I was gonna be late if I couldn’t maneuver my way through the crowded farmers market. The last weekend of July, more than just scenic vistas and farm fresh produce drew people to our little Colorado mountain town. The title of champion local hot sauce maker was up for grabs. “Katie!” I heard my sister call my name, then caught a whiff of her patchouli perfume above the pungent odor of roasting chilis. “I’m on my way to the contest.” I jostled my way closer to the booth where she sold New Age hoodoo, not intending to stop. “I’m in

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