sunlight bounces

The harsh light of the Exxon Mobil conference room is unforgiving. I try to focus on the company spokesperson’s overview of the refinery’s production. The Billings refinery turns crude oil

In the words of the great Bucky Preston (Hopi elder and activist), “I guess I’m an environmentalist.”  What was meant by this seemingly simple statement was that through the actions