When I passed through Dusty, Washington, earlier this month I wanted two things: an omelette at the cafe and a CD by Wylie Gustafson, who yodels beautifully and lives just down the road. I’d eaten at the quaint little restaurant before and remembered good food served with real friendliness, and I had similar feelings for Wylie and The Wild West, who I first heard perform at a Montana rodeo. I had to settle for music, this time, as the cafe’s chairs are turned up on the tables in the darkened room. CLOSED and FOR SALE signs advertise the obvious in the windows, and dusty is again an ironic adjective.


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