For most of my life, John Colter was a misty figure to me. “Some character out of cowboy fact or myth,” I would have told you, until about 10 years ago. Then I took a greater interest in local history and found John Colter was indeed a fact. That he

It was sad, though also heartening, to tour the old Missourian building, my first workplace after college. To see it empty, stripped of its newspaper-creating internals, but also to experience a homecoming. The typesetting machines, the typewriters surrounded by stacks of paper, the giant cameras, the massive printing press

It was sad, though also heartening, to tour the old Missourian building, my first workplace after college. To see it empty, stripped of its newspaper-creating internals, but also to experience a homecoming. The typesetting machines, the typewriters surrounded by stacks of paper, the giant cameras, the massive printing press

On a mild Saturday recently, with winter budging loose at last, I felt the need to get out — out of the house, out of town, out of the usual. An afternoon only gives you so many miles. But miles aren't the only distance. There's also time.

On a mild Saturday recently, with winter budging loose at last, I felt the need to get out — out of the house, out of town, out of the usual. An afternoon only gives you so many miles. But miles aren't the only distance. There's also time.