On the barren stretches that separated our Arizona ranch from the historic gold-mining towns of Tombstone, Gleeson and Bisbee, teepee-like ant hills, eerie mirages, and devil-winds spinning up dry river beds created an alien dimension to life . . . add to that the dust filled air, cactuses, mesquite, and a world in shades of gray. Now, come walk with me, and listen to the voices and heartbeats of all God's creatures that lived and loved and brightened our world each day. Christopher Willcox, Editor-in-Chief of Reader's Digest reviews, "Penny Porter has made more people laugh and cry with her...

On the northwest corner of our desert ranch where dust devils dance and yucca bells chime, a crumbling adobe ruin bakes like a muffin in the searing Arizona sun. Its mud-brick walls are split and scarred by time. Chunks of mortar and shards of purple glass skirt the old foundation, and the weather-beaten door sags like a broken jaw, creaking and groaning on rusted hinges in dismal harmony with tattered wires and a dented stovepipe that clatter like castanets across the corrugated metal roof. Who could ever live here? I wondered. Then, I found out. Philip Osborne: Assistant Managing Editor of...