All desert and mountain country is fine country. I like dirt, dust and wide sky over spare landscape. I like the bones of the world showing, as immutable as granite or gritty sandstone and not covered over by too much. Water drains away quickly and is not taken for granted. There usually isn't enough of it. When you find yourself in the surprise of lush green, it's a gift. Fine country - at least in my definition - still has some danger in it. You can get into trouble, and have to come to terms with that, which surprisingly, isn't difficult.
After having been gone too long, having once again returned, I like most of all to take in a full measure of breath, lungs full of thin air. I think I'm trying to regain pieces of myself, trying to take in all of my history, everything I've missed. All that I am or would like to think I am, I am indeed once again, if only while I visit.
I miss where I grew up most of the time, because I don't get back much. But I've started drawing my heartland and it helps. I'm almost there again, in places that shape my thoughts and haunt dreams. It's hard to draw country carried that deep, especially when I'm away, but it's not a lot easier when I'm there. I know too much, or feel too much, and every picture falls short. But I have managed echoes and moments, and maybe sometimes more. It's promising.