It always has. Ward has held out really well. Below him, on the eerily deserted main street, a long line of junk cars welcomes the very occasional, probably lost or passing through, motorist. A bearded, tattooed man with no shirt, and a large knife hanging from his holster, works on the town water main that has been frozen for weeks. Packs of stray dogs roam freely.
Smoke billows from chimneys.
There is something really healthy about that. Thirty years after wandering hippies brought the nearly abandoned mining town back to life, Ward retains its reputation as the county's black sheep, the rebel stepchild, the unBoulder. Back then there were only 45 residents, up from seven in the late '60s. Three decades later, they still heat with wood and tramp through the snow to use the outhouse. They haven't seen a key to their front door in years.