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.
Not Even Once
Not even once. This phrase was made from sheet metal letters on a barn roof in Northwestern Montana. Each one affixed by nails whose heads probably rusted the same week they were installed. It was hard to know how long it had been there.
The Damn Bridge
Onward. I take fifty audibly squishy steps and then glance towards the river, and laugh out loud.