Kestrel Keller

1 week ago | thewestrn.com | Kestrel Keller

If you’ve been wondering when it’s bad enough to matter, I’m telling you that we’re there now. The current Republican budget requires disposing of 3.3 million acres of Bureau of Land Management and U.S. Forest Service land over the next five years — that is, if it passes the Senate. The Senate Committee on Energy and Natural Resources amendment also qualifies nearly 300 million acres of public land in 11 Western states for sale to private parties.

3 weeks ago | thewestrn.com | Nicole Qualtieri |Kestrel Keller

Howdy folks,It’s June, which means in a few short weeks, the evening light begins to leave as summer takes hold of the country. I’ve always been a summer sorta girl. I love the strange tan lines of adventure, grown dark while running wild through hills, drinking cold beer on rivers, kicking my feet up and floating the day away on a lake.

1 month ago | thewestrn.com | Kestrel Keller

It’s a record cold winter in western Maryland. My mom, dad and I squeeze into the orange Ford pickup truck with the scratchy seat covers that smell like sweat and bar oil. We follow narrow roads to see if water is still running at a dam on the Potomac River. Jammed ice sheets look like monstrous, powerful teeth to my 10-year-old eyes. I snap photos with my little red film camera. After we get home, Mom wants to take me to town to buy ice skates.

1 month ago | thewestrn.com | Nicole Qualtieri |Kestrel Keller

Howdy folks,Green up is finally starting in the sagebrush country of Montana. I sometimes catch meadowlarks singing through the thick wind that threatens to blow my little house away. My horses are shedding their winter coats, and we’re still vacillating between snow and rain. Life is in transition. It’s a welcome time, and yet it’s also an itchy time. I pulled the first fat tick from the nape of my dog’s neck.

Feb 10, 2025 | thewestrn.com | Kestrel Keller

It’s 11 p.m. and I hope the night clerk at the Sundowner Motel can’t see my rifle and bloody white bag from inside the lobby. I’m waiting in the shadows of a dim, yellow street light next to the wide main drag in Dillon, Montana. My partner comes out with a room key, and we realize we have to walk past the big office window to reach the outside staircase. Putting our hefty cargo between us, with L’s larger body blocking the window, we walk in lockstep without catching the clerk’s attention.