walk with me down the trail
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 wrote our stories.
We’ve left the RV life for now, but these weekly vignettes still explore 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.
Avalanche Lilies
Why does a flower have more meaning when we know its name? As if identification confers value. As if possession is knowing.
Quiet is a Bandaid
I had thoughts about how this would go. Pictures in my head of my early morning hike all by myself. Communing with the rainforest. Listening, actually listening, because that’s what I was here for. Taking my time and stepping outside myself. In short, trying very hard to produce a meaningful experience in a certain place at a certain time and in a certain way.
Beautiful Seasons
In talking to these old friends, I found myself saying more than once – my god, that was a beautiful season. What times we had. Not all good, of course, but on balance the beauty is the thing that shone through. The light glinting off the waves of the river, not the murkiness of the water beneath.
What We Won’t Know
All of us went up that hard trail, saw the world from an alpine bowl that held marmots and pikas and watermelon snow. We didn’t ask each other’s stories nor did we tell our own.