It’s the first warm evening of the year. A big white round moon dominates the twilight, pink-brushed sky. I walk into the backyard to close the chicken coop for the night, and the big fat orb above catches my breath. I sit down, right there in the dirt, and can’t tear my eyes from her. Tonight she just quietly stares back and reminds me of a time when we could gather with friends and think nothing of it. Like that night ten years ago…
Read MoreThe dishes drip-dried in the rack. Dad sipped wine at the shoreline, sitting on a big round rock relaxing. Our group survived a huge lake crossing earlier in the day, and we landed at this camp exhausted, tired, and ready for a break. The murmur of route planning wafted down from camp as the three of us sat watching the light show. Mirrored lakes reflect sky colors so beautiful they have no names.
Read MoreThe canoe glides across liquid glass, casting chevron ripples in our wake. The warbling song of a Loon pierces the near-total silence of the late morning as I dipped my paddle methodically into the water, leaving it trailing behind me. A flick to the right rudders the canoe in the direction of a distant island across the lake. A feeling bubbled up and settled down in my body. I belong here. Here in the wild on Planet Earth.
Read MoreMy friend Sherri walked up to the old rusted red Subaru Brat overburdened with a 16-foot canoe strapped to its roof and said, "Sweet, how early are we leaving?" I knew right then she would be a friend for life. There is something liberating about leaving a house full of stuff behind and carrying everything you need to survive and be happy in a pack. Or, in this case, several packs tightly wedged in our canoes.
Read MoreEvelyn picked me up in her dusty red Toyota Prius, and we added a few more digits to her 250,000+ mile odometer. At the border station between Oregon and California, a guard stood idle in a green uniform. I looked at Evelyn as she slowed down, "Uh…I brought oranges. They were probably grown in California.”
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