April 28, 2024

Spring Break’s End

Sunday morning was here, and it was the last day of our spring break time off. Tomorrow, my wife would leave town for her next rotation, and I would go back to work. While sipping hot coffee outside, we noted how cool it felt and that the humidity was gathering in the air, forming condensation on all the patio furniture.

We got dressed and headed to Wilson for breakfast. The restaurant was busy and I couldn’t decide whether I liked all the background noise from the surrounding people. Years ago, I craved this environment while writing at coffee shops. Although I always wore headphones, I liked to be in a sea of people as I wrote. These days, I preferred to write alone while at my house. I hardly ever visited coffee shops anymore, and wouldn’t visit one to write.

Our breakfast conversation was upbeat, but my wife and I definitely felt the pull of going back to school and work. That wasn’t cause for sadness as much as it made us a little more serious, less in the mindset of relaxing, and more focused on what we had to do. After breakfast, we stopped at a new gas station in Wilson called Royal Farms. The gas pumps were fast, although they didn’t stop pushing fuel once our tank was full, spilling gas onto the car and over the edge of the rear quarter panel. The inside of the gas station was nice, and they had wonderfully organized all the drinks and snacks. They served fried chicken and other foods, but basically carried the same products as any other gas station.

When we arrived at Lake Wilson, the weather was sunny and warm, although it did not feel hot. Strong breezes came and went, cooling us off during the two-mile walk. Just south of the bridge, we spotted a blue heron and two other waterfowl. From a distance, it was hard to gauge their size, but they looked similar to the blue heron, only they were a dark brownish color. I noted the blue heron was gazing at them both. When we arrived on the bridge, we caught a better look. The two darker birds were baby herons, probably the blue heron’s chicks. It appeared they were learning how to wade and hunt in the low water.

The rest of the walk produced additional treats. There was another blue heron hiding in tall grasses on the bank. A little further down, the mallard family we spotted earlier in the week was sitting on the bank next to the water. The mother extended her wings, displaying the brown, white, and blue feathers for us to see. Next to her, a pile of tiny ducklings napped in the sun. Later, we saw a group of four male mallards hanging out together on this lazy Sunday morning. The highlight of the walk was when we spotted tiny turtles sunny on a submerged tree branch that poked out of the water’s surface. The smallest of the turtles were no bigger than the leaves on the branch. It was incredible to see. They looked like miniature figurines and their instincts to sun at such a young age impressed me.

After our walk, we ran my wife’s SUV through the car wash and then headed home. I made some notes on my computer and then we threw some burgers on the grill and ate outside on the deck. After lunch, I fell asleep for a half hour on the couch, and when I woke up, I made a cup of coffee and sat down to write while my wife practiced on the piano.

Later in the afternoon, we carried food into the forest. There were apples, ears of corn, and other healthy snacks. My wife helped me as I stopped at each trail camera to replace its batteries and SD card. We moved one camera to a new trail area we recently cleared and set up some food near an old broken shovel left abandoned on the forest floor near a cluster of large cedars. I hoped the cameras would catch videos of new fawns or baby foxes.

We cooled off on the hammock in the pasture, sharing it, our heads on opposite ends. My wife eagerly anticipated her next month of school, a rotation in OB-GYN. We knew she loved working in this field and although we would be apart during the weekdays; we were looking forward to getting through this last testable rotation. She had two more rotations she selected as electives, but after this month, she had a few months to focus on final exams and the national certification test. We were in an excellent position and we knew it.

While my wife was talking, I picked up my phone, googling Pino’s Pizza to see if they were open. I told my wife I was going to make an order, and she told me she was about to ask if I wanted to pick up some Pino’s. We loved these little quirks that came with long-term relationships. After many years of being together, our minds were melding while retaining a healthy sense of independence.

We made the quick drive into Wilson, picked up the pizza, and came home and ate in on the deck. It was a beautiful evening as our time off work came to a close. We needed the time off and appreciated that we could spend time together. But we were ready to get back to business. We agreed to meet back on the deck on Friday evening. I held her extra close throughout the night.

April 27, 2024

Contagious Emotions

I woke up with sore muscles from working out on the trails. The morning sky was cloudy, and all the patio furniture was wet with dew. We still took our coffees outside, standing at the deck’s railing, looking out into the forest. Deep in the woodland, I heard the faint chatter of several songbirds. By the time I finished my coffee, the birds in the backyard had also awakened.

After morning chores and a writing session, my wife and I packed up to go to Lake Wilson. On the way, we stopped by Armando’s pizzeria and picked up a medium pepperoni pizza, cheese bread, and two drinks, hauling them with us to the lake. The owner of the restaurant seemed frenzied, almost panicked after receiving a large order over the phone. He kept running around in circles, starting, but not finishing tasks. His frazzled demeanor made us feel awkward. Once our pizza was ready, we were more than ready to get out of the place.

When we arrived at Lake Wilson, it was relatively quiet. A few people were fishing from the main pier, so we carried our food to a nearby picnic table and ate. The pizza was excellent, so good in fact, that we decided the owner was doing alright. The pizza seemed to redeem the stressful environment he created. We had no idea that negative emotions would overshadow the day, and the pizzeria would be a piece of cake compared to what was about to happen.

After we finished eating, we threw away our trash and grabbed our rods and reels out of my SUV. Then we walked to an area on the west side of the lake to do a little fishing. A large patch of grass had grown underwater on this side of the lake, so every time we reeled in our line, we had to remove grasses from the hook and crimped weights. This got old pretty quickly. My wife saw the main dock next to the boat ramp had cleared, so we grabbed our things and headed that way.

We found a nice place on the wooden dock and resumed fishing. Another man was there, and we later found out he was from Sherman, Texas, and had lived in Wichita Falls and El Paso, too. It was always nice to run into a fellow Texan. When we were about ten minutes into fishing, a truck pulled up, backing an old boat down the ramp about ten feet away. I thought nothing of it, but then I heard a man yelling at someone. He said, “Why do you have to be such a goddamned bitch? You always make everything so difficult.” I felt bad the man was yelling this at his wife, who was backing the truck up, but my wife later told me the man was not talking to his wife. He was talking to his daughter, who was about seven or eight years old. She also told me the father, who was about six and a half feet tall and weighed at least three hundred pounds, had shoved his little boy, who was barely older than his sister.

The family had a rambunctious chocolate Labrador retriever who was dragging around the mother. They spilled the dog into the boat and then the man was off and gone. The wife told us he was testing out the boat because it had stalled on him during a recent trip to a different lake. She tried to make everything seem like it was normal, but the family’s behavior was so awkward that everyone hoped the man’s boat would stall, preferably at the bottom of the lake. The man returned, and they loaded up the boat and were gone, but they left everyone on the dock feeling angry. I remembered in that moment how much I hated shitty people.

We began talking to the man on the pier and kept fishing. I caught eight or nine bluegills while my wife sat with her fishing pole, not really trying to catch anything. She spotted a snake in the water and went to inspect it. I followed, wanting to grab a photograph. It was a venomous cottonmouth with its head poking out of the water. The top half of the snake’s body was visible, but the rest of it disappeared into the murk. We stared at each other for a bit and then it shot under the water and grasses about a foot off the bank. I made a note not to dangle my feet over the dock. When my wife spotted the snake, it was about to make its way from the water up one of the dock’s pillars. This was the first snake we saw for the new spring season.

The temperature had warmed, and we were getting hot, so we packed up our gear, headed to the truck, and then drove to Culver’s, cooling off with some ice cream. Before heading home, we made a quick stop at Harris Teeter to pick up some new beers. There was Juicy Rapids Hazy IPA by Deep River Brewing Company in Clayton, North Carolina. And from Southern Pines Brewing Company in Southern Pines, North Carolina, we bought their Man Of Law American IPA and Duck Hook Blonde Ale. We arrived home tired from the eventful morning.

My wife suggested I take a quick nap, so I headed out into the pasture where we had a hammock set up under some pines. I got into the hammock and dozed off for about an hour, sleeping better than I had in several years. There was something about being out in the open, hearing the wind blow through the trees and the birds sing, feeling the cool breeze and warmth of the sun. And the feeling of swaying while being suspended put me in a mental state that allowed me to drop away. When I woke up, I understood why my wife came to this place to nap.

I walked through the pasture back to the house and made a cup of coffee to wake up. After, I took a shower and put on a tee shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, and met my wife on the deck for an amazing salad for dinner. We made a fire, and sat outside talking about how great our time off had been, and about the upcoming week. Even though we still had one more day off, we understood Sunday would be a day of preparation for my wife’s trip away from home and my return to work. I stayed out a little longer by the fire while my wife took a hot bath. After, she went to bed while I took a quick shower to rinse off the smell of smoke.

Before falling asleep, I thought about our experience of witnessing an abusive father manhandle his family. In a perfect world, most people would envision helping the wife, saving the kids, and punishing the father, all while keeping out of harm’s way. The reality of the situation was different, however. There were no guarantees of safety, so the first choice we had to make was whether to risk our own security in order to fix other people’s problems. My wife’s safety took priority over any of those people, so I stayed disengaged from the situation. This kept my family and me safe, which achieved our goal. But seeing how the family functioned left me with a feeling of injustice. My wife and I talked about the situation while sitting by the fire, and we recognized how negative emotions were contagious and how life was not always fair. Some times, being human with other humans was hard.

April 25, 2024

Trail Blazers

The morning started with a cup of coffee. After, we got dressed and headed to the car. We were going to Lake Wilson for a morning walk, something we loved to do anytime we had the opportunity. I slept well and felt rested, and I was in good spirits as we pulled off the property onto the main road. In the middle of the street, a deer was trying to get off the road, but its hooves had no traction on the slick concrete. I slowed down and gave it time to find its footing and it crossed into the woods.

At the lake, the weather was clear, and the sky was blue with small, puffy cumulus clouds that looked like cotton balls. There was no wind, and the lake was like a large piece of smooth glass with wispy smoke rising from the water. Every morning at Lake Wilson was beautiful, but conditions like today made the place look sublime.

We saw two beavers dive, leaving a long wake on the surface of the water as they swam beneath. In front of us, Bella and Houdini walked their humans around trails. We caught up with them and stopped to say hello. All dogs and humans were in a good mood. There were two herons out this morning, one standing against the bank, almost out of sight, and the other just south of the bridge. This heron was larger and wading in the water, looking for breakfast. The still waters reflected the long wooden bridge, and all the greenery of the trees and shrubs, which were now lush and full.

About halfway around the loop, we ran into Callie, a large golden retriever, and her human. We talked for a minute or two about the pleasant conditions, highlighting the mirrored water and fog. He told us about last summer when the water had plummeted to record low levels. He said everything looked strange, like the surface of the moon with deer walking around the terrain where the water once stood. From the bridge, we saw a lone cormorant swim and then dive underwater. There were also two turtles perched on a log, waiting for the sun. By the time we finished the two-mile loop, we were both hungry.

Breakfast at the Cracker Barrel was delicious, as always. Since we were already in Wilson, we drove to Lidl, where we did some grocery shopping for the next few days. When we went to pay, I realized my wallet was in the car, inside my small sling back that carried my point and shoot Ricoh GRIIIx camera. My wife used her card to pay for the groceries and the female cashier quipped, “Ya’’ll men need to stop leaving your wallets at home!”. We all laughed, but I had just dodged a $165 grocery bill. Who’s laughing now? I mean, all the money still came from the same place, but I counted it as a win.

When we arrived home, I was sleepy from breakfast so I took a quick half hour nap. My wife went outside and mowed a section of the yard, which completed the entire front yard and pasture. The property looked well maintained. While having a snack together, we moved to study and write under the pergola, sitting together on the outdoor sofa. I broke off to make a few phone calls. One for a follow-up dental appointment and another to request the extermination service come and remove something dead from underneath the house. Three weeks ago, they placed poison in the crawlspace and this week; a foul smell was coming into the house near the washer and dryer.

My wife and I changed clothes, put on our work boots and gloves, grabbed a rake and sheers, and headed out the door to work on the trails. Today, we wanted to work on the west side of the property. We started with that area first, as it had an old trail that nobody had cleaned in years. We spent over an hour raking and snipping. When we had extended the trail halfway to the house, we walked back to our front yard and started clearing a new trail that would connect to the old trail we had just finished. This part of the property had no paths and required us to cut trees, vines, and briars while we navigated through the forest, choosing the path of least resistance.

The area near the house was beautiful and looked unique. It was full of large cedar trees and rocks and logs covered in bright green mosses. The entrance to the new trailhead was a secret path into the woods from the west side of the front yard. The trailhead was not visible unless you walked through a small hole hidden in the tree line. While blazing a new trail, we found an old telescope. We found it in the middle of the woods, with its tube dented and all the parts scattered around the area. I wondered how long it had been there. After another few hours of working, we stopped at three o’clock. I was exhausted.

We took a break on the back porch, drinking cold water and re-energizing with fresh strawberries and a fresh bag of Cheetos. The salty flavor was just what I needed. After catching my breath, cooling off, hydrating, and getting a little salt in my body, I came back to life. Clearing trails was hard work! We were so dirty, we both showered, even though we planned to be out by the fire later. I put on shorts, a tee shirt, and flip-flops. Then I sat down to sip an icy beer while my wife relaxed in the hammock.

She tried to get Kilo to jump into the hammock, and when she did, they both lost their balance. Kilo jumped off, leaving my wife to spill out on the floor. We laughed hard. She tried the same thing with Axel, who instinctively lied down and stayed still. We thought it was a success, but keeping Axel still for longer than a few seconds was an obstacle in itself. After ten seconds, he jumped out of the hammock and grabbed a piece of firewood to chew on. Koda jumped into the hammock with my wife like a pro. He had plenty of hammock experience with my wife back in Texas.

We made burgers on the Traeger and ate outdoors. After, we took a quick walk through the woods. From the edge of the pine grove, we spotted a deer feeding on the north side of the crop field. The wind was blowing in our favor, so it never detected us. Soon, we were all run out of the area by a large farm vehicle driving up and down the crop field at high speeds. I wasn’t sure what they were doing. We walked to Beaver Tooth Rock and then alongside the creek where my wife cast spells over the little fish, you know, the exact thing I did yesterday when she pronounced my weirdness.

When we arrived at the new trail, my wife turned to me and asked, “Shall we?” We walked up the new trail, finally connecting to the path that lead to the secret entrance outside our house. The forest in this area looked mysterious, and we were proud of our work. When we arrived home, I cut wood like a caveman and started a fire while my wife cleaned the kitchen. After, we sat outside talking, waiting for the stars to come out. She asked me to read this journal to her, and I read three entries from March, ending with the catching of her first fish. She went inside to clean up and I broke down the fire. After a shower, I slipped into bed, ready to recuperate from the day’s hard work.

April 22, 2024

Bella And The Great Houdini

The temperature was in the low forties when I awoke. After a cup of coffee, my wife and I bundled up and headed out to the truck. In the pasture's corner, near the tree line, stood a lone doe watching us. She stared as we got into the vehicle, remaining still as we drove off. As we headed down the dirt road, a cardinal shot out in front of us. A pair of rabbits stood lost in conversation and then sprinted off toward an enormous field when we got too close.

It was twilight, and the drive to Lake Wilson was beautiful. The sky was lit in a soft orange color, with a bright yellow halo forming where the sun would soon rise. The weather reports called for a cloudy start to the day, but the skies told us it would be clear and bright. When we arrived at the lake, we jumped out of the truck, hit our stop watches and headed south around the trail on the east side of the lake.

The water looked black and ominous as it flowed over the dam into the creek. The flowers were in bloom, and the wildlife was active. Several squirrels were awake, gathering their morning meal. We saw our first blue heron within minutes, seeing four of the large birds by the time our walk ended. At the southeast tip of the trail, a large hawk landed on a fencepost, perching as we neared it. It was a large red-tailed hawk with sharp eyes and talons. Raptors had an air about them. They always looked elegant, but fierce.

In the water by the bridge, three geese honked loudly, their cacophony sounding like a large flock. They were boisterous and kept flying at each other, skimming their webbed feet across the water like tiny water skis. On the lake’s west side, near an inlet that connected to a creek, a family of mallards neared the bank. The mother and father tended to five small ducklings, as they waddled into the water single file, swimming close to their mother. They patiently stayed about three feet away in the water until we passed by. I wasn’t sure if there were any birds cuter than a tiny duckling.

Near the end of the trail, we ran into three men and two dogs that we met when taking daily walks at the lake during the holiday season. Of course, we didn’t know the people’s names, but little Bella and large Houdini were dogs we loved to see. Bella, a small white poodle, was always excited, jumping on us with her featherweight body hidden by her curly hair, leaving small, sandy paw prints on my pants. Houdini was a large bulldog and waddled like his owner. His tail beat furiously in response to my wife’s high-pitched excitement. This morning, he sported a fancy orange harness that shaved a few years off his looks. It did not shave off any pounds.

By the time we arrived at the car, we were both hungry. My wife thought we didn’t have time to eat before I started work. I looked at my watch and completed the calculations, and then we drove to Cracker Barrel, where I enjoyed a small breakfast. The food came out super fast and although we took our time; I arrived home a half hour before I needed to jump in the shower. Today’s walk reminded me that Lake Wilson was a great way to start the day.

My wife left for Lowes to look for plants and washed and vacuumed my SUV. She also purchased a new air freshener that made the vehicle smell good. She returned with an assortment of small plants and flowers, all exquisite in their own right. Later, she arranged them in an old metal bucket that had been on the property for years. The arrangement looked so fancy and well designed. My wife always told me she was not creative, but that was not true. The flower arrangement now sat on our rear deck where we could see it while spending time outdoors.

As I worked in my office, my wife lied down in a hammock she set up in the pasture near the pines. There she rested, falling asleep. I brought her a blanket, and she napped for over an hour, which was really rare for her. I was happy she found a place where she could comfortably rest. Naps made the world go around. 

While walking back to the house, I looked in two holes in the ground, left by posts we removed last year. Each hole housed a black widow spider, one with a large white egg sack. The black spiders looked glossy, with their thin legs moving independently, giving the spiders a creepy appearance. My mind flashed back to my childhood, when I used to catch black widows and keep them in a jar. When my mother discovered I had kept the venomous monsters as pets, she was horrified. I told my wife about the spiders and asked her not to get rid of them until I photographed them.

During lunch break, we had a slice of chocolate chess pie and I made a cappuccino for my wife. She showed me our garden, where she planted the new plants we purchased yesterday. The garden sported a fire pit where I could attach a grill and hot plate to cook over a wood fire. I was excited we would spend time in this area. After working in the garden, my wife told me we were making burgers and having a fire tonight. Then she disappeared into her bathroom to take a shower. Suddenly, Monday felt like a weekend.

After work, I shut down my computer and headed into the kitchen where my wife was prepping dinner. I was excited because she made the best burgers, smashing small bits of garlic, spices, and cheese directly into the hamburger patties. She also prepared homemade sweet potato fries in the air fryer. I grabbed my work gloves, went outside, and started chopping wood for the fire. When I finished, I came into the house to get some water, admitting to my wife the stress relief and sheer satisfaction of cutting wood at full force. It felt spectacular.

I started a fire in the pit while my wife fired up the Traeger. We threw the patties onto the grill and sat outside, doing what we did best: relaxing and talking about our day, life, and solutions to all the world’s problems. When the burgers were done, we ate outside by the fire, staying warm as the outdoor air cooled. The burgers were mouthwatering, and we both contorted our faces, expressing our sheer delight with each delicious bite. 

When dinner was over, we threw more firewood in the pit and turned off the music. Listening to nature, we tried to identify different bird songs and the location of a woodpecker tapping on a tree. After soaking in the silence for half an hour, I grabbed the fire poker and broke down the remaining coals. It was time to go back inside the house. After feeding the dogs, my wife and I sat down at the dining room table to study and write. The normalcy of having her home, of being in the routines we carefully chose, of enjoying spring both individually and as a couple, was perfect.

April 19, 2024

Wild Thing

Happy Friday. I woke up early, excited that my wife would be home later today. Engrossed in my morning routine, I fed the dogs, did laundry, washed dishes, and vacuumed the house. I also grabbed my wife’s laundry and towels from her bathroom because I liked her to have everything clean when she arrived home. When I finished, I took a short walk into the woods.

My wife called me as I was walking out the front door. She was eating at a Cracker Barrel in Durham and I was happy she finally admitted how good their sausage tasted. After breakfast, she drove to her graduate program building and took a major exam. I gave her my normal exam advice, which included two steps. One: Read the question. Two: Choose the right answer. She always laughed, knowing that my advice was half joking, but neither of us could deny it was a winning strategy.

The forest was quiet, and I quipped that nature was not acting like it was Friday. Of course, today was just another day during earth’s billions of years of existence. Just because I was alive enjoying the day and giving it a valuation, didn’t mean it was actually more or less important that any other day. When I arrived home, I took a shower and started working.

The morning was busy and before I knew it, my wife texted me saying she was done with her exam, that it was really hard, and that she would be out of classes around 3:30 PM. She hoped to be home by five. We were both very excited. A few hours after lunch, my wife texted she was on her way. We used a phone app to track each other’s location for safety. This app lead to a habit of me sitting outside on the front stoop anytime she pulled up into the drive. We would wave and each other, smiling big, and I would ponder in amazement that this human being who was so cool somehow ended up being my wife. We were happy to see each other and embraced in a long, ecstatic hug. She always brought so much energy to our home. The dogs lost their shit when they realized mama was back.

A little before I finished work, my wife came to my office to tell me she received her exam results. She did very well, as always. Even though she made excellent grades, her graduate program was so demanding that before an exam, she never quite knew how she would fare. After twenty-one months of constant exams, however, I felt she probably had it all figured out. About ten minutes after I shut down my work computer, we left the house to go for a walk at the lake before eating dinner.

We arrived at Lake Wilson for the first time in a long while. Dressed in our street clothes and ready for dinner, we raced the two-mile loop just like we did every morning during the holiday break. When we exited our SUV, it was drizzling, but the rain soon ended. The temperature was balmy and the air humid. I thought the water level looked high for this time of year. We started the trail by walking on the east side that borders the lake and several homes. All along the trail, there were flowers of every color planted on both sides of the path. There were large and small flowers in white, pink, lavender, and yellow. The walk down the path was visually appealing and satisfying to our noses.

The water looked different to me. It was dark, with a slight greenish tint, possibly from the color cast by the surrounding vegetation. We stopped near the bank to inspect movements in the water. There was a school of small fish near the bank and their dorsal fins made the water’s surface bend and break. I hid behind a tree to watch them and when the fish stopped moving; I jumped out toward the bank, causing the fish to scatter while the water roiled with their movements.

When we arrived at the Lake Wilson Bridge, the water level looked lower that usual while fresh growth sprouted out in every direction. The entire area looked a deep green color, like a tropical jungle. Apparently, I was used to seeing the lake in its sparse winter attire, so this evening the place looked completely different. And speaking of jungles, the second mile of the trail was hot and full of pesky gnats that swarmed around our faces, sometimes sticking to my wet skin. I tried not to inhale them while periodically shooing the insects away, which had little to no effect. We both arrived back at the car hot and sweaty, so we blasted the air conditioning while driving to dinner. 

When we arrived at La Rancherita, I was still sweaty and hot, but once we sat down and I knocked back two glasses of unsweetened iced tea, I cooled back down. We ate our fill, enjoying the crazy music the restaurant played. When we heard one song we liked, my wife directed me to ask Siri for the name of the song. I asked Siri, and my iPhone started listening, then directed me to the song on Apple Music. Why did I not know about this feature on my phone?

When we arrived home and exited the car, the strong floral scent on the property hit us. We went inside the house, fed the dogs, and then played with each one of them. After, my wife took a bath while I followed up with a shower. It was good to have her home. After my shower, I sat down to think about our conversation we shared while walking around the lake. 

My wife was facing burnout from her schooling, and last week we talked about it. Not wanting to minimize the difficulty of her program, I talked to her about how hard and demanding the program had been. Then I told her we can face adversity with a defensive mindset, trying to survive, while we are obsessed with the high level of adversity, or we could meet the challenge with a type of positive aggression. This was not emotional aggression as a response to some stimulus. It was a resolute acceptance of the difficulty we faced, and a commitment to accept the challenge, ready to surmount the insurmountable. This was not an attitude of denial of the severity of the situation, but it was seeing it clearly and focusing all of one’s being on, not just being smart, but being tough. 

While walking around the lake, my wife told me the talked helped her get through the last week. She said she recognized she was feeling sorry for herself and that the conversation in her head was impeding her from taking the action she needed to take. We both acknowledged how self-pity was a dangerous attribute of being human and how, at the moment, it felt like the fair and just path to take, but it did nothing to resolve the problem. 

I remembered the famous quote by writer D. H. Lawrence. He wrote, “I never saw a wild thing feel sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.” Another lesson from nature. Bravo.

March 16, 2024

Serial Killers, Black Holes, and Stupid Apps

There was nothing quite like it, hearing your alarm go off in the morning, knowing it was Saturday. I silenced my watch and stayed in bed, snuggling my wife until the sun came up. When I took the dogs outside, the birds were making a ruckus. The morning was sunny and while I had the day off, nature was hustling and bustling, preparing for spring. My wife joined me outside and told me the maple tree in our backyard was forming leaves. I inspected it and saw the tiny buds were forming into baby leaves smaller than my pinky’s fingernail. On the top of the tree, where the maple touches the branch of an overhanging pine, three large red leaves grew.

After some morning coffee, we changed clothes and headed into Wilson to drop off a package at a shipping store, but the small business was closed. We proceeded to Lake Wilson for a morning walk along the trail that circled the water. The weather at the lake was warm and welcoming. The sky was bright, which made the water look appealing as it reflected the gray clouds and sporadic patches of blue sky. As we entered the trail and rounded the corner, I caught my first glimpse of the lake. It looked, to me, exactly like fall, full of vibrant colors with the blossoming trees in fiery reds, radiant oranges, glistering pinks, and glittering golds. It was hard to pay attention to the trail when the vista was constantly calling out to my eyes.

When we rounded the small inlet on the north side of the lake, the spell was broken as my wife spotted a pile of dead fish. There were sixteen six to eight-inch fish that looked like gizzard shad lying in a pile. There was no apparent trauma to the fish, but their numbers made the entire scene suspicious. As we continued along the trail that bordered the lake’s bank, we saw more and more rotting fish. For the entire two-mile loop, dead fish of the same size and type were floating near the bank, carried by the lake’s current. Yellow pine pollen floated in the water around the fish, making the scene even more dismal. What happened? We set out to formulate our best educated guesses.

At first, I thought a lighting strike hit a school of fish. Why else would it be one species of the same size? But once we realized the fish carcasses covered the entire lake, I had to shift to the theory that lightning struck the school while it swam in the middle of the lake. My wife suspected some illness, but wouldn’t that have affected other fish or wildlife? I felt unsure about the theory as I watched a pair of mallards swimming lazily through the dead fish, disinterested and unaffected. Probably multiple lightning strikes. Wait, did it even rain?

After much deliberation, we finally solved the mystery. It was obvious. There was a fish serial killer on the prowl, probably a Bundy Bream. A bream is a type of fish for you city folk out there. We rounded the last bend in the trail and spotted another dead fish with its tail eaten clean off, hard evidence of cannibalism. Scratch the Bundy Bream, we were dealing with a Dahmer. Oddly enough, I had never seen a dolphin in these waters. More proof that we were dealing with a highly intelligent, sophisticated, and calculating monster. I grabbed my phone to call the FBI, the Fish Bureau of Investigations. I couldn’t find the number. What up with that?

The last part of the trail featured the Lake Wilson Dam. We paused atop the noisy concrete wall, watching the lake seep over the edge into a rushing torrent on the other side of the dam. In the lake a fish’s corpse floated slowly toward the dam, and we wanted to see it fly out the other side. The fish moved slowly towards the black hole, being sucked in by its immense gravity. Once it passed the event horizon, things moved more quickly. We saw it approach the edge, so we turned and moved towards the opposite railing, holding our breaths. At first nothing happened, and then suddenly, the fish shot down the dam and disappeared into the foamy abyss. It was the highlight of our walk.

Famished, we headed straight to Cracker Barrel, where we planned a victory feast, for having both witnessed the inner workings of a black hole and solving the crime of the century. The last time we went to the restaurant, I signed up for their membership and downloaded their app, which, conveniently, included a way to get on the waitlist. This created a dilemma. When should we sign in? In an ideal scenario, we would get on the list at just the right time, so when we arrived, we could walk in and go straight to our table. We didn’t expect miracles, however, and we just wanted to cut down on the long wait times that were common at this time of day. Of course, we also didn’t want to be absent if our table was ready before we arrived.

We made calculations that put A Wonderful Mind to shame, finally deciding to join the waitlist through the app at a particular intersection. When we arrived at the corner where Firestone and Culvers sat, we made the leap. The app immediately signaled back that we were second in line and that they would seat us within five minutes. We were still ten minutes away. Ugh. We had used all our superpowers solving that damn fish crime and other science voodoo. When we arrived at the restaurant and went to the hostess, she immediately got on her stupid little headphone, telling someone “hey, they’re back”. What? Back from where? As we were being led to our table, I snickered and looked at my wife. Regarding the hostess’s comment, I wanted to say “I don’t want her pork chop, I want her life…”, but I wasn’t sure if my wife had seen the movie Blood In Blood Out. I still laughed out loud at my joke. 

My wife ate and was feeling better. The day was going great. On the way out of Cracker Barrel, we stopped by their shop because my wife wanted to get a card and a small gift for my mother. I purchased a vinyl sticker (are there any other kind?) for my wife with a drawing of a dog standing too close to a fire. The sticker said “this is fine”. I thought it was fitting for my wife’s daily experience in medical school. When she got home, she put the sticker on a small medical reference book she carried in her lab coat. I didn’t open it, but I was pretty sure the book was full of spells and witchy recipes.

The evening was lovely. We had a mouse situation that resulted in two blind mice, as dead mice can’t see. I was still searching for the third one, seeing how they run. I took a walk into the woods while my wife studied matters of the heart, not love stuff, but the actual organ that seems to have multiple ways of killing people. We grilled a ribeye on the Traeger for me and a beautiful cedar planked salmon fillet for her. My wife also made a delicious salad with kale she battered. Not as in frying, but actually hitting it repeatedly until it stopped resisting. My wife had to work the next day, but her brain kept her awake, so I read her the last three journal entries in bed while she giggled. It was time for sleep.

March 11, 2024

Fishing Buddy

I felt a little sick throughout the night. The dogs were restless and went through a few barking fits, waking me every few hours. They seemed to know when deer were in the pasture or when there was a rabbit in the backyard. During our first few weeks on the property, the dogs woke us regularly, rushing out the door to chase a rabbit in the yard. After we buried our fifth rabbit, we finally got wise to their deadly games.

In the morning, I sat down in my office and wrote for about 90 minutes. Since my wife had been working nights and sleeping later, I avoided going out into the woods in the morning. Anytime I left the house, the dogs would start up, first crying, then barking, and finally ending in a four-dog choir, howling like a pack of wild wolves. I was convinced that the wildlife in the area knew I was heading into the woods when they heard the howls.

Later, my wife woke up, made a cup of coffee, and went to the front yard to sit. I was waiting for work to start, so I went outside and sat with her. She had finished her round of evening shifts and was off school for the next two days. Although it was my Monday, today was her Saturday. 

While working, I thought about how to make her days feel a little more like the weekend and came up with a plan. I texted my boss and got approved to work a half day, both today and tomorrow. That would allow me to attend a few key meetings and stay caught up on projects. And it would give my wife and me the rest of the day and evening to do as we pleased. She was excited and thanked me several times, as she knew well that I rarely took time off work.

The afternoon started off with a trip to Señor Munchies, a food establishment in Wilson, housed in a festive neon pink building. They served amazing street tacos, filled with pork carnitas and served in small corn tortillas with cilantro, onion, and an amazing green salsa that was both flavorful and terrifically spicy. My wife ordered the carnitas quesadillas, and we shared a side of rice and beans. 

My wife recently asked me to take her fishing and this morning, while we sat outdoors under the warm sun, she proposed we go somewhere to fish. She even purchased a one year inland fishing license from the North Carolina Wildlife Commission. After lunch, we drove straight to Lake Wilson. Before we left the house, I let my wife know that the temperatures around the water were unpredictable. To our surprise, however, the weather at the lake was horrendously cold. We stoically grabbed our fishing gear out of the back of the SUV and walked to a sunny patch of grass alongside the bank.

I looked out to study the lake. The wind felt like it was blowing straight at us, but when I observed the water, there were ripples being torn in opposite directions perpendicular to the bank. The lake water cooled the air, making the wind feel frigid. Despite the conditions, my wife hung in there, learning how to use a spinning reel. She cast the line several times into the wind, landing the line a good thirty yards away. She was a natural. Viewing my wife’s face as she practiced casting, I saw she was shivering. One thing I learned about her early on was that she was tough. Boot camp and field medic training had put her through much worse conditions, meaning nothing we did as civilians intimidated her. That didn’t mean she was having fun, though.

If I had asked her to stay and fish, she would have. Or, if she was miserable, she would have gone to sit in the car and studied while I fished, but none of that was the point of our trip. Today, she learned to cast a line, and did it well. There was no reason to make her first fishing experience miserable or hard, so I called it and we grabbed our things and headed out of the lake. Spring was just around the corner and there would be better days to repeat this exercise.

Somewhere in my studies, I came across a relationship specialist who said a person should always guarantee their partner three things. The first was to make them feel physically comfortable. The second was to make them feel protected. And last, was to make sure they felt accepted for who they were. Paying attention to these three things, in my experience, helped set the foundation for a strong relationship.

We arrived home to a very unpleasant surprise. One dog got sick and had a bad bout of diarrhea inside the house. It was a mess, but my wife cleaned it all up. Usually, she handles any dog poop issues, while I handle any vomit. Long live the valiant tradition of rescuing dogs only to be ruled by them.

By late afternoon, the weather had warmed nicely, making our time at the lake feel like a completely different day. The green grasses were growing and getting long in the backyard, so my wife pulled the riding mower out of the shed and cut the backyard. She often told me about how mowing the yard was something she loved to do. She felt like it was relaxing and that there was little to no thinking involved, other than paying attention to the next line of cuts, which all kept her mind present.

There were two large bushes, one on each side of the rear deck we trimmed down last year, but their large stumps were still in place. I’m not sure how long the bushes were there, but the stumps were easily ten inches in diameter. My wife and I took turns chopping at one stump with an enormous axe that weighs as much as a sledgehammer. It was hard but satisfying work. Once I hit the stump, I wanted to hit it repeatedly. Of course, this sapped my energy and reminded me of the hard work that comes with spring and summer. Farm Fit, as we called it, was back. No need to go to the gym for a workout. Upkeep on the property was a harder workout than most people do at the health club. My wife makes fun of me for calling the gym a health club. Young whippersnapper.

By evening, we were ready to rest, so I cut some wood and my wife started a fire in the pit. We grilled teriyaki chicken wings on the Traeger while sitting outside listening to country music and sipping a cold beer. It was a satisfying end to her first day off. We both looked forward to a solid night’s sleep, so we could finally shake the recent schedule change. After showering, we both crawled into bed and fell fast asleep. 

February 19, 2024

It was a lazy and relaxed Monday morning. I was amazed at how different the day felt when I didn’t have to work. More proof, I thought to myself, that our mindset controls how we experience reality.

After some coffee, I put on warm clothes and grabbed my camera equipment. This morning, I drove to Lake Wilson to shoot photographs of the landscape and wildlife. Although the weather was cold, I had dressed for the occasion. Usually, I’m moving around the lake at a fast pace, but this morning, I sauntered, taking my time to examine the minor details of the scenes before me.

After shooting landscape photos for about an hour, I sat down on a small wooden bench to take a rest, placing my heavy backpack alongside me. The air was frosty, but the sun shone, warming my face as I closed my eyes and tilted my head toward it. Time off work felt good, but time at the lake was even better.

While sitting on the bench, a flock of Canadian geese approached, providing an airshow, their loud honks echoing off the bright water. They came in low, circled to face the wind and landed using their webbed feet like tiny waterskis, slowing them down until their bodies plopped into the water. Seeing a flock of geese land in the lake was always an impressive sight.

There was so much fresh growth everywhere. Tall pines surrounded the lake, some over a hundred feet tall. There were other trees, full of tiny red blossoms, flowers so small that from a distance, they looked like a faint red haze hovering around the tree. Bright green briars sprouted near the bridge and I had to work hard not to become entangled in them. I moved deliberately, carefully choosing each step. If you try to hurry, the thorns on the briars seem to reach out and grab you.

While staring at the water, I saw a large bass hit the surface to eat an insect that landed in the water. On the west side of the lake, I took pictures of seagulls that circled about as they dove into the water, emerging with freshwater clams clamped in their powerful beaks. Lastly, I stopped to shoot a heron who posed for a few minutes before taking flight. Despite the harsh lighting, it was a great feeling to be out shooting. The practice would serve me well when I could return for a sunrise or sunset.

After several hours at Lake Wilson, I packed up my camera gear, walked back to my vehicle, and headed straight to Cracker Barrel for breakfast. All the walking made me hungry, and hey, it was my day off. Apparently, I eat faster when there’s not a pretty lady sitting across from me to converse with. I was in and out of the restaurant in a flash.

When I arrived home, I spoke with my wife over FaceTime and then sat down to write for several hours while sipping coffee and listening to Hilary Hahn play Bach on her violin.

At last light, I walked into the woods. The sun, and temperature, were falling. On my way to the pine grove, I saw a herd of deer through the trees, standing in the middle of the field. They were all staring at me from about one hundred yards away. Their fur looked less gray as they were shedding their winter coats. As I approached the trailhead that turns north, the deer ran off into the opposite tree line.

I made my way towards the creek on the north end of the property, but I opted to take a detour west, circling around, hoping I would cut off the deer before they left the area. I made a stop at a trail camera and checked the footage. Last night, a pair of large raccoons were feeding in the area. Early this morning, a large doe, likely pregnant, crossed the creek in full view of the camera.

When I arrived at Beaver Tooth Rock, I sat still and watched the sunset. Although the trees blocked the horizon, I could see colors through the empty spaces between the branches. The forest was turning greener every day. While I normally faced the creek when I sat, today I turned in the opposite direction to see if the deer were coming towards me. The loud hound dogs north of me had not sounded, so I felt confident the deer had remained on my property. Were they headed in my direction, or had they turned south? I watched and waited in anticipation.

Staring into the woods, trying to pick up movement as it was growing dark, I kept hearing the sounds of wrens fluttering in the dried leaves behind me. The noises were sporadic and loud, sounding like a large animal approaching. I whipped my head around several times, only to see the small birds. Above me, a woodpecker thumped on a tree while a red-bellied bird I could not identify flew past me. A flock of geese traveled overhead, heading toward the reservoir for the evening.

Seeing no deer, I turned back toward the creek to watch the wrens. Several Eastern bluebirds were flying in and out of the trees. The creek flowed faster than usual and the sound of the water gurgling dominated the area. I left early, wanting to put out deer corn before it got dark.

I trekked back toward my house and when I moved from the woodland to the grove; I saw a lone deer standing near my blind. Near the empty lane of pines, seven deer crossed from left to right one by one. It was a lovely sight. The does looked healthy and I expect several new fawns in the coming months.

When I arrived home, vibrant colors lit the horizon. There were more deer standing in the pasture, and I went inside to grab my keys. The deer remained. I grabbed a bag of deer corn from the SUV and poured some out near the pasture. The deer ran off, but last week, they moved into the opposite tree line before returning to feed. I took the rest of the corn to the grove and dumped small piles near my blind. Tonight, the animals would eat well; we all would.

I grabbed a few logs and split them into kindling. When cutting wood, small pieces splinter off during the process. I picked up the small pieces and threw them on the pile of kindling. They rang out, sounding like a wooden wind chime. I spent the rest of the evening sitting by the fire, editing three writing pieces. I wondered, was this the life of a writer?

February 18, 2024

Sunday morning began with coffee and homemade waffles. After, we changed clothes, preparing for a walk outside. This morning, we had two goals: walk the trails at Lake Wilson for some exercise and eat an amazing lunch at our favorite Mexican restaurant in Wilson, La Rancherita.

The colors at Lake Wilson mirrored the flora I saw yesterday at the Buckhorn Reservoir. With hints of reds, yellows, and greens taking over the monotone landscape, the place looked fresh. I would be off work on the following day for President’s Day, and I decided I would return in the morning with my camera.

Our walk was pleasant, although we were both starving. At the lake, we saw the usual suspects: two blue herons, mallards, cormorants, and a flock of Canadian geese.. The sun was bright, but the wind was still frigid. We walked and talked about how after one more week, my wife would be home for two months. We were excited about the prospect of a somewhat normal life. Regular walks at the lake would resume.

Lunch at La Rancherita was phenomenal, as always. I stuck to my staple Lime Carne Asada while my wife tried the Torta Con Birria. She was a little apprehensive about trying a sandwich that came with fries at a Mexican restaurant, but when I saw her face upon taking her first bite, I knew the sandwich was a winner. It was one of the best restaurant dishes we had ever tasted. Even the fries were amazing, especially after dipping them in the melted cheese. Lunch was a success.

After eating, we stopped by Lidl to grab some groceries and I filled my wife’s SUV up with gas to prepare for her trip. We took a brief rest at the house, and before I knew it, it was time for my wife to pack up and leave for the week. She would only be gone for a few days, but goodbyes with this woman were never easy. Our bond is strong and we hate being apart. Despite our despondent emotions, we both felt lucky to have spent a really amazing weekend together. We took the few hours we had and made the most of them. Onward and forward.

I always need a little time to get centered after my wife leaves. I took a hot shower and spent time with the dogs. After, I grabbed my camera and headed into the woods. During the week, I’m usually on a tight schedule, so I don’t get to spend as much time as I would like in the forest. Today, however, was different. I wasn’t sure if I was going to walk for ten minutes or two hours, but it didn’t really matter. I just took my time, meandering through the trees, stopping to take photographs of anything I found interesting.

I thought about all the videos I had watched about photography, and how they struck me as cheap information. While some photography channels offer tidbits of advice that will help propel your photography practice, people who like to hear themselves talk created most of the content. They seem to be more interested in their ideas than in what is effective. It was hard to tell the good information from the worthless information, as it all sounded the same to me.

I’ve read a lot of Emerson and Thoreau over the past year, and their ideas of self-reliance and breaking from conformity have seeded in my mind and taken root. While I enjoyed hearing new information about photography, these videos always make me want to buy new products instead of going out and using the tools I already have. Walking through the forest, I realized the more I listened to other people, the more they formed my paradigm about what photography was. This meant I was relying on the ideas of others instead of going out and exploring my own thoughts. Throughout my life, I have learned that I expect much more than the status quo. So, why was I allowing random people to define my worldview? They weren’t all experts.

When I arrived back at the house, I had a snack before cutting firewood. A little before dark, I started a fire and sat outside, looking up at the sky. The evening offered its own surprise, rewarding those who were outdoors with a spectacular sunset. Not all sunsets were created equal, and every so often, you witness one that stands out from the rest. Tonight was one of those evenings. Despite the overcast day, the sunset transformed the sky into a bright orange hue, resembling the color of the fire burning in front of me. The whole yard was lit up with a bright orange color cast. The trees on the edge of the property became black silhouettes backlit by the sun’s flames. I sent a picture to my wife.

I didn’t have to work the next day, so the night felt easy. I stayed outside for a few hours and then showered, fed the dogs, and wrote. On the following day, I planned to shoot pictures at Lake Wilson. I put the dogs to bed and fell asleep immediately. Mondays come quick, even when you don’t have to work.

February 13, 2024

I woke up three minutes before my alarm went off at 3:57 AM. After some coffee and time with the dogs, I sat down to write for an hour. This morning, I would go to walk on the trail at Lake Wilson. I checked the weather. It was dark, windy, and cold.

The conditions at the lake are always unpredictable. When I arrived, the wind was considerably stronger. I was happy I took a face gaiter, as suggested by my wife. Good call. It was extremely dark, but twilight would arrive in about an hour. In the meantime, I would walk by the light of my Petzl headlamp, a small purchase that gave me the ability to walk when the sun was down. As I closed the door to my SUV, I took a deep breath. I felt elated to be at the lake.

I saw a bright flash of light coming from behind the lake's bridge on the horizon, on the southeast corner of the trail. What was it? A few minutes later, it happened again. It was lightning, far off in the distance. I thought to myself, “I’m happy that storm is far away”.

It’s always a little peculiar walking the trails before light. The narrow field of view illuminated by a headlamp left most of the environment unseen. What lurked in those dark places? About halfway into my walk, sporadic drops of water fell from the sky. The next few seconds were a blur, but I remember looking to my right into the tree line. Fifteen feet away, two large glowing eyes were staring back at me. The glow meant this was not a human, but the eyes were far enough apart to be something large. Was it a deer? A coyote? I strode past, turning every few steps to make sure nothing followed me. While this was happening, the sky opened up, and as if someone opened up a hydrant, the rain fell in a torrential downpour.

The wind blew so hard that it was “raining sideways”. IFKYK. The mixture of air and water dropped the temperature, and I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my head. I hadn't dress appropriately for this type of weather. I made my way across the bridge as water dumped in every direction. Blowing drops of rain pelted my face, stinging from the force of the frigid wind. The bright light of my headlamp made the rain look like lasers flying in every direction, its white reflection making it difficult to see.

Within a few minutes, I was completely drenched. I felt the cold water soak through all three layers of my clothes and my shoes, made of Gore-Tex, that usually kept the water off my feet, filled with water. The experience was exhilarating. At one point, I stopped to shoot a quick video, hoping the rain wouldn’t damage my cell phone. Later, I sent it to my wife, and we had a good laugh. I don’t know why, but these types of situations always make for the best experiences. Being out of my normal routine thrilled me. Everything was new and exciting.

The storm came out of nowhere and when I arrived home, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The bright orangish-yellow sun was peeking above the tree line, shooting gold beams through the grove. As soon as I parked, I made my way through the pines to see the sunrise and take it all in. Soaked and cold, I felt the sun’s radiant heat warming my face. It was a perfect sunrise on a perfect morning.

I went inside the house and peeled off my wet clothes. My feet felt warm the whole time I was out, so I was surprised to discover that my socks were still wet. I made a quick note to always hike with wool socks. The socks I wore were rain soaked, but still retained heat. I threw them into the hamper and jumped into a steamy shower. The hot water on my stiff body felt like needles poking my skin. It hurt and felt good all at the same time. By the end of the shower, I was warm and ready for the day. Work was busy, but uneventful.

In the evening, I went into the woods at last light, walking to Beaver Tooth Rock with a small folding stool. There, I sat on the rock to watch the sun’s light fade into darkness. What was this daily ritual that I called “last light”? Why was I drawn into the woods just before day’s end? Honestly, I didn’t know the answer to this question.

Perhaps this was my commute home. A way to break from the workday and let its grip on my brain release before moving on with the rest of the evening. Maybe it was a love and reverence for nature. A way to say goodnight, a type of acknowledgement that each day was not just a part of a cycle. It was unique; happening once and never again. Maybe it was the end of a daily practice, a marker to examine what I had done and think about what I would do differently the next day.

Whether daily commute or daily communication with nature, being outdoors helped me break away from what was indoors. By definition, being indoors means you are surrounded by walls. Somewhere in human history, shelter, designed to protect us, became a small world where we stayed. At some point, the fortress that separated us from the outdoors became a type of prison that separated us from our freedom. I felt a sense of liberty in the woods that I do not feel in the comfort of my home. Sometimes convenience is the warm lobster pot heating to a boil.

I suspect my ritual involves elements of all these different things. One of the most prominent feelings I have, however, is that nature sits outside of human constructs. Indoors there is safety, warmth, and food to eat. But there is also culture, news, informational overload, ideas about what is important, who is important, and what we should do and who we should be in our lives. While some information is useful, we all know that most of the information in our day and age is junk mail. But this rubbish, promoted by the consensus reality, defines our role in life. But what happens when we step out of Plato’s cave and see life without fabricated conceptualizations?

For me, being connected to society brings good things. But with those things comes everything else. It comes with the ideas of the masses that are, by definition, unenlightened, and based on the ignorance of the majority. This is leadership by mediocrity. In nature, none of that bullshit exists. It is not there, because humans made up those things in order to fool others, and ourselves. We like to believe we can control the uncontrollable. Many people consider nature primitive, but it holds a foundational truth. It created us, not the other way around. Without these human ideas, there is only emptiness. And with that open space comes clarity and the presentation and acceptance of what is. Nature is our native tongue. I have realized that I have to leave my house in order to go home; that going outside is a portal to what lies within.

On the way home, I stopped to check a trail camera positioned facing the creek. Last night, a large bobcat gracefully jumped across the water with ease. I’ll pull the SD card tomorrow and inspect the wild beast. It was time to get back to the house, back into my cage. There, I quipped, lies food, warmth, and protection; for the mere price of civility, conformity, and complicity.

February 4, 2024

In the morning, we woke up feeling refreshed and ready for the day. My wife jumped in the shower while I prepared some laundry and cleaned the kitchen. She must have had an epiphany in the shower, because when she got out, she asked, “Do you want to go get breakfast?” Yup. The dynamic duo was back in full force.

The Cracker Barrel, normally hopping on Sundays, was pleasantly quiet. The fireplace was full of burning logs and embers. Breakfast was a feast. There were stacks of freshly buttered pancakes with maple syrup, thick cut bacon, and eggs smothered in tabasco sauce. I drank more coffee while my wife opted for a hot chocolate, complete with chocolate whipped cream. Work hard; play hard.

After eating, we went straight to Lake Wilson for some exercise. The lake was quiet, too. Where were all the people? As usual, the scenery was beautiful. There were several mallards and a large flock of Canadian geese. We also spotted a blue heron and one lone cormorant. The waterfowl seemed relaxed, as if they knew it was Sunday. Most of my walks, lately, have either been in the dark or at sunrise, when the temperatures are uncomfortably cold. It was nice to be at the lake when the sun was out. Even though the wind was cold, I could feel the sun’s heat radiating.

After our walk, we stopped by a local grocery story to stock up on groceries for the week. We sorted everything out when we arrived home and packed my wife’s car for the trip. Before we knew it, and before we were ready, it was time for her to leave. The goodbyes were tougher than we expected, but we knew we had stolen some time together from our scheduled month apart.

I needed a little time to settle after she left, so I picked up the guitar for a while before sitting at my desk to work on a writing project. When I looked up from my desk, I peered outside of the window and saw it was a beautiful day. I changed clothes, grabbed my camera and harness, and headed into the woods. I climbed up into a tree stand in the central area of the property and sat quietly, hoping to see some wildlife.

It was a quiet day in the tree stand, but hey, I was in a tree stand out in the middle of the woods. Doing this was kind of like going fishing. Sometimes, the fish aren’t biting, but you’re still out of the house and on the water. This is the real reason most people fish and hunt (or take photographs). We just want to be in the environment that makes us happy. After an hour, a lone woodpecker landed in a tree about thirty yards from my position. I shot a couple of photos, but they were nothing spectacular. Still, I enjoy watching these little birds. Seeing red in nature always feel special, whether its a woodpecker’s head, cardinal, or Japanese maple in fall.

The evening on the stand was just what the doctor ordered. Spending time in nature allowed me to snap back into my routine of living alone. Everything was going to be okay. And by okay, I meant I was going to miss my wife, but I was going to do it in style. After the second hour on the stand, I climbed down and hiked back to the house. I was going to build a fire.

I split three logs into kindling and lit them. It rained a few days ago, and some of the wood was still wet. While the flame in the fire pit did not go out, the wood was having trouble igniting. I stacked everything neatly, placing multiple pieces of small wood in the flame's path while making sure there was adequate airflow. After a few minutes, it was clear the wood was wet, so I exited the back gate and found three long, but skinny, pine branches. Because the limbs were thin, they had completely dried. Small skinny branches burn fast and hot. When you’re starting a fire, the primary goal is to produce hot coals, something small sticks do quickly. Once you have enough hot coals in a pit, the temperature becomes so hot that a large log will quickly ignite, even if it was wet when you threw it in.

The temperature was dropping, but the fire was plenty warm, keeping me outside for hours. As the sky darkened, I opted to make a couple of hotdogs right there on the fire pit, eating them outside while sipping a cold beer and listening to music. I also cooked a few hotdog wieners to add to the dog’s dinner. It was a good night. Not perfect; but as good as things can be when your partner is gone.

I let the fire pit burn down, fed the dogs, and then washed the smoke off me in a hot shower. The weekend was over and it was time to begin a new week. I had a big presentation in the morning, so I would have an early start. But first, that pesky thing called sleep.

February 2, 2024

The alarm went off at 4AM. I popped out of bed, brushed my teeth, and made an espresso. This morning, I planned to do a one hour writing session before heading to the trails for a four-mile walk. 

When I arrived at the lake, the sky was still pitch black. Bundled in warm clothes and armed with my new Petzl headlamp, I made my way to the trailhead. I texted my wife and sent her a picture of my lighted path so she would not be worried about me. It was still an hour before twilight, but my 1100 lumen headlamp lighted the path like the headlights of a car.

While walking in the dark, I turned toward the lake to see a beaver dive underwater, splashing its paddle-shaped tail against the surface. While there are beavers at this lake, it’s uncommon to spot them in the open. This trail sported several large trees near the water that bear the wear and tear of the beaver’s sharp teeth. Some scrapings were fresh, while old ones scarred several of the nearby trees. The sun wasn’t even up and it was already a good day.

I noticed the faint light of first twilight at about 6:18 AM. It was just enough light for me to notice there was a band of perfectly glassed water on the lake’s west bank. The surrounding water’s surface, however, was covered in small ripples that shimmered under the moon’s light. As I rounded the bend that led to a large wooden bridge, I heard the sounds of waterfowl awaking. A pair of mallards quacked before taking flight, skimming the water at high speed until they became airborne. In the distance, a flock of geese sounded, their honks echoing, bouncing off the water and surrounding trees. A shadowy blue heron flew by the bridge, stopping to perch high in a tree, readying itself for breakfast.

As the sun slowed toward the horizon, the sky transformed from monotone to color, with sharp hues of indigo and magenta. A soft orange glow emerged, reminding me of the color of a Creamsicle. Empty patches in the clouded sky formed streaks of light, creating long slivers of silver across the lake. Fifteen minutes later, the entire show was over as Lake Wilson returned to its normal beauty, the scene everyone would see throughout the day. But its daytime attire was no match for its twilight performance, a special show reserved for those who ventured out into nature before the sun awoke.

On the bridge, I ran into an acquaintance and his dog, someone who also frequents the area on early mornings. One of his unique habits is taking his dog out to the lake and taking a daily picture as a keepsake. If you’re a dog owner, then this will make more sense. As we chatted quietly on the bridge, a large beaver swam right by us, making its way toward the rising sun, its wake cutting the water like a zipper. The man took a few pictures of the beaver while I caught some video and sent it to my wife. She loves seeing these little animals at the lake, and I was sorry she missed this sighting.

It was Friday, but work was very busy as I prepped for an important presentation I had to give the following Monday. In my last meeting of the day, after we had completed our agenda, two workers and I fell into conversation about our past work in law enforcement. It was interesting to learn how similar our experiences were after leaving the field. One worker was a police officer in California and the other a sheriff’s deputy in Colorado. I previously worked on a fugitive apprehension unit in Texas. Now, we had all retired from that line of work.

I was asked if my old unit posted a Hemingway quote in our office, which we did not. But the quote is worth mentioning. Hemingway wrote, “There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter.” We talked about the quote and how our experience had ruined hunting deer and other wildlife. We all supported hunting but also relayed how it did not give us any special feeling. I constantly see videos on the internet of hunters making a kill and being filled with excitement and emotion from the thrill of the hunt.

I remember the excitement of tracking down fugitives and, like a hunter, planning on how to control or blend in with the environment, so we could successfully apprehend another human being while getting no one injured or killed. For all that it is, nothing quite prepares you for prolonged exposure to what we dubbed “hyper-violent environments”. Encountering resistance was normal. Car chases, foot chases, physical confrontations; dealing with threats that weren’t just someone’s words, but the possibility, and probability, of real and imminent danger. I loved my job in that team. Our unit brought in thousands of fugitives who were sexual or violent predators. I worked alongside every local, state, and federal agency you can think of. And while running and gunning taught me more about myself and human beings than any other thing I’ve done, I’m also happy that part of my life is over. We all were.

Standing in a deer stand, or sitting in a blind, to hunt a deer does not excite me. It cannot stand up to the thrill of tracking down another human being and facing them, two people who have harshly conflicting goals that make people act feral. We all supported hunting, however, we understood the importance of facing oneself in challenging circumstances in a way that required one to be strong and bend at the same time. For many people, hunting wildlife is the closest they will ever come to seeing this side of themselves. To us, however, feeling excitement after killing a deer seemed like a dishonest exaggeration of what it means to face conflict in nature; in oneself. Now, each of us in our fifties, we felt grateful for our experiences but recognized that we had more to do in life. As we mature, priorities change, not because we are through with wildness in life, but because we have learned enough to accept what is meaningless and what is important. It was a meaningful conversation; three humans bonding over shared experiences.

During my meeting, the dogs started barking. I muted my mic and peeked out the window, glimpsing car tires in front of my house. I asked my teammates to hold on, and I headed to the front door. It was probably a neighbor looking for their package; I thought to myself. The dogs were barking loudly as I opened the door. My brain just froze, unsuccessfully processing what my eyes were seeing. My wife, who I thought I would not see for a month, was standing outside her SUV smiling at me, looking pretty as ever. She had made the trip home for the weekend, wanting to surprise me. It did. I don’t even know how I finished my meeting, but when I did, my best friend and I just held each other.

There are no words to describe the silent conversation that goes on between two people so closely attached. Tightly embraced, we didn’t say a word, and we didn’t have to. A thousand thoughts and feelings flashed through my head and heart. This woman who I love so deeply, who loves me the same, was no longer an imaginary friend in my mind during her absence. This person was real flesh and blood; heart and soul. It was undeniably the absolute best moment in my life.

January 21, 2024

It was Sunday morning, and we slept in until almost 6 AM. The temperature was an icy 17 degrees, but somehow it didn’t feel so bad, standing out in the dark, watching the stars, waiting for the dogs to do their business. I came inside to warm myself with a cup of hot coffee. After, my wife studied while I spent the dark morning hours editing photographs in Lightroom.

Once the sun came up, my wife made her Sunday morning rounds of grocery shopping. I don’t mind going with her, but this is something she likes to do alone, and early, before any crowds gather in Wilson. I always use this space, feeling appreciative that I don’t need to go into town. This morning I did a workout, practiced the guitar, and then wrote for about an hour.

Once my wife returned home, we put away the groceries and had a small snack. Then, my wife sat down to hit the books, while I knocked out another two hours of writing. At midday, the temperature had only risen to the mid-twenties, but we took a break and hit the trails at Lake Wilson. When we arrived, the weather was still cold, but the sun was shining, and the wind was more forgiving than the prior evening.

During our walk, we fell into deep conversation. My wife expressed she was under a lot of stress and that her anxiety levels were high. She was in the fourth week of her current rotation, always a hard week; she had a tough exam approaching, and she was about to leave town for a month on her next rotation. Our immune systems were already compromised because we were sick last week. These things were aggregating and affecting us.

We talked about anxiety and how it seemed to blossom when our mind got wrapped up in rumination about the past or future. There were things in the past that our mind did not want to repeat and, thus, we were always guarding ourselves against some imagined future. These projections were usually negative and worst-case scenarios, which created more anxiety and more negative thoughts that spiral out of control. We found our minds working overtime to solve problems that didn’t actually exist, issues that, to our primal brain, felt like a matter of life and death.

Fixing the mind’s tendency to flee the present moment isn’t easy. Although humans can make intelligent decisions, overcoming instinctual behaviors can be really hard. This kind of endeavor takes practice, hard work, and a willingness to trust the process. One of the first things to realize, we surmised, was the undeniable truth that being stuck in the past or future does little to solve any problems. In fact, the only time we have influence is in the here and now.

The mind has a way of leaving the present moment without our noticing. Being aware when we disconnect, then, becomes an important skill. There is, however, an easy way to find the present moment. It is the place where the body is located. Our minds can drift to the past or future, but our body is stuck, and thankfully so, in the present moment.

When we return to the present, we have the power to do something about our problems. We can put in more effort toward an actual solution. Of course, this is where the work is, and sometimes our minds would rather drift off than sit there while you put in the physical labor. It’s easy to understand, however, that taking action to solve a problem and taking no action because you’re busy worrying about the problem are two distinct paths. The problem is that if you don’t choose your path, then your mind will usually choose for you.

The last topic we discussed was how most of our anxiety or worry stemmed from betrayed expectations. When our expectations did not align with reality, then all our decisions and actions produced results that differed from what we intended. So, while most of us are focused on making the best decisions we can, very few people take the time to think about the rules these decisions are based on. All our decisions were based on how we thought they would affect an outcome; on our understanding of how the world worked.

When our expectations produce positive results, then we can say our understanding of reality was accurate. If, however, our expectations constantly fall short, then we can assert that they did not align with the way life operates. For me, this is the foundation of wisdom, going through life, adjusting expectations until they align with reality. If you do this, then the decisions you make will produce better results. This is what intelligence is, the ability to make an educated guess, go out and test it, and then update your knowledge based on trial and error. Unfortunately, when people get negative results from their decisions, they often just blame themselves, feeling unlucky or inadequate, never realizing their solutions didn’t match the actual problem.

The talk was productive, and the walk renewed our sense of getting back to working harder and smarter. The geese amazed me with their ability to weather the cold, seemingly unfazed by the waters, even though the edges of the pond had frozen, looking like a small beach made of ice. A large cardinal hopped about on the frozen water, picking at seeds, while a small wren picked up small sticks for its nest. A blue heron, usually quick to take flight when it sees me, seemed confident that I was not going into the frigid water to get him. He stood there stoically.

In the evening, I took the trash, toting Axel along. It was his first ride in the front seat as a lone passenger, so it took a bit for him to settle. The seat probably felt too small, but he was excited to be out. When we arrived back home, I took a walk into the woods. Although most of the deer corn was gone, there were still a few piles left. I continued through the bare woods, noting how empty they had become. It looked like the whole place was on standby, just waiting for spring to arrive. A part of the southern creek stream had frozen, reflecting the colors of the trees and sunset, its crystalline surface fracturing them like a broken mirror. It was the close of another perfect weekend.

January 20, 2024

The dogs barked loudly, sounding the alarm. It was a few minutes after 4 AM and something was in the backyard. I turned on the lights and saw a small rabbit hopping away, exiting the fence.

The weather was bitter with the morning temperature in the teens. I woke up coughing, still recovering from last week’s cold or flu. I heard my wife grinding beans as I washed up, and I couldn’t wait to sip on some hot coffee. After feeding the dogs, my wife studied while I knocked out a writing session. After, I showered and prepped for our 9 AM departure to Raleigh. We were going into the big city for supplies.

The drive to Raleigh is always nice. I remember my life of driving through Dallas, Houston, and Austin, where there is more concrete and metal than grass or trees. The highway to Raleigh feels rural, the roadway cutting between tall pines that line the highway, save for a couple of places near a few small towns. In separate locations along the road, both near bridges, I saw two dead beavers, their dark brownish-black fur still wet and beaded. As I exited the highway and entered the city, I noticed the driving got worse. People were tailgating or weaving in and out of lanes. It was interesting. Why was everyone in such a hurry and where were they going that was so important that risking life and limb seemed a reasonable choice?

The Costco parking lot was full, and it took a bit of patience to find a spot, which was pretty far from the store’s entrance. In Texas, we made Costco trips almost weekly, but after moving to North Carolina, we seldom want to see a city if we don’t have to. This was my first time to step into the busy store for probably seven or eight months.

A sea of people and baskets packed the place, with some speeding across aisles so fast that you had to be careful, even if you were walking in a straight line. Others moved too slowly, talking casually or fully stopping right in the walkway, oblivious that others were trying to get past them. Oblivious. That’s probably the best word to describe most of the people I came across. They simply paid no attention to their surroundings. God damned city folk. Yeah, I used to be one.

I find the human experience fascinating. We walk around in the first person, peering out the windows of our eyes, feeling we are the movie star moving through a sea of extras. What’s funny is that each person feels this way from their point of view. And while it is easy to understand, engage, and be helpful to your supporting actors, it’s clear that some people don’t consider others to be as important as themselves. How could an extra be as important as the protagonist? Or, villain.

Costco used to hold a world of interesting items, and I genuinely loved visiting the place. But after living in the woods for a while now, I found most everything uninteresting or useless to my current lifestyle. I was interested in buying some more wool socks I saw online on Costco’s website, but alas, they did not have them on the showroom floor. That was the one thing I wanted. My wife picked up several items to prepare for her out-of-town school rotation coming up in one more week.

We both had enough of the busyness and chaos, and the people. We left Costco and stopped and grabbed a quick lunch, commenting on how crazy the vehicular and foot traffic were. This used to feel normal to us, but today it was exhausting. At home, I don’t see other people, whether I’m inside my home or outside in the woods. Hell, I see more deer than people in a normal week. At least the deer are quiet and keep their distance. They are also just as concerned about you as you are about them. People, on the other hand, think mostly of themselves. And while I have never claimed to like people, I can confirm that most of us suck.

After returning home, my wife spent some time studying for an upcoming exam, and I finished reading Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Self Reliance. After I edited photos I recently downloaded from my camera. It was nice to have a little downtime doing something that required little thinking. I needed the headspace after being in Raleigh.

At 4 PM, we left, bundled up, to hit the trail at Lake Wilson. This winter, I have walked on many freezing days with no problem, but this evening, the wind was relentless and icy. The cold air made my face hurt, even though I was wearing a thick gaiter that covered my face, nose, and ears. It was brutally cold. The relentless and frigid wind made us walk at a fast pace, and between fighting the elements and my constantly running nose, we finished before I knew it and still not soon enough.

We grabbed a quick bite to eat before heading home. When we arrived, we spent some time cleaning up the house before my wife sat down to study. As she did, I showered, did some more writing, and strummed my Martin guitar while thinking about how my tolerance for people had changed. Actually, I don’t think I have less patience with people. I found it surprising how everyone seemed robotic. There seemed to be very little kindness or warmth between strangers. This cold behavior is out of place in a smaller, rural community.

It was a great day. I enjoyed time with my best friend and partner, especially since we were no longer sick. Last week, our illness sucked away our weekend, but this today, I was enjoying life and feeling appreciative of the quality time away from work.

January 10, 2024

The wind was still blowing strongly when I woke up. It was 4:02 AM and although the rain had stopped, the last remnants of the storm remained. Over coffee, my wife and I made an impromptu decision. This morning we would walk at the lake earlier than ever. We left the house at 5:40 AM, making our way to the car as the strong winds stirred pine needles and leaves. One of the trash bags I left outside, which was full of aluminum cans, had blown across the yard. There were cans strewn about everywhere.

At the lake, the winter weather is always magnified. The temperatures are lower, the wind blows harder, and although the rain had subsided, the air coming off the lake was bitterly cold. With the moon hidden behind the clouds, the area was completely dark. It would be another forty-five minutes before the sky would show any signs of light, but we hopped out of the car and boldly made our way to the start of the trail.

The trail was so dark it was hard to see anything. The storm left deep puddles of rainwater and there were tree limbs, some small and others large, hiding along the path, ready to trip you up. We worked hard to see the few feet in front of us, but we were having fun on this new adventure. Last week, I ordered some headlamps for just this purpose, but they had not arrived. I was happy to be on the trail, though. It felts a little precarious, but it was exciting.

The first two miles of the walk were in complete darkness. We tripped over trees, got tangled in rogue limbs, and splashed in unseen puddles of water. As we traversed the looped course, we removed the larger tree limbs off the path as a service to any hikers who followed. When we arrived back near the car at the start of mile three, twilight was barely beginning. As we were tucked away under a canopy of trees, the lake started glowing an eerie shade of blue as the light from the sky reflected off the water. From across the lake, the parking lot’s lights, reflecting off the lake, transformed the area into what looked like a fancy resort.

The light was bright enough on mile four that we could easily see our path. We scoffed at how the sun was slowly pulling away our adventurous morning, like someone dragging your warm blanket off on a chilly night. The sunrise was beautiful and after walking through the pitch black of night, seemed too bright. The winds subsided as ducks and geese awakened and took flight. We spotted a large bald eagle flying over the lake and thought we saw it again, perched on a branch a little way off the path. My wife took a detour to see the bird, but it was not the eagle. Instead, a red-shouldered hawk cried out and took flight.

There was something about walking in the dark that stirred us from the inevitable monotony that creeps up when living on a predetermined schedule. The walk was fun and exhilarating; it snapped us out of our routine and gave us a renewed outlook on the day. It reminded me it is important to embrace spontaneity when opportunities presented themselves. Like molting cicadas, we left our shells behind as we ventured home in high spirits.

At lunch time, I took a short walk through the woods to see if any large trees had blown over during the storm. It’s pretty rare to lose live trees, but the dead trees that still stand are susceptible. While I saw small branches of every type of tree in every direction, I only saw two trees in the pine grove that had snapped and fallen down. This left three of four sections of tree, each twenty or thirty feet long, tucked neatly off the walking trail. When the weather dries a bit more, I’ll go back and harvest them for firewood.

Our property weathered the storm well. I saw an Instagram post made by the city of Wilson, showing several snapped telephone poles that left many without power. My house, however old, is trusty and solid. By evening, all the inclement weather was gone and the crisp temperatures returned. As I was working in my office, I looked out the window and saw a colorful sky filled with pinks and blues, casting light on the pasture where eight to ten deer were feeding.

The evening included a T-bone steak grilled on the Traeger, which I shared with the dogs, and a small taste of whiskey. It was another day well-lived.

January 6, 2024

The day started at 4 AM. I had an espresso with milk and spent a few hours working on an article for my blog and posting on a social media platform called Medium. The article centers on a dream I had last week, and examines how conscious we are about the quality of our daily life experiences.

At 9 AM, I left for a small coffee shop in Wilson named Cup of Joy Coffee. The Wilson Camera Club was there for a meet and greet, and I wanted to get more information about what they do. The people were friendly, and I ended up joining, submitting an application, and paying the twenty-five dollar annual fee plus one dollar to cover the card transaction. Some highlights included monthly meetings, presentations from other photographers, and an annual trip to photograph bears in North Carolina.

After signing up, I called my wife to see what she was doing and, by chance, she had just arrived in Wilson to get a vaccination. I met here at the CVS to make sure she didn’t have any adverse reactions, and then I invited her to lunch at La Rancherita. We were the first ones there when the restaurant opened at 11 AM, and Kate, a server that has waited on our table many times, whisked us away into her section. As usual, the food and service were phenomenal. I ordered my regular, the Lime Carne Asada. The marinade they use for their beef skirt steak is unbelievably on point.

Once I finished lunch, I drove home, played with the dogs, then locked myself in my office to read an essay by E. B. White, titled, “Goodbye to 48th Street. After doing a deep dive into the older writing styles of Emerson and Thoreau, E. B. White’s modern prose was a breeze to get through, and I appreciated his concise writing and smart sense of humor. After, I spent a couple of hours banging on the keyboard.

It rained hard all morning, but around 3 PM, the skies cleared and we drove to Lake Wilson for a four-mile walk. It was nice being there in the evening, seeing the sunset instead of the sunrise. The lights and colors were all reversed from our normal morning routine. It’s hard to convey the specialness of a place like Lake Wilson when I’m there so often. In reality, every trip is a deep physical and psychological immersion into nature.

When I arrived home from the lake, I went into the woods to collect an SD card from a trail camera found on the north end of the pine grove where the grove meets the woodland forest. I spent a little time in the woods before coming back home and popping the SD card into a reader connected to my iPad.

Deer season ended here in North Carolina on the first of January. Most deer hunters head out into the woods every season hoping to harvest a nice buck, although later in the season, many will take the does as well. On my property, a young bucks frequent the area, all with small two-point or four-point racks. Last year, I caught an eight-pointer on one of my trail cameras on the edge of the property. One barely video glimpsed the male deer, and another confirmed the buck’s presence. After those two spottings, I never saw him again.

This season, I only saw a few small bucks early in the season. I thought that the larger bucks either had different habitats or someone had already hunted them. So, you can imagine my surprise when I opened the SD card on my iPad, and on January 1st, the day deer season ended, there were four different bucks on my property. One video showed a large eight-pointer, while another showed two eight-pointers hanging out and feeding together. It was pretty comical. It was like they knew they were finally safe to come out. I look forward to seeing these’s bucks’ offspring later this year.

January 3, 2024

I woke up at 4:30 AM, brushed my teeth, and sipped some cup of hot coffee while writing in my journal. We left the house at 6:30 AM to go walking at Lake Wilson, arriving just as the sky lit up.

It was another beautiful sunrise, and we were back at it. Even though my wife and I had to work, we made time for the trip and a four-mile walk before our workday began. This morning, we saw the usual suspects, several blue herons, a large flock of Canadian geese, Mallard ducks, and squirrels. Alongside the bank, in the brushy trees, cardinals and wrens darted about. It was 29 degrees, but I felt warm as my body had acclimatized to the winter temperatures.

During my lunch break, I drove into Nash County and stopped by a small coffee shop named Cordiform Coffee. Cordiform has the best coffee in the area and has become my coffee shop of choice ever since my vengeful ban on Starbucks. After seeing Starbucks’ steady decline in the quality of their coffee and service, and after spending what I calculated to be thousands of dollars over time, the last straw finally broke during a visit I made about three months ago.

On that fateful day, I parked my car in the Starbucks lot, walked inside, and attempted to order a coffee when the barista told me the register at the front was closed. He then informed me that to get a coffee, I needed to order from my car at the drive-through window, pay for and receive my coffee, park back where I was parked then, and then I was “welcome to come back in and drink my coffee”.

As he was talking, I mentally measured the distance between the front register and the drive-through window. It was about twelve feet. It never occurred to the gentlemen that he could ring me up on the other register, and that was because Starbucks would not allow it, because of their strict controls on drive-though sales monitoring. I smiled politely and said, “Thank you”, and walked out of a Starbucks for the last time in my life.

I work from home via a laptop computer, which this afternoon, I took outside to the back porch for the last two hours of work, while sitting in front of my Solo Stove. Working out in the elements with a wood fire was a liberating experience. I was happy and productive, knocking several tasks off my list as crows cawed in the forest behind me and a flock of honking geese echoed overhead.

After work, I ran a couple of errands, one in Wilson and one in Bailey, to get some supplies for the evening. My wife worked late, so I visited the Piggly Wiggly to pick up a ribeye steak. I gave in to temptation while waiting in line and added a bag of bacon jerky to my purchase. Bacon jerky is a delicacy I recently discovered while at Papa Jack’s, a small gas station in Kenly.

I also stopped by a liquor store and picked up a bottle of Cook’s Mill American Straight Bourbon Whiskey. Winter nights are a great time to sip whiskey, and I enjoy trying local spirits. They named the distillery after the Cook’s Mill, which was a pre-revolutionary grist mill in Alamance County, the center of the Regulator Movement and Battle of Alamance.

As I was driving home, my thoughts turned to how much my life changed since leaving Texas. Just before the Covid pandemic, I was driving a little red sports car with red leather seats that barely held over two people, had a metropolitan set up for writing, including a Remarkable e-ink tablet, two Freewrite e-ink typewriters, and gear to get me through a train commute from a city near my Texas home to the government office where I worked. It was all so modern and slick.

Since then, I sold my Remarkable tablet, preferring a real pen and paper, and I sold my Freewrite machines. When I arrived home, still thinking about how my life changed, I did a quick inventory of my vehicle while grabbing my groceries. The rear seats on the SUV were all folded down, and I had filled the rear compartment with my Yeti fishing bucket, three fishing rods, five bags of deer corn, archery targets, firewood, one ribeye, a bottle of whiskey, and a bag of bacon jerky. I’d say that’s a transformation from my previous self. Most significant, however, is that who I was before felt less “me” than who I am now.