The Vignettes
Walk with me down the trail.
For two years, we lived in a tent trailer while traveling the American West. To document the kind of adventure I’d never have again, I told our stories through weekly vignettes.
We’ve left the RV life for now, but still continue to recount adventure’s ups and downs, our relationship with the outdoors, the wonderful disaster of parenting, and the struggle to catch lightening in the creative bottle.
The Fruited Desert
The town was originally called Junction, but a place that holds improbability should have a little more zing. It’s a rare example of good rebranding.
Not Quite Night
For a fistful of minutes, the bats performed their choppy waltz with each other and their prey. With each change in direction or newly chosen flight path, they reacted to shifts in our shared environment that I couldn’t see, hear, or understand.
If the Devil Had a Garden
Maybe there was a thread of recognition that passed between us, our paths having crossed before, and that’s why I noticed it. Admiring its reflection in a once-shiny chrome motorcycle gas tank.
The Shifting Solstice
It’s almost like darkness is the anchor that roots us in a fuller appreciation of the light. Because without the lack of light, it’s harder to understand just how many bright minutes there are on June twenty first. When that day comes, we’ll have basketfuls of them and they will spill out onto the pavement and we might not even bother to pick them up. They will be pennies in a world of hundred dollar bills.
Rinks and Fossils
Sitting on the locker room floor tying skates onto the players, I felt miles away from the woman who could lay her hands on basically everything she possessed by walking from the camper to the Subaru.