When doing field work, I'd often come upon the ruins of a cabin next to a hardscrabble mine far from any hint of a road. The roof is long gone, the walls barely there, a cast iron stove sitting amidst the ruins, defiant against the elements.

I think about the people that lived there, a hundred years ago, out in the desert or up on the high passes and how they spent their days. Or their nights, far from family, deciding how much candlelight could be afforded for comfort while penning a letter to loved ones that would not be read for months, if ever.

We are lucky to have this and other internet interfaces to communicate and be less alone. Imagine having the pandemic and no internet? Our grandparents did that.