Galena House Audio.
Every Tuesday an essay, written and read by Avery and scored here in the house. On Sundays, The Sunday Room. And now The Keeper, a half hour made for television. Each one is a film as well as a voice, made for a quiet half hour, for one person at a time.

The Keeper, No. 1: Where Elias Goes to Write.
The first episode of The Keeper: a half hour about the things we almost lose, and why they are worth keeping.
The films play on Apple Podcasts and YouTube, and at audio.galena.house.
One hand. One house.
Galena House began in 2023 as something internal, and now it has doors. It is a small press, an audio studio, a magazine, and a room built for reading, and everything in it is written, set, read aloud and sent by the same person.
It has a home now, too: one room upstairs in Dillon, where the writing and the recording get done, with a sliver of the lake in the window.
Come look through.
The voice.
Essays read aloud and scored in the house, every week, with a film beside each one.
Listen →The half hour.
A writer and keeper looking for the things we almost lose, and telling the stories that make them worth keeping. No. 1 is here.
Watch No. 1 →The press.
A small press in Dillon. It publishes very few books, slowly, and takes its letters by post.
galenahousepublishing.com →Essays on the mountains.
The lake, the passes, the towns at nine thousand feet, and what it is to live among them.
Read the Journal →The magazine.
Essays, images, and quiet dispatches from the house. New editions arrive when they are ready, never on a schedule.
Read it →The reading room.
Read the house's books in a room built to hold them. When a copy becomes yours, one word in every chapter turns gold, for you alone.
See the room →From the desk.
The essays the podcast reads aloud, on the page, and the Journal of the places around the house. Set by Galena House Publishing.
- The Hour Lake Dillon Turns to GlassBefore the wind comes up the valley, the reservoir goes still enough to hold the mountains twice.
- Boreas Pass, Where the Railroad Became a RoadWalk it, or drive it slowly, and you are moving at the pace of another century.
The same narrator, translated.
A caretaker, a mountain town, and the slow architecture of coming back to yourself. In hardcover, paperback, ebook, and an audiobook he reads himself.
A man who has spent his whole life making strangers feel at home, and has never once let himself be one, learns, slowly, how to be seen. The companion to the first book: finished, seeking representation, and with no date on it, because this house does not make promises it cannot keep.
The house answers its letters.
It always has. Leave your address and I will write when there is something worth sending. Not often.
Leave an address