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Balanced Affections | 5.16.24

Connecticut has many landscapes.

The Cut is looking rather on point this evening…

But, like anything you plan to adore
you need to be patient to see it right…

Just don’t stare too long.
Then it gets really real..
Takes shape.

Affections need to be balanced…

I had a dream last night that doesn’t make sense anymore…

A kiss on the neck.
Hair pushed behind an ear.
Revealing earrings that tell stories.

I woke up and
the world smelled like lilac for a moment..

Moments are sunsets.
No two are the same…

They can take you where you want…

Places you don’t belong.
Trees you shouldn’t climb…
Places you were tricked into going to..

The timing needs to be just right…
Or you get wrapped up.

You get stuck. It feels alright.
But it’s a definite threshold.
You can’t go back.

Then you have to talk about it.
Then too many people are talking about it..

Just stay home.
Stare at the sky…
Tell your stories to your kids.

You had a good run.

Do it all again tomorrow night…

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Parenting | 2.25.24

This morning
while the sun was rising
and the house was sleeping
I was dreaming
about the world ending.

It started with planes in the air
It turned into explosions in the distance.

I tried to call my mom
but the phones were down.
I wanted her to know I loved her…
That everything would be alright.

Then we were running.
Everyone was trying to get underground.

And no point was I scared.
I was helping.
I wanted to save everyone.

People were praying.
Some were just standing.
Staring…

But the whole time I was helpless.
Because I wouldn’t get to die with my children…

Then the darkness crawled in
And I woke up
listening to my daughter laughing…


NOTE: I’m not generally the type of person to write about doom and gloom. I don’t regularly think this way. But this is about being a parent and how selflessness can creep up on you once you’ve had the amazing pleasure of raising a child. And I wanted to convey that feeling.

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Pale Lungs | 12.30.23

What keeps you here?

There’s no reason to consider this
anything more than a memory-induced
flair up.

Something brought on by the warmth
of the Holidays and the prospect of
new beginnings. 

A tiptoe back into infatuation.
One hell of a distraction.
The hottest summer on record.

Having let go
and gracefully moved on
allowing details to fade
until they won’t anymore..

I’ll write this off
as nothing more than a
pebble in my path
that found its way in front of my feet..

A stumble.
Not a fall.

And now that I’ve recovered,
perhaps I’ll pick up the pace.
Turn this wandering onward into a
full sprint.

I just hope these thoughts can’t keep up…

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The Other ‘Days Between’

The week between Christmas and New Year’s is always a bit untethered. I take this week off from work to spend with my kids and face it down with no expectations at all. In fact, right now the only thing we’ve got planned out is a trip to Vermont tomorrow.

Another fact: I didn’t know what day it was until my daughter reminded me.

Anyway…

It’s been raining since Christmas Eve. It’s not a real rain that you can go out and calculate and be burdened by; just a mist. It’s led to some serious fog which has led to me being in a serious mood for adventures. I think I’m spoiled after all of those trips to Copenhagen and Sweden in the winter. All that old-world culture – surrounded by foggy forests.

The girls don’t have the same sense of adventure as I do. They want to wake up late and play Roblox together. So, really, who am I to try and break that apart? It’s their vacation too and I want them to remember this week as a time they got to spend doing everything and nothing at all.

Though, they’re both over the moon about Vermont.

At seven and ten, who wouldn’t be excited for multiple opportunities to stock up on candy and other baubles filling the void in country stores and the like?

I, for one, just need to breathe in a little bit of that northern air. That’s the ticket for me. Maybe there’ll be some snow I can just take a peek at for a minute?

Either way, it’s these days between when we all get a chance to reset. If I had a holiday wish for anyone that I love and care about, it would be to find your chance to reset.

You can’t leave yourself behind by making some lofty promises that are sugar-coated as resolutions. But you can take a hard look at the things you’ve been carrying for the last year and decide what you’re bringing with you when we cross over into next year.

Deep sigh…

Well, enough from me. I told the girls that it’s wheels up in an hour so we could go see what kind of trouble we could get into in four-wheel drive.

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Relationships: A Case Study on Overthinking

There’s nothing wrong with being open and honest and wearing your heart on your sleeve. There’s also nothing wrong with talking about your feelings and realizing that nothing in life fits in a singular, simple box.

Don’t ever assume you can assume what’s going on until you ask the hard questions or pre-emptively supply the hard answers.

That said, welcome. This personal experience for me is being shared in case you’re all jammed up in the grey matter when it comes to figuring out if you want to be with someone.

Act I: Wandering around the dream…

Early this morning, I had a dream about all those beginning things that shift your step at the start of a relationship. When you’re out for a minute and someone catches your eye.

The soft parade where you’re trying to impress each other, but you don’t know what to say. Feathers out, on a stage.

Perfect strangers trying to become a thing. A perfect match. But you don’t know anything about each other.

In this dream, I didn’t know anything. She didn’t know anything. Who are our friends? What kind of car do we drive? Are we cat people? Do we get lost in the stars at night?

Is she a vegetarian?
Jesus Christ, what if she’s a vegetarian?
I like to keep a ham on hand for sandwiches and omelets…

We were just two lost souls trying to weed through the fodder. Trying to figure out if it was worth getting to know anyone at this point.

And she was kind of tall.
Taller than me..

Wore tank tops and low-rise jeans.

Laughed loudly but wanted to remain unseen.

It started with talking. Then it moved on to the part where the strings started to connect, but one wrong move and the whole thing could unravel. That’s when it moved on to those loud laughs with light touching.

She was standing and I was sitting so I put my arm around her waist and tucked my head into her hip.

That connection.
When the switch flips and you start to figure out what needs to be figured out.

We were at the part where you’re in a room full of people but the two of you are alone for the first time.

And then I was on a beach.
But she wasn’t there.

And I found that I was being pushed and pulled in another direction. I wanted to go back. I felt like I had to go back, but I was going through – literally – an obstacle course – jumping over things, and sliding under things – exerting a significant amount of effort and force in the wrong direction.

And when I finally broke away – when I finally got back – I couldn’t even remember what she looked like. And if she was there, she didn’t remember me.

So what do you do in times like these? Well, you wake up. You end the dream and there you are on the frontier of a new day.

Act II: Upon Waking…

The whole thing made me realize that I don’t want to begin again. I enjoy the idea of feeling something for someone but once I get there – I don’t want to be there anymore.

It’s the thrill of the hunt.
The number one occupation.

And you can read into the why and how of that. There’s a fairly simple answer to all of that.

It’s the age-old fight between the head and the heart and, at this point, I don’t know who’s calling the shots. But I know, on some collective level, that as much as the whole idea of affection and love has been sold on me over and over, I just don’t have it in me to cross that line.

I mean, I just figured out who I am again. Picked up all the pieces. And now that all is calm and bright – what? I’m just supposed to do it all over again with the hope of never getting back to what got me here..

Again.

I would love to fall in love with cozy sweaters.
Maybe some wavy hair and the smell of women’s deodorant that you only get a hint of when you get too close.

Low-rise jeans.
Simple giggles.
Maybe some dirt under the fingernails and a tan that stuck around through fall, only to find it fading as we wander into winter…

But what about right now?
What about this moment where I’m writing from?

Act III: Right Now (7:28am)

The sun is about to make its first tear through the night sky. The cat is purring on me as I lay the wrong way in the right bed. The girls are upstairs sleeping and…

… and nothing.

I don’t have to do a thing all day if I don’t want to do anything. I don’t have to consider another adult and their life. I don’t have to fill in the void between quiet and conversations.

Granted, I’ve got the whole day planned out. I’m just waiting to finish writing so I can hop in the shower and turn it all on.

It’s not the fear of commitment. It’s not even the fear of getting our synapses to fire on the same plane to where a connection is made.

It’s just the whole idea of interrupting everything I’ve built. The whole idea of someone hanging a shirt in my closet or washing the dishes the way they wash dishes.

It’s six months down the road, ignoring the wonder of how it all began. It’s getting comfortable and worrying if I’ve got enough fuel in the tank to keep being the person that person needs me to be.

All I know about who I am starts right behind me. There isn’t a long and winding road I’ve been down or a story I want to share. Sure, there’s a lot I can say about me – but I don’t want to build a relationship built off of how I ended up here.

The last thing we need to be is one another’s therapists. Not for that shit at least.

I’ll be someone’s stray cat and they can be mine and we can talk about lonely nights in the rain. But let’s not complicate it with past lives with other lovers.

I also know I’m very proud and protective of all I’ve got and what I’ve done and a lot of that is sleeping in bunk beds above me.

They deserve all of me.
They need all of me.
Even though I only get them half the time.

And does that person get me half the time?
Do they sign up to be their other mother?

That’s a massive ton to think about and a lot to ask for. Like “Hey, I know we’re enjoying getting lost in one another’s minds, but have you met my amazing daughters? They’re here too.”

And I don’t resent that.
And I don’t expect anyone to pivot for that.

The last thing I want to be is a beast of burden. But those are the facts. The living, breathing, facts and I’d rather be upfront than trip someone up.

Does she like hiking?
Camping in the dead grey of winter on a random Thursday night?

How about being lost on a trail in the cold rain and snow then getting warmed up back in the truck while we wait for the windows to defrost while listening to something unexpected and hoping that she’s getting lost in it as much as I am so she gets why I don’t want to talk on the drive home?

See? See how much I expect right from the get-go?

I would rather get lost in my mind than in someone’s eyes at this point.

But the truth is, these things are just walls I’m building around me. Walls with signs hung from them saying “Wait until you see what’s inside”. That buzz in ancient neon just so you can’t ignore them.

I’m just as inviting as I am off-putting.

… And I want to plant more apple trees and raise honey bees and get caught wandering around outdoors by the wind and not my neighbors.

Where do fuzzy sweaters, low-rise jeans, the smell of wonder and baby powder, maybe wavy hair, and all the other delicate things I can try to find creative ways to write about fit in, with all of that?

Well. They don’t.

And if it bothers me a few days out of a whole year, then I’ll err for the greater good.

I don’t even have a couch in the house to cuddle on.
So maybe all of this is a good thing?

Act IV: The Realization That I’ve Been Overthinking

The fact is, the story that got me here is a great story. I’ve had a hell of a life. I’m an honest person and I don’t spit in front of women. But here’s the real kicker:

After reading this and editing it thoroughly, I don’t know what I want. Not really. I just know that I love who I am and where I am and – well – maybe I don’t want to screw up someone else’s world because I’m really happy with mine.

I’m okay with that.
In fact, I’m fine with that.

That’s a solid statement that can stand on its own without me having to explain it.

I always had this idea that once the girls were old enough to fend for themselves I’d finally tear the walls down and let all hell break loose. Put my heart out there on a stick and wait for someone to tear it apart.

It’s inevitable.
In all relationships.

We just have to find that part in the middle and hope to hang on to it for as long as we can. I can tell you a million amazing stories about life in the middle. But I won’t – because old relationships don’t build new ones.

So here’s to dreaming the dreams and taking chances before you wake up.

Here’s to reading too much into those dreams and finding the courage to wake up.

And here’s to poking around, having fun, and making sure you don’t leave your boots by another man’s bed.

Act V: The End

If you need me, I’ll be out here dancing…
After all, I’m still walking – so I’m sure that I can dance…

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The Ginger People

Before it left their system entirely, the illness that buggered up my girls over the weekend shared one of its remaining embers with me. It’s basically a cold with heavy nausea.

Anyone who knows me knows that I could be fully engulfed in flames and won’t complain, but I tend to go fetal at the first flash of feeling nauseous.

I also don’t like taking anything too scientific during the day because, quite frankly, I’ve got shit to do. I can’t be hanging ten out in space and time. So I considered what my ancestral elders would do – at least for the tummy bubbles – and all signs and patterns in the stars led to ginger.

Needing some things for dinner, at least for the girls, I decided to head to Whole Foods.

Whole Foods, dear reader, is a fantastic collection of food stuffs, yuppy stuffs, and homeopathic concoctions – but is notably a rollicking cluster fuck from when they open until they close. I love shopping there, but you need to have your head on straight or you’re going to get rolled over.

Even with a lot of folks ordering online, the store foragers fulfilling those orders are ravenous at best and make the whole experience a challenge.

Anyway..

I decided what I would make the girls for dinner in the moment, and made my way to the back of the store where they keep the feel-good things while I gathered my ingredients.

As if by divine intervention there was a store clerk there and I asked her where I could find the ginger. I didn’t want to scan the myriad items and I figured she would have the inside track on the good stuff.

But, instead, she asked me if I was sick. I wasn’t prepared to be interrogated and – as if talking to a dear friend whom I wouldn’t mind sharing my secrets with – blurted out that I was nauseous.

As I felt the wave of anxiety and disappointment wash over me, I watched the bomb go off behind her eyes as she stepped back from me and asked me why I wasn’t wearing a mask.

Anyone paying attention to my antics and convictions through the pandemic knows I’m a flag-waving supporter of mask-wearing. But here I was, maskless and – technically in the wrong. So, I mustered up some arrogance and asked her where hers was..

The next minute, in silence, was hell.

She made her stand and I met her on the hill she decided to die on. She wasn’t expecting my response just as much as I wasn’t expecting to respond that way. But, in fairness, I feel like shit so I’m admittedly bound to make some bad decisions.

But at least now we had common ground.

She adjusted herself while I came back from the little hole I was hiding in, in my mind, that the silence sent me running down. I hate it when things are too quiet.

As if inspired by some unseen spirit, she began her well-informed diatribe on the various types of ginger-based remedies that were available. As she got into her groove and loosened up a bit, I started nodding to indicate that I was picking up what she was putting down. Our tet-a-tet had resolved itself and we were on our way to resolution.

While she was describing to me the fourth option I had to help me get rid of my tummy troubles, I saw a familiar face on a paper package. Based on its location on the shelves, I’m not sure why she didn’t start there. But I wasn’t about to undo all the work we’d done to get over our issues and come together on this.

‘The Ginger People’ candies have long been a friend of mine on the trail, out on bail, and whenever I wanted to experience the perfect balance between sweet and burning that raw, sugar-coated, candied ginger provides. I’ve never once used them to solve a medical issue.

Of course. What a lightbulb moment. So bright and encompassing. I interrupted my former enemy-turned-ally and exclaimed how – what I can only assume was going to be her fifth option for me – was the ticket.

24 dissolvable tablets that “promote digestive health, relieve motion sickness and nausea, ease gas, and indigestion” and, have an active ginger rating of 6, which, according to the bright blue colored scale on the box, is the highest rating.

She let out an audible sigh; I offered up an uncomfortable giggle. And that was that. She was on her way with her day and I with mine. Back to being perfect strangers.

While checking out, a familiar-looking little boy was staring at me with such conviction that I swore I was going to have to start paying child support. But his mother was someone I’d never seen in this life, so I checked out and moved on. I made sure to place the eggs on top but was still miffed that I was forced into a dozen instead of an 18-pack, which is the real grand slam deal on eggs in Whole Foods.

I digress…

In the parking lot, once I got into the truck, I hunted through my bag for my little spicy remedy. I popped open the package with an overabundance of care, as if this was some great treasure, and ate two of the little tan tablets. They burned like hell and made my eyes water. Which was an awesome byproduct as my left contact was a little dry.

Within minutes I felt fine. I felt better than fine, in fact. I felt inspired, and that inspiration has led to this moment in time where I threw all these words together, while parked in front of the girls’ school, waiting to pick them up.

Yes, the cold-like symptoms are still dancing around inside my insides, but the nausea has subsided for the time being. As I told you earlier, I can take on the sniffles and a dry cough. I could easily employ the “it’s that time of year” excuse while I suckle on a cough drop and smile. But the second something makes me feel like something is coming up and out, I shut down like anyone else who’s got the kind of social hang-ups I do.

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4:57-5:03am

Soft and sinking deep.
I know this pillow’s got me
as I start to fade away.

So many words have left me
since the light of my phone faded away.

Then the sounds around me drift
until all I can hear is the slowing of my breathing…

The beating of my heart…

And the small symphony
that accompanies dreams
coming to take me away…

Almost there…

Then the AC kicks on.
I’m back.
Writing.
Accomplished.

Yet waiting to find
the sweet spot on my pillow again…

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Buffalo Tom | 9.7.23

Details fade
like taillights in fog.
Just the minutiae
nothing major.

So,
it won’t be like bumping into a stranger.

But,
with a sigh of relief –
everything will seem new
every time.

What a fantastic thing!

This was a fantastic summer.
Like a bug in a jar,
I couldn’t escape.

But was I even trying?

As someone who swore off
such things in this life,
I feel a bit like a liar.

It’s the only lie I’ll ever tell you.
Just don’t drop the jar…

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John Mayer | 8.25.23

Familiar feelings
about something and not someone…

The thrill of diving deeper…
The fear of not finding the bottom.
The fact that there is no bottom…

The sudden change of pace.
An extra ingredient in the game of life.

I’m getting distracted on purpose.

It comes in waves.
I may be a strong swimmer,
but what am I missing on the periphery?

Probably nothing.
Keep treading water.

It’s not a bad thing.
It’s not everything.
It’s a lot of tiptoeing around…
The art of being indirect…

The fact that I’m intimidated.

The confidence I have in my head
that I seemingly leave at home.
Finding myself tongue-tied, dumbfounded
and standing around.

Is it a missed opportunity?
Is it a saving grace?

Shouldn’t the beer be helping?

Finally, some laughter
and I can stop staring at the ceiling.

Our greatest adventures
wait within the unknown.

But it’s time to go home.

It’s better to say too much
then never say what you need to say again…

I need to figure that last part out…


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The Nevermore

I used to have this friend named Tyler. Hell, he’s still my friend – I just haven’t talked to him in years. Life gets weird. It got a little weird. But – at this point – I can’t remember why.

Water under the bridge…
Anyway…

This guy drank more coffee, per capita, than anyone I’ve ever met – and it fueled his creativity. Not that he needed it, he was naturally talented. Pick a medium – he could impress you with what he came up with.

One night, we were having some oat sodas and he asked me to listen to a song he’d been tracking. So we go up into his studio of sorts and he plays this song for me. It was all him – every instrument, the mixing, the final mixing – all Tyler.

I’m fairly certain our friend Scott was there too – Ghosty 2 Dope – haha. I’ve known that dude since we were three. We don’t much talk anymore either. That’s more political though. He knows where I am if he needs me. I love that guy like a brother.

Anyway…

The song had a dark feeling. It might have even been raining outside. November. Lots of drama. The pacing of the drums foretold the struggle ahead. The pairing of guitars..

All of it was thick as a brick; it got in your head.

Then he asked me to lay down some vocals for him.

Now, I have written plenty of lyrics over the years. For myself. For other bands. It’s a fun exercise. Especially when you’ve got something dramatic that you need to get out of your system.

Unfortunately, at the time I didn’t have much of anything dramatic going on in my life. This predates the eventual downfall of my marriage by almost a decade..

But I had a friend who was. I won’t get too deep into the story – but his old lady turned out to be a real trip. She was a double agent; a hot mess – the whole thing.

So I channeled the stories he was telling me…
Shut my eyes…
And sang…

The Nevermore – Rectified By You

We hit it all in one take. I listened to it once and then, once I plugged in, it all came pouring out of me. Then we sat back and let the chills run through us. I don’t remember much of it – even in the moment.

I think I just let go and let the spirit take me…

A few days later, when Tyler sent me the track, there were plans to make more music. I coined our little outfit “The Nevermore”. But as I said earlier – life gets weird.

Anyway, I haven’t listened to this song in ten years. Everyone involved in the song is now divorced and properly reinvented.

The guy who I wrote the song about makes bread; has a beautiful family. I actually need to give him a call – I had a crazy dream about him and his brothers the other day.

Tyler has become an insanely talented tattoo artist – and I still keep tabs on him. If there’s anyone who deserves the good things in life; he’s one of them.

Me? Yeah. I’m good. Haha. I’m the best version of me that I’ve ever been.

From the ashes and all.

P.S. I needed some kind of image to go along with this, so I let AI figure it all out for me. I threw some of the lyrics into the bot and let it mull everything over.

Not bad, AI. Not bad at all.

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Gordon Lightfoot | 7.26.23

Soft features
that come with hard lines.

I cross lines all the time…

Deadpan delivery
that breaks the ice.
Legions of laughter
that drew me out of hiding..

You get to know people
and people get to know you.
But I feel so disconnected
when I head out on my own.

Laser-focused and drowning –
but somehow I’m breathing.
So there’s no need to panic.

The world swims around me.

All I see are sounds:
Deadpan delivery…
Legions of laughter…

Then a smile in the moonlight
that brings out all the good things left in me…

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Blueberries and Rain

Growing up on my grandparent’s farm, I had the benefit of walking out into the orchard with my cereal bowl and picking some fresh blueberries to go along with my morning cornflakes.

Somewhere in late May, maybe early June, my aunt and cousins would come over and we would drag out the massive nets to cover the blueberries. We would make a night of it. Stretching the net over the structure my grandfather built years before I was born.

Every once and a while, a bird would get inside and we would have to go in there and coax it out. Sometimes the bird had already died.

On Saturdays, I would go out with my grandmother and mother and pick buckets of the bluest blueberries anyone had ever seen. We would be out there for an hour or two. Picking and eating.

There were a dozen bushes, if not more. I have the sales receipt from the early 70’s somewhere here. I have my grandfather’s notes about taking care of the bushes. I have a lot of memories of an amazing man I never got to meet.

Edward. He was a WWII veteran. Factory worker. Farmer. Father of three.

When I was a teenager, I would set my tent up out in the orchard. Sometimes it was just me, sometimes I had company. I’d wake up in the morning to a field of deer. Sometimes a random fox, or a bunch of bunnies.

One morning I woke up in the rain. The tent held up really well, but the minute I got outside and started my journey back to the house, I was drenched. It was one of those day storms that start somewhere before the dawn and carry random bits of thunder along with it.

Already wet, and without the possibility of getting any wetter, I stopped by the blueberries and picked a handful to eat. When I got to the house, my grandmother opened the door. She asked me why I was soaking wet. Then she asked me if I picked her any blueberries.

Stasia. Mother of three. Tender to some of the best gardens in town. My biggest challenge when I was a kid. My best friend for a few years before she died.

Hrubiec Farms, Berlin CT
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Dead & Company, Fenway 6.25.2023

I wrote this right as I woke up the morning after the show. It was still thick in the magic of it all and I’m still feeling traces of it now, a week later. There’s nothing like a Dead show, but there’s nothing like spending it with the people you love.

There’s also something to be said about just hopping in your vehicle and doing the thing. Whatever the thing may be. I didn’t have time to think about any of it. I made the call. Came home and kissed the dog, grabbed some clothes and my toothbrush and the rest is a handful of memories I am glad I had the opportunity to make.

All my love.
Not fade away…


June 26, 2023. 7:27am.

Since March, the plan was to spend the weekend in Boston and hit up both shows. We’ve had the whole thing set up, hotel and all, and then life happened and things changed.

I was out. I wasn’t going. I had made the call after sleepless nights of not wanting to make the call. I could tell my friends were crushed, but I knew that they understood where I was coming from – why I couldn’t go.

Then, as if all my synapses sang out in unison – I decided to make the trip to Boston at the very last minute. Everything lined up just right – and I mean everything. And there I was, out on the trail – on my way home to mow the lawn and I made the call.

It was so last minute that I was handing my keys to the valet at the hotel as I was hopping into a cab to steam down to the stadium and get in the door just as Jack Straw from Wichita was taking the stage.

3pm to 615pm were a blur.

It was a knee-jerk reaction – a fit of spontaneity – a sure thing. And sure as you’re born – we all had an amazing night.

Who knows if this was the last time we will see these guys play together. It’s the final tour, but probably just the final tour of this line-up. But there was major magic in the air and the second set was so incredibly executed that if it never happened again, this was a great way to end it.

Something happened in there – some of those jams explored unchartered territory. We ascended and transcended – every single one of us.

I listened to everything from both inside and outside of my body. I experienced a little bit of clarity and levity while surrounded by an unfathomable amount of positive energy.

It left a smoking crater for sure…


Dead & Company – 6/25/2023 – Fenway Park Boston, MA

Set I
Samson & Delilah
Cold Rain & Snow
Jack Straw
Althea
Comes a Time
Mr. Charlie
He’s Gone >
Going Down the Road Feelin’ Bad

Set II
They Love Each Other>
Playin’ in the Band >
Help on the Way >
Slipknot! >
Fire on the Mountain>
Drums/Space>
Playing in the Band (reprise) >
The Other One v2 >
Standing on the Moon >
Not Fade Away

E: The Weight
Ripple

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Finally, a Chipmunk…

Early last month, someone set up a dome tent close enough to the edge of the road, near the trailhead at Ragged, that it was easy to see. Now that the forest has filled in, you really need to look for it – but it’s still there.

The first time I saw it, the front door was partially unzipped and it was the same way today. It’s not a coincidence – it’s abandoned. Which is both annoying and a relief.

It’s annoying that someone left a perfectly good tent behind, disrupting the flow of things. But it’s a relief because anyone putting a tent that close to the road probably isn’t dealing with a full deck.

Anyway.

Today I heard my first chipmunk of the season. Things were getting a little weird because this is chipmunk country and you hear them all year long, but not this year. This year there has been a heavy deficit in chipmunks. To the point of speculation and concern. But everything has been weird out there because of global warming and whatever else is screwing with the schedule of things.

Case and point, Trout Lillies and Bloodroot flowers always pop before Fiddleheads, but Fiddleheads had been unfurled for a solid week before I saw the first Trout Lily. I haven’t seen any Bloodroot. Weird weather patterns have shifted things around.

Another thing I’ve noticed is a general lack of people out on the trail. I’m not complaining – it’s everything I’ve ever wanted – but Ragged has gotten a little Ragged and I think it keeps folks to the main trail and off the side adventures.

By nature, we avoid conflict. A tree down on the path creates a disruption in the flow of things and is a form of conflict and it conflicts with you being able to venture onward without removing the tree. I’m an up-and-over person – I don’t much mind a tree down in my path unless it’s connected to a hornet’s nest. But most people would rather turn around and spread the news to avoid that path altogether.

This has led to the overgrowth of Garlic Mustard which tends to only grow in areas that are generally left alone. Even in our yards, this time of year, you’ll only find them clinging around the perimeter of your pool, firepit, or back side of your shed. Seeing so much out on the trail today was a clear sign that I was the first traveler to travel those hallowed grounds in quite some time.

And that’s all right by me.

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So Many Roads…

I haven’t been getting out to hike nearly as much as I’d like to.

It’s not for lack of want, but lack of time. Either way, being that this is my last week off before I start my new 9-to-5, I’m going to make an effort to get out there and get my head right.

Clear the thoughts.
Clear the cobwebs.
Switch gears and get back into the groove.

Today was a wicked good day out on Ragged.

Spring sprung more than a month ago, so everything has filled in nicely. As that part of the forest settled, the bugs and birds took up the reigns and are settling into their role under the canopy.

The American Robin, though not uncommon, has shown up in abundance. So much so that I would consider them to be the stewards of the preserve.

Laid back in general, the Robins don’t mind you walking by and taking your time. With all the caterpillars dangling from the trees, it’s a full-on feeding frenzy out there. So they’re fat and happy and you’re just part of the movie.

I did get the chance to catch an Ovenbird, part of the Warbler family, sitting on a limb. They didn’t mind me taking a picture of them, which I thanked them for, but from afar.

Beyond the birds and the lay of the land, the hiking today was a real escape. I like to get my heart rate up to 130-135 and keep it there for a while and today provided that ability in spades. In that, I was able to detach myself and only really come back to reality when there was a change in terrain, or someone wandered by.

I’m a woodland scavenger – I like to focus on the trinkets on and around the trail.

Being that I’ve hiked this trail a hundred times, but never the same way twice, I can take a step back and zone out while keeping a solid pace and filling my pockets.

Feathers.
Rocks.
Flowers.

I like to bring these things back to share with the girls, but they also serve as a waypoint a year or two down the road – something I can look and remind myself of a particular minute or a particular day out there. I’ll have a new scar after this one as well, as I popped a hole in my palm flicking out this Benchmade I’ve been testing out for the last few months.

I stroped it before I left the house and the way it hit my hand when I was opening it made it easy to slip into one of the soft spots. There was very little blood, and it seems to have closed up during the hike but cuts like this always make a scar.

For reference: I took the ‘Ragged Mountain Trail’ – blazed blue and red – to the left of the trailhead on West Lane. It’s close enough to two miles and two hours and it’s easy to wander on, around, and off of without really losing your bearings. It cuts over to the blue and yellow trail, and then I usually hop off onto an old truck trail. One of these days I want to just continue on and see what I can see. I’ve taken that hike before, but it’s been a while. I’ve got a new pack coming my way to test out – it would be a prime hike to see what it can do.

I’m naming this entry “So Many Roads” because the song has stayed lingering in my brain since JRAD played it on Saturday night at Westville. It tracks because these woods are loaded with so many trails – marked and unmarked – and I’ve been down most of them if not all of them.

Garcia really got behind that song towards his tenure with the Dead, and this life in general. It’s a real sleeper, but he would pop up toward the end and really make it swing. Tom Hamilton did the same at the show on Saturday. Really ripped through the fabric of reality. It was great to experience that with Ian and TJ.

I need more hikes like the one I hiked today. I’m still riding on its ethereal fumes as I wait to pick up the girls from school. It’s quite possibly the perfect May Day, only to get better by the stories they’re going to tell me.

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Just a minute…

Writing a new blog post while I’m working probably isn’t the best use of my time – but as this is only going to take 5 minutes, and I need to shift my step to pivot to a new project, this is a nice way of doing it.

I’m going to be 42 next month and I don’t really feel it except for the random worry about the things I put into my body. Case and point, I’ve been sick since the weekend and I refuse to mix medications. Just a few years ago I would have done it and enjoyed the ride.

I’m worried about the fact that we haven’t gotten any snow this winter. We could get some later today, but what’s that even going to be? A tease before spring? Meanwhile, I’ve got friends on the left coast living in igloos as if they’re in Antarctica.

I started wearing reading glasses a couple of months ago and the difference in my eyes and the overall lack of headaches is almost unconscionable. And at 1.00 power, it’s just a slight difference – but it’s enough.

A good knife is as good as a good pen. Both are things you need to rely on – in different situations – and are nice to know that you have them on you when you do.

I drink a ton of tea in the winter. In fact, it’s a wonder how I don’t float away with all of that and all of the bubbly water that I drink.

All right. That’s the thick of it and the end of it.
Time: 4 minutes, tip to tail.

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December | Playlist

Music has the wonderful ability to guide you, enable you, inspire you, and help you understand yourself better than anything else on the planet. I don’t know if it’s the rhythm and the words, I don’t know if it’s the tempo and the tone – but whatever all of it is, it’s a powerful thing.

The holidays – which basically ensconce the month of December – are also powerful, but it’s not always rainbows and butterflies – sometimes they bring on stress and dread; drumming up all the stuff you shoved back down into a secret hiding place in therapy. Sometimes they don’t bring on those feelings, but are just overwhelming – in both a good and bad way – and it creates this energy in you that eventually needs to be let out.

Oddly enough, this time of year – Christmas, Hanukkah, Yule, and New Year – collectively have the largest amount of music written for and about it.

A few years back, I put together a playlist called “December”. It started off as a Christmas playlist.

We Christmas in our family, but sometimes we throw in a little Yule, and based on some recently discovered family information, we may start to Hanukkah.

But as the month drew closer to its climax, I started adding other songs in there – stuff that was making me feel – both good and bad – and helping me really find balance in the holiday season.

You can listen to it here.

Now! Focusing on Christmas, seeing it really starts tomorrow for most of us, here are my top ten tunes on the playlist that keep finding their way onto repeat:

1. The Pogues – Fairytale of New York
I was going through a divorce when this song landed on my front steps and is just the right amount of sad to help you get through anything.

2. Bela Fleck and the Flecktones – Jingle Bells
Bela Fleck was my first foray into bluegrass, many moons ago. This version of Jingle Bells is one of the best out there – and I won’t tell you why. You’ll know once you hear it.

3. Tim Minchin – White Wine In The Sun
First off, I love Tim. His music and acting are top-notch in all directions – but the bit of drama in this song always makes me cry.

4. Chris De Burgh – A Spaceman Came Traveling
I like trippy synth music that takes you places, and this is all about that – and fits right in with this time of year.

5. Greg Lake – I Believe In Father Christmas
I feel like the narrator of this song was stuck in a rustic cabin somewhere, with his synthesizer, and had himself a vision of epic proportions.

6. Keith Richards – Run, Rudolph, Run
This gem was a Record Store Day whale or something. It’s paired with “Pressure Drop” and “The Harder They Come” and all three are worth a listen.

7. Bob Seger – Little Drummer Boy
My oldest daughter was born to Bob Seger, so I’ve got a spot saved for him under the tree by my heart for this totem.

8. Andrea von Kampen – Old Fashioned Holiday
There must be something in the water in Michigan that gives its singer-songwriters the perfect voice and delivery combo. This is love-making music.

9. The Band – Christmas Must Be Tonight
I’ll pretty much gobble up anything you put in front of me from The Band. The hook in this tune – where the Levon and Richard come in to aid Rick in telling the tale gets me every fucking time. Every time.

10. The Head and the Heart – What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve
The first time I heard this song I was walking through Home Depot and it just hit me the right way. It’s got a great crescendo that hits and drops into a really eerie/ethereal ending.

I hope you enjoyed those ten wonderful songs that scream CHRISTMAS to me. Maybe you’ll play them at your holiday party, inspired by my enthusiasm? Maybe you’ll never listen to them again. Either way – there’s no dismissing the quality and impact.

Happy Holidays.
Nick/Ragged


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Weird Neil Rides Again

Growing up, I took it upon myself to absorb as much Neil Young as humanly possible. He was big medicine to me – his sound, his words, his politics. He found a place in me that I relied on to help me figure out who I was – and once I did, I kind of got burned out on the old guy.

Now, with the release of “Chevrolet” off of Neil and Crazy Horse’s new record World Record – I’m back in the saddle as Weird Neil rides again.

Somewhere around the age of 14, I picked up a copy of Live Rust and songs like “The Loner”, “Powderfinger”, and “I Am A Child” wrapped their arms around me, pushed me to places I never knew I needed to see. Smoke signals outside of my internal Tipi started forming and I wasn’t only listening to Neil Young, but I was hearing him.

Then somewhere after Prairie Wind, I let go and moved on.

It wasn’t so much Neil and his music as it was me and my life. I had done the same with Led Zeppelin, and Lynyrd Skynyrd previously. In fact, the only band that I have never walked away from is The Grateful Dead and that’s partly due to their endless catalog of live music.

Anyway. Neil Young is back with Crazy Horse and taking center stage in my heart of hearts – and this nearly twenty-minute long banger is the reason.

It’s got all the elements of anything from the Neil Young catalog – and then some. So much so that I think I owe it to myself to absorb this whole album. I just can’t do it on any streaming service, besides Neil’s own, because Neil called out Joe Rogan for being Joe Rogan and pulled his music from the bigger streams.

Oh well, I won’t be deterred.
In fact, kudos to for Neil bringing Rogan to task.
Someone had to say what everyone was thinking.

Cheers.

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The Big Banter

I’ve been freelancing on the weekends for Gear Junkie since the beginning of the Fall. It’s been an exciting outlet for me to share my technical writing through – but let’s be honest, as technical as it can be, my soul and spirit hang from the pointing edges of each letter, and rest on the belly of the rounded ones.

It’s all there.

My latest write-up is about The Big Banter from WE Knife Co. – and I won’t go into detail about it here, because you can read the article when it drops next week and give them the traffic – BUT, I will share this photo because it’s a real banger and I am proud of it.

So, a little background: I was outside doing work in the yard and I came across this pinecone hanging off a bit of a dried and dying branch that must have blown down from up on high. I knew it wasn’t from the White Pines that flank the property – so I sat down with some tea and a reference book and did a little research. Turns out it’s from a Pitch Pine, which I have one of, off in a remote corner, tucked behind a rotting ash that the Pileated Woodpecker calls home.

Anyway, I had used the knife to remove the pinecone and – in being pulled away to do something for the girls – I dropped everything in place. When I came back, I knew what I saw would end up being the hero picture of the article.

And here we are.

And now you’re left with a little insight into how I get down to the nitty gritty when I’m writing these write-ups for the world to read.

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Something in the way, Yeah…

Song lyrics are one of the most intoxicating ways to get words out.

If you’re trying to get a message across or tell a story, having music accompany it has the potential to raise your intentions to new heights. They’re also memorable because they flow with a melody that causes the listener to retain it – either for the words, the music, or both.

I use lyrics all the time to support a social media post, or to say something I don’t want to outright say myself – it’s coy, it’s what I do. Even as a writer, I find that someone may have already written what I needed to get out into the ether, so – heck, why not?

It’s been said that these lyrics are the most appealing lyrics of all time:

“Well, I’m standing on the corner in Winslow, Arizona – and such a fine sight to see; it’s a girl, my lord, in a flatbed Ford, slowin’ down to take a look at me.”

The Eagles “Take It Easy”

There’s no doubt in my mind that they’re recognizable – and awesome – but those lyrics don’t check off all of the boxes for me – and I really like the Eagles, too. It’s not a knock on them – not at all.

The lyric that appeals to me the most – for all sorts of reasons – is:

“There’s been a hoot owl howling outside my window now. ‘Bout six nights in a row..”

Michael Martin Murphey “Wildfire”

Now, this isn’t the only bit of lyrics that I cling to – that causes a reaction in me – but whenever I hear a lyric that I like, this is the bit that always comes up in unison.

The way “hoot owl” and “howling” and “outside” and “now” all roll together to form the statement is some of the most delicious word stew I’ve ever seen and heard. It doesn’t hurt that the song is one of the best songs out there, in my opinion, either. But you can’t argue the alliterative excellence of that phrase.

It’s pleasing – it pleases me – as does the whole story of Wildfire. In fact, Murphey has a great catalog of music and I hope to see him one day. He’s out there doing these cowboy jamborees in places like Tulsa and Wichita – Grand Junction and Grand Prairie – and I hear his Christmas shows are a whole other level.

Anyway. What lyrics sing to you? What do you remember out of the blue from a song?

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Recipe: Baked Apples

I don’t write down recipes because I generally just figure out what the kids and I like and remember to make it again – as they are creatures of habit (all kids are). But when I find something that inspires me to take a day trip to Vermont, well then I figure that warrants not only writing it down, but sharing it.

Ingredients:
Apples
Oatmeal
Sugar & Cinnamon
Apple Cider
Pancake Mix
Maple Syrup
Butter
Vanilla Bean Ice Cream

The Process (Apples):
Take your apple or apples and core it, making sure not to go all the way through the bottom. Then widen the hole – making a cup for your oatmeal mixture.

The Process (Oatmeal Mix):
Melt 1/4 stick of butter in a pan. Once it melts, add in:
1 Cup of Oatmeal
1 Cup of Pancake Mix
1 Cup of Apple Cider

Mix that all together then add in the Sugar & Cinnamon and Maple Syrup – mix that together. Remove from heat.

The Build-Out:
1. Preheat your oven to 350 deg.

2. Pack the oatmeal mix into your apple(s) and place them in an an oven-safe pot or pan.

3. When the oven comes up to temp, put the pan in the oven and cook for 35-40 minutes.

Devour:
Place your apple in a bowl that can accommodate it and a couple of scoops of Vanilla Bean Ice Cream. This would also be a good time to drizzle some caramel over the top, or some chopped nuts – have fun with it.


The backstory here is that I randomly came across this recipe while going through Instagram one morning. It’s a take on dutch oven baked apples which are a staple on a fall or winter camping trip.

The idea of doing this prompted me to plan out a great day up in Vermont with the girls – where we took it easy on the backroads until we found the best place to get apples. We were in the middle of the middle of nowhere and it was amazing.

The apple in the picture is called a “Twenty Ounce” and it can be found at Scott Farm Orchards in Dummerston, VT.

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Eden’s Shore

Most people see Spring and Summer as the ideal time to have an adventure in the great outdoors.

Spring? YES!
Summer? Not so much…

This morning I woke up and it was 45 degrees before the sun crawled over the mountain. It’s only 48 now with the sun in my eyes – and all I want to do is put on my hiking boots and get out there in it.

I don’t feel this way when I wake up and it’s 85 – with equal humidity – and the haze is so thick that you could comb your hair with it.

Summer is appealing because the days are long – kids are out of school – and everything seems a little more relaxed. It’s perfect for hanging around a pool or a pond.

A pond is much better for me.

But its not great for hiking around – save for catching frogs with your kids; scrambling up a riverbed that will soon be a river once again.

In the fall, everything cools off – the temps, the mosquitos – everything seems to come into perspective, and then the leaves start to change… Then the sunsets become biblical… You need to pack an extra layer, but you can still rock your Crocs if you’re so inclined.

Truth be told – I spend the whole year in the outdoors. New England offers me that kind of setting where I can glean inspiration from all twelve of the months. But I really soak it in from September to the leading edge of June.

Sure, I’ll go camping in the middle of August and sweat my ass off morning, noon, and night – let the walls of the tent stick to me as I roll over constantly.. But I would rather parlay that until late September when I can wake up and flick the dew off the mesh windows of that same tent, head out into the sunrise, and – if I’m careful – listen to the season change.

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There’s Always Airplane Mode…

Last week Elon Musk announced that he was going to launch more of his Starlink satellites into space so that some of the most remote locations on the planet would have cell service.

Outlets like Outside and Gear Junkie picked up on the story, and – in accessing these articles on their respective social pages – there was no questioning that there is a heavy divide between who’s for this and who’s against it.

The people who are against it are the purists who believe that the outdoors is a sacred place that should not be interrupted by modern amenities. Their fear is that the TikTokers will infect the woods with their twerking videos and/or this will just be another place for people to walk around with their faces glued to their phones – taking away from the whole meaning of being out there in the first place.

The people that are for this are the “better to have, and not need, than to need, and not have” crowd, who believe that if you can improve your situation in an emergency in a remote area – then you should. They’re not interested in making videos or having conversations on their phones when they’re out there in it – instead, they’re looking at this as another way to be prepared in a place where a lot of folks generally aren’t.

So – as someone who spends the majority of their time in the outdoors, in remote places, a lot of times without cell service – where do I stand on the matter?

Well, I love the escape the outdoors provides me, but I’m all for being prepared and being as self-sufficient as I can be out there. I’m also a dad and I like to be as available as I can be for my kids because you never know what kind of jam they’re going to get into.

Adding to that – big picture – we live in a society where everyone is a text or phone call away. It’s as common as breathing these days, so people expect to be able to get a hold of you. But, if you set parameters – like “hey, I’m going hiking this afternoon, so I might not get back to you right away.” people get that, because they get you.

And, if I’m being blunt – you can always turn your phone off or turn on Airplane Mode if you don’t want to be bothered.

So, all due to respect to the die-hards who oppose this improvement, but this isn’t the fight you want to fall on your sword for. You can save that enthusiasm for the jerks who play their bluetooth speakers in the woods talk. Besides, this isn’t going to be the type of cell service where you can stream yourself lip-syncing in a bear cave, this is going to be a very slow, necessity-driven form of service that will allow a text or call to be sent or received.

Not a lot of bandwidth, but a nice to have, just in case.

In the end, this is all a sign of the times. There are already multiple ways to communicate in the outdoors in places that don’t have cell service – most of which charge an extra fee to use. And, as awesome as they are, if you can save a few bucks and not have to carry an extra gizmo or gadget, that’s a win-win.

Especially if you’re one of those people who drill holes in their toothbrush to cut down on weight.

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Gone Are The Days

The internet is really what struck the first tone of the death knell for brick and mortar retail experience; forcing retailers to decide if they wanted to focus on in-store sales or internet sales – or find the balance between both. Then, after years of finding what worked for their business model, Covid hit and forced a lot of these stores either to the internet or out of business.

I’m sure this can be found in a lot of retail sectors, but the one place it’s hitting home for me is with outdoor gear shops that once got down to a granular level of gear and now find themselves greeting their customers with a smile on their face, only to refer them back to the internet to get the bits and pieces they’re looking for.

There’s a culture there that’s being squashed – unless you’re lucky enough to live in proximity to a place that pulled through the pandemic with its brick-and-mortar ethos still intact. But their far and few between and, up until the middle of last week, I was struggling with it.

Seriously.


My first job in high school, which I kept through college, was working in a local camping store. I started off sweeping the sidewalk and emptying the trash and eventually found myself outfitting people for their next adventure. I knew a little bit of everything and was eager to fill in the blanks on what I didn’t know.

Mickey Finn’s, in my hometown of Berlin, Connecticut used to be a collection of three stores: The Clothing Store, where we all went to get clothes for school. The Honda Shop sold motorcycles, lawnmowers, and parts, and housed a lot of backstock for the three stores. And the Camping Store, where I worked, that was a mix of workwear, work boots, hiking boots, canoes, kayaks, and everything else you needed for working, playing, and living in the outdoors.

It’s still around, and it’s still fantastic, but the Honda Shop closed down way before the pandemic, and the camping eliminated the camping section around that time too. This means all of the crazy backstock of bits and pieces went with it all:

Old tents, and last year’s model sleeping bags.
Repair kits for damn near anything.
All the parts you needed to rebuild your grandfather’s Coleman lamp.
Those cool Levi’s jean jackets with the wool collar (miss you, Tommy)..
It’s all gone, except for up in my head where the memories remain.

How many people did I get ready to hike the AT? How about the long trail? How many folks came in for their first kayak and left with their first full-blown roof rack, installed by yours truly?

I made friends there – the people I worked with and people I saw out on the trail, randomly. It was a lifestyle – it wasn’t working retail to me. And all of us were in the same nest of thought in that store. It was our own cultural mecca, and it always smelled like nubuck. And now I miss working with Billy every day.

Anyway.

After Finn’s, I did a spell at Eastern Mountain Sports – smack dab in the middle of its peak performance, before moving on to Thule – where I had the chance to not only design new and improved versions of those racks I sold and installed, but also got the chance to visit all sorts of brick and mortar stores all over the country, to fill my soul coffers of that vibe.

And now a lot of that is gone. Sure, there are places peppered all across this country that I can stop into when I’m out there and catch a whiff of the vibe, but – well. Deep sigh.


Right around this time of year, every year, I start to pivot and get excited about camping on the cold ground/waking up covered in dew in a field full of fog. I yearn for long hikes where I can catch the sunset and still have the whole night ahead of me. Fall is not only my favorite season to be outdoors, but it’s during the switch over from warm weather gear to cold weather gear that I start to look at areas of improvement.

I start to plan out overnight trips up to Vermont, maybe a few camping trips with the girls sprinkled throughout the state – buy a new flannel or a pair of pants. Really wrap my head around it.

Anyway, I wanted to try something new – take a different approach to how I was going to carry my gear on lighter hikes. I spent a few days going down one path, only to find that I was already thinking about how I would need to modify what I was getting so it would suit my needs. I wanted to take a certain hip pack and make it my everyday carry, but I found myself thinking about how I would cut this out and sew that part. It was a mess. And then, after a few days of toiling and exploring on the internet (what the internet is really good for), an errant keystroke led me to the hip pack I wanted, with zero modifications need.

It was everything. I was elated. And then I found out that the pack was discontinued two years ago, and replaced with something that I would need to modify to get it back to its predecessor, and ultimately – what I wanted out of it.


The one thing I know for certain about hanging out in backrooms of mom-and-pop camping stores, and even some of the bigger – national brand ones – is that they always have something old sitting on their shelves somewhere. Last year’s model of this, or a returned bit of that. It’s just part of that vibe – that way of being. There’s always something someone wants on one of those shelves.

Knowing this, I start hunting and pecking. I google and I search and I make a list of the places I’m going to call to see if they have my holy grail of the moment tucked out back by the microwave – that old relic that they pass by on their break, on their way out to toke a rope and might stack their keys and water bottle against but would never consider putting it back on the shelf.

This idea – this hope – is what keeps my blood flowing during the downfall of the retail experience. It’s also what led to me to call a random bike shop (which is basically a camping store with bikes) in Albuquerque where one of its employees took the time to listen to what I had to say, and spent three hours – in his backroom of treasures – looking for this discontinued hip pack for me.


Not only did he find it – returned with tags still on it – and tucked on a shelf, near the microwave – but he took 20% off the top and offered to ship it to me for free.

So, not only am I stoked that this void is being filled – to the point where I went and reassessed all the rest of my gear to see if I could get lightning to strike twice – but I my hope in this culture hanging on for the next big challenge – has been restored.

So yes, gone are the days when things like this happen all the time. But the people working in these shops are the last stronghold – the last chance to keep the vibe alive, and man – Nate, in Alburqurque, I owe you a beer. I think a lot of people owe you a beer, and I am happy to know that peppered throughout the country there’s a little something left, for a little while longer, where some outdoorsy type of person in this situation has the opportunity to tie the strings together, if only for a little while longer.

Bob Dylan once said “What’s lost is lost, we can’t regain what went down in the flood”. But that doesn’t mean that things won’t keep bobbing to the surface from time to time.

Have hope, friends and freaks. The era of the brick-and-mortar retail experience has passed, but it doesn’t mean it’s gone.

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The Reconnect

There was a time in my life where I was connected to the outdoor world through the people and gear. That connection enhanced everything I did outside, and – taking it step further – pushed to be more and do more when I was on one of my crazy adventures.

I was in the middle of a great career at Thule, when I was approached to write knife and tool reviews for The Gear Institute. Both of those, in communion, connected me with other people who were splitting their time between the 9-5 grind and the outdoors.

All of us knew enough to influence one another about this thing or that – use this tent, try that knife, eat this food – and it was something that added to all of our lives.

Covid changed all of that.

In a time where more of these thoughts and ideas should have been shared and applied, we were all forced to retreat – refocus and reset while the world figured out what was wrong and what the impact the pandemic really had on us was.

But that doesn’t mean we stopped thinking about this stuff or stopped living that life.

The hardcore dirtbags in the mix found new veins to expose while sleeping through starry nights on platforms held in place with cams and carabiners.

The writers found new things to write about while they tried to hang on and put food on the table in a place in time where they couldn’t go out and find more things to write about.

I tucked myself into a new job; writing and building brands, raising my daughters, teaching them how to plant trees and tend to gardens, and making knives.

I enjoyed the pandemic. I liked the scary stuff and the idea that shit could go sideways at the flip of a coin. But that’s because I was prepared. I know life without modern amenities. I have everything at the ready if we have to get up and go. I could survive in that situation – struggle and all.

But that doesn’t mean I didn’t miss the connections and opportunities of hitting up a tradeshow or throwing back a beer with someone I only knew through email; going to an industry party or getting wild things sent to me in the mail to toil over and write about.

Now, here we are – adjusted to whatever this is now. Not the “new normal” but just life as we’re living it – and I have had the great opportunity to reconnect: to talk shop again. To share my thoughts in the air and on paper about this tent, that knife, or what food to eat.

But this time around, I am not only enjoying it from the inside – but I’m living inside of it. Foraging berries. Growing gardens. Finding new trails. Making new trails. Sipping my morning coffee while I nod at the solar panels on the roof of my 1300-square-foot cottage on a plot of property owned by my ancestors.

Full circle. All of it – and all the while I’ve been writing. Honing the skill that got me everywhere I’ve ever been, professionally.

So as the world opens back up and opportunities to reconnect with all of the other outdoorsians begin to blossom, I get a little emotional. I get a little deep. I start focusing on the details – and I realize that all of this is natural. That I have – just like my peer around me – a wealth of knowledge that is an extension of the person I am. Information that I can share – and expound on – without Google or any form of reference outside of what I’ve stored in my mind.

Take a deep breath.

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Financial Advice from Afar

I don’t care who you are and how much money you make, everyone is feeling the impact of inflation right now – and it’s only going to get worse as we crest summer and head down into the colder months.

That said, I have been chipping away to reduce my monthly expenses in an attempt to put more cash in my pocket for the road ahead. As a single dad, I’m doing alright, but I’m always looking to do better – so I’ve taken a few steps, listened to a few people, and I’m sleeping through the night again.

I’m no financial wizard – and I know everything I am going to write from this point on won’t work for everyone, but there’s a lot of stuff out there that people might not know about or think about, and I think you should.

SO!
Here we go:

SWITCH YOUR CELLPHONE SERVICE PROVIDER (to an MVNO)
An MVNO (mobile virtual network operator) is a company that purchases access to larger cellular service providers – like Verizon, AT&T, and T-Mobile – at wholesale pricing to give you name-brand service at a much lower price.

Companies like Mint Mobile, Xfinity, and Google Fi have proven that a lot of us are paying for a name brand when it comes to our cellphone service provider. Even if you owe on your phone, paying it off and switching to an MVNO will save you money, hand over fist.

GET DOWN TO BRASS TACKS WITH YOUR HOME HEATING FUEL PROVIDER
In this economy, loyalty isn’t worth the price of a cup of coffee, so you should feel free to shop around for the best price for home heating fuel in your area – and then ask your current provider if they can match any lower prices you find. If they say no, then at least you know you have a choice.

Beyond that, now’s the time to get on any budget plan they may be offering. This way you can spread your payments out across the year instead of getting a massive bill all at once.

Either way, there are ways to save – while staying warm – this winter.

DO THE SAME THING WITH YOUR ELECTRICITY PROVIDER
Believe it or not, you can change the rate you pay for your electricity, as every electricity provider offers alternatives – some more green than others. Those alternatives aren’t overly advertised, and you might need to have a Google – but that little bit of effort can save you a few dollars month to month.

Also – get on budget billing with those folks as well. They generally look at what you’ve consumed over the last 12-18 months and give you a year’s worth of equal payments. It sure beats going broke just because you want to run the a/c on a muggy day.

LEASE A SOLAR ARRAY
Solar power is one of the fastest growing alternatives to energy in the WORLD. That means the cost of products and materials is coming down, while the technology is getting better and better.

Lots of folks frown on leasing as opposed to buying, but with solar, that keeps you under their warranty for a set period of time – which means, they guarantee that system is going to run optimally. Sure, they get the tax credits, but you don’t need to drop $40,000 to absorb the sun to keep your home running year-round.

The added benefit to solar, in 2022, is that most companies offer a battery backup. This means that if the power goes out in your area, it won’t go out in your house. And maybe it can’t power everything, but you would be surprised at how much it really can power.

If you own a home, you owe it to yourself to do a little research and see what solar company in your area works the best for you.

SELL YOUR CAR
If you’re in a lease or making payments on a newer vehicle, chances are it’s worth more than what you’re paying for it when you drove it off the lot.

With inventory on new and used vehicles at an all-time low, you’ve got bargaining power with dealerships – to the point where they may buy you out of your lease or buy your vehicle from you, and you can turn a profit.

Then you can go hit up a private seller and get that jacked-up Chevy Scottsdale, step-side, midnight blue, with Hooker headers that you always wanted – and maybe have a little cash left over to drop in a decent head unit so you can sound good while you’re looking good!

FIX YOUR CREDIT
We’ve all got a past but that doesn’t mean it needs to impact our future to the point where we have to dig ourselves out of a hole. And that means a lot of things – maybe that’s bankruptcy? Maybe that’s selling a bunch of junk in the garage? Whatever it is – don’t sleep on it.

One trick that works is to pay your bills with money you never see – by using a credit card that allows you to build credit, but whose limit is what you put into it – nothing more/nothing less.

Have part of your paycheck direct deposited to this account, funding the card. Pick a handful of regular bills, where the monthly fee is the same each month, and pay them with this account. You don’t have the card in your pocket to spend the money on it – and your bills are safely and securely paid – without any effort from you – as long as you’re getting paid.


All of these are just examples of where you can cut corners or make changes in your situation that benefit you without getting outside of your comfort zone too much. They all take minimal effort but can have maximum rewards.

No one likes change, especially when it comes to the things that we can generally set and forget, but when you’re working with a budget and you can start cutting weight – with positive results – it really is a win/win.

So, take a leap and see where you land. The worst case is that you end up in the same place you started, but have more awareness of the situation you’re in and can keep checking back in on to see where you can save.

ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM: Keeping up with the Joneses.
I know. I get it. I used to live in suburbia too. There’s always a push to have the biggest and best of everything. But let me let you in on a little secret – the Joneses are superficial assholes, and even they use single ply when the going gets tough. They just don’t tell you about it because, well, they’re the Joneses and that’s kind of their thing. You need to live within your means, and only stretch those boundaries because you want to – not because someone else is.

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For Your Consideration: Photos

I’ve been really focused on the things around me lately – absorbing and reflecting. Being that we’re in the center of summer, there’s so much to see and try and capture the essence of.

… So much so that I find myself splitting my free time between looking up places for the girls and me to adventure off to and literary magazines currently accepting both poetry and photos submissions.

I found a few places. We’ll see what happens.

Anyway!

For your consideration…



1. Kaya, tired. Monday, mid-afternoon | Home, July 2022
2. Hops and Wineberries. Soon to be beer | Home, July 2022
3. Hawkweed. Invasive in places where we were invading | Vermont, June 2022

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This Summer I Slowed Down

I had no intention of ever becoming a hermit – if that’s what this all is. In fact, I was quite the social butterfly right up until Covid.

Now, out here – on the other side of the pandemic – I’m quite comfortable with my latest hobby of staying away from the hustle and bustle.

And so are my kids.

Now, let’s not get weird here – I don’t just stay in my house – I go places: food shopping, the movies, the library, out for the occasional pint, and definitely hiking and exploring in the local woods. I just stay out of the major social scenes – and try to hit places up at off-peak times.

It’s amazing.

First off, I haven’t gotten Covid yet. Neither have the kids. I probably will and when I do, I do. But until then, my efforts in retracting from the public eye have paid off.

Secondly, by default – I avoid temptation. I don’t overdo it: drinking, eating, buying things, etc. All of the social expectations of a participating member of modern, American society does – and I’ve been doing – I hardly do.

BUT, when I do, I appreciate it because it’s the exception and not the norm.

I know it’ll be rewarding when I do dip my life back into those bigger settings – but even so, I really haven’t and the drive to do so hasn’t kicked back in.

The mad rush of life just isn’t part of life anymore. And in it, I have found that not only do we get to do more stuff, but we enjoy the fine details of the things we do.

Lost in the minutiae.
Enjoying the ether…

Case and point: in the last two weeks alone, we’ve stayed home – acclimating the new kitten, picking wineberries, running around until the sun goes down, and even then only pausing to see the bats dance across the sky – then we pick it up again for a little while – usually until a mosquito bites one of us in the face, or we hear something rumbling off in the woods and it spooks us enough to kick rocks back into the house, where we tell stories to one another to help us fall asleep in bed.

Or play Roblox together until we can’t see straight.

I will say that all of this makes you feel like you’re one step behind when you get out into a social circle. As if all of the observing I’m doing when I am out and about takes the edge off my known ability of wit and humor.

Don’t get me wrong, I am still me.
I am just a more laid-back and observant me.

I am in tune – I see and hear more. I’m enjoying conversations more. There’s more laughter. And I have the time to digest and take on more if I want to. Sometimes I don’t even get dressed unless I have a meeting for work – or plan on going out somewhere.

I’ve even invested in more lounging shorts and tank tops.

As for the impact on the kids, they’re getting to be kids without the glow of a screen taking over their day. Yes, there’s still plenty of screentime (there has to be if they want to keep up in school), but it’s balanced with catching bugs, watering plants, and applying their limitless imaginations to the shapes of clouds.

They aren’t over-stimulated anymore and I think it helps them approach their little lives with more of an open mind; where they get to process things and toil over things and all of that makes every experience that much more fulfilling.

I have also instituted an hour of free time – every day – where I read, and the girls either read, color, play with clay, or – yes – play on their tablets. It’s 60 minutes of time where there’s nothing to do but whatever you want to do – and it’s wicked refreshing.

I’ve read more books this summer than I have since college.

Now work.

You might say “well dude, you still have to work and all this kumbaya shit doesn’t apply to those eight hours a day.”

Wrong. It actually does.

Being more laid back and observant allows me to compartmentalize projects better and set a more even-keeled pace. I find that I am more eager to take the extra step to get the project past the goal line.

Additionally, this approach has allowed me to let more things roll off my shoulder easier. I realize that I can only be held responsible for the things I am responsible for and that I had been enabling some people to slack off. All of that made me bitter and I found myself approaching work as a lone soldier instead of a teammate.

This might sound easy because I work from home – but if it’s so easy, why haven’t I been doing it? Why was I approaching everything like a firestorm?

All in all – this is my summer of Zen. And it’s the summer the girls will remember where we avoided the hustle and bustle and the quality of our experiences was way meatier.

It’s all been organic and gradual. I didn’t force this change on myself or the girls, I simply accepted it and adapted to it – added to it where I saw room for improvement, took from it where I saw things going off course.

None of this was planned. And for that, I am forever grateful for recognizing this whole movement for what it is and that the girls were up for it as well.

Deep Sigh…

We – as people – are forever changing. We have to. It’s what keeps us putting one foot in front of another. Looking back, just in writing this, I don’t think I am alone in this shift in life. I think a lot of folks found out that they could slow down and in it, they saw more colors, found more words, and things made more sense.

I think a lot of people realized that they were over-complicating their day-to-day and they didn’t need to. So, when they started to pull back a little and saw – like me – that they were just as fulfilled, they saw no reason to go back.

They liked slowing down.

I liked slowing down.
I’d like to stay here for a while.

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Foraging

I’m going to get a little native here, but when the spirit is strong inside of you, it’s the only way to fly…

Penny has always had a deep connection with the outdoor world. I’m not sure if it’s a reflection of her being a kid and having a warm and loving personality, or if its got deeper roots – but there’s an intoxicating magic inside of her that settles your soul when you’re with her.

… And the birds and animals feel it too.

This morning, out foraging, we came across the remains of a black snake – who fought something greater and lost. It was a good death for sure.

I collected some of the bones for my pouch, and Penny asked if she could have them for a necklace. Of course I agreed – and I dug into the archives to let her pick what she wanted…

She chose crow beads, stone, and some other bones I had gathered along the way..

And now she carries all of that spirit with her, as well as a great story to tell about collecting berries for breakfast and coming across the remains of a great battle…

#allmylove #notfadeaway #sageandspirit

Penny & Quinn – My spirit guides for the rest of my life…

Postscript:

I recently had a talk with Penny’s mother that had to do with one thing or another, and my response was along the lines of “if you wanted a wallflower for a daughter, you obviously weren’t paying attention to who her father was.”

That said, I am who I am and my daughter is who she is. Yes, she carries the same fire inside of her that has kept me pushing onward and upward, but it’s very much her own brand and is very much fueled by her own purposes.

I am merely the support structure and guide at this point on this journey. I have no doubt in my mind that one day our roles will flip and I will be holding her hand as we walk through the yard, foraging for berries, making memories, and building a ladder to our dreams.

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Half An Acre | 6.16.22

With Penny.. On an adventure..

I am following you around the yard.
It’s June and we’re looking for all the things that thrive.
You’re eight-and-three-quarters.

Animals and insects love you.
They stop what they’re doing to greet you.
You spend your time talking to them.

I am amazed.

This is what we do every morning while your sister sleeps in.
We walk our half acre and I talk about what I plan to do with the yard.

A retaining wall out back
where I’ll build up the soil and place our beehives.

A workshop where the shed is
at the edge of the driveway.

And you talk about the ants and spiders.
You wonder why the grass is wet in one part of the yard
But not the other.

You wonder.
We wander.

We eventually make it back to the bunny nest.
You pet a wild bunny the other day.
Then you pet another one yesterday.

It’s become our focus
And I don’t want to forget it.

I don’t want you to forget it.


When you walk by the nest, they don’t move.
When I walk by the nest, they run.

You are everything.
And not just to the bunnies.


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It all happened in 10th grade..

Kurt Vonnegut is the reason I am a writer.

No, he’s not my favorite author – and yes, I can count endless books that I would reach for before his – but no one writes like him.

I love the idea of Kurt Vonnegut and the person who was Kurt Vonnegut – I love to think that he closed his eyes and wandered around inside what he was writing.

He lived his words while they were hitting the paper. Experienced his characters and themes as they poured out of him. He was as much of the story he was writing as anything he was writing about.

Kurt Vonnegut isn’t my favorite author because I don’t think he would want me to just read his words and base mine off of just that. I think he would want me to move on and get lost around another corner – come back to him on a rainy day – then move on again.

Otherwise, he’s a lot of my favorite things.

In tenth grade, I had a wonderful English teacher who pushed us into different corners of the literary landscape – poetry, sexuality, creativity. She wanted us to read things that weren’t en vogue because she wanted us to know that there was a much bigger world than what was pushed in front of us.

She had us read two short stories that have stuck to the wall of my brain ever since.

The first was “The Veldt” by Ray Bradbury.

The second was what started my relationship with Kurt; Harrison Bergeron.

Now, I hope I’m not breaking any rules by sharing this. I first read it off of a copy of a photocopy that was stapled together and later crumpled in my backpack. This version was hosted on Google and downloaded there.

Either way.
If so…

May the powers that be come and get me if I’ve done something wrong by sharing one of the greatest stories written by one of the greatest writers on our little planet.

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Cycles | 4.28.2022

Sometimes I get sad
and I focus on obscure minutiae
to get me out of that hole.

Lately, I’ve been sad
so I’ve been focusing on a barn quilt
I’m having made for the outside of the house.

Barn quilts are a Vermont thing.
Patterns on wood – painted or otherwise –
placed in place to give passerby’s a hint
of the lives inside.

This one is 24″ x 24″.
Blue
Pink
Yellow
Purple
& Green
Tulips that will be mounted above
where my tulips grow this time of year.

And this all makes me think of this house
Which makes me think of an obituary
I just read for the mother of the woman
I bought this house from.

The woman I bought the house from
who planted those tulips.

And now I’m sad again.


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Tastebuds | 4.8.2022

I’ve lived a thousand lives
Each with its own forgotten festivals
In sync and alone.

Sometimes I was in focus
Sometimes I walked along the side –
Watching,
Waiting to be let in.

Keeping pace…
Scrambling over the debris.
Making fires to keep warm.

But whether I was center stage
or just there to pour the wine,

I always gave it all I had.

Save for a little piece of purity
So I had a way to get back home.

And now that they’re all that matters…
Now that the line has been drawn…
You’ve gotta knock.
There’s no rushing in and expecting favors.

I’ve retired.
Like a thousand times before.
And though there’s always room for laughter.
Always room to tease temptation.
There’s no room to get caught on the wind:

Transfixed on a mix of colors…
Calculating how crazy that sounds…
Fascinated on how fantastic it feels…

Not anymore.
Maybe in the next life?
Maybe I’ll find a way to remember?

Maybe this is the memory?
Guiding my hand in reflection.

Out here on the fading tip
of last night’s dream.

I was born in the desert.
I was reborn there too.
Again and again…
I saw the sunset a million times
At the edge of the lion’s den.

Maybe next go around I’ll be a carpenter?
Ignore the wavy lines.
And the soft caress?

Keep my hands clean
Steer away from the drama
Instead of pushing my way in.

Maybe I’ll knock first?
Maybe I’ll focus on sunrises?

Or maybe I’ll kick the door down
And do it all over again?

Sitting at someone else’s table
A court jester with an appetite.

It’s making me smile right now.
It’s more of a smirk.
All the muscles in a march to one side of my face.

Son of bitch.
I can’t get the taste out of my mouth.
Like a thousand times before.

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Crappy Articles, Guns, and Life in the Great Outdoors

Outside Magazine is forever poking the bear with one-sided articles about people carrying firearms in the outdoors. Recently, they reposted an article from a couple of years ago, on a slow news day, to bring up their likes and comments on Facebook.

No, I won’t link to it.

No, they’re not talking about people who carry rifles for hunting – but people who carry a handgun when they go out and explore the outdoors.

Their claim is that those people pose more of a threat than anyone else hiking, camping, etc.

They’re also the same people who think bear spray is going to stop a determined grizzly bear.

Deep sigh…


I am out in the woods quite a bit.

I don’t frequent the frequented trails and there’s a lot of places I end up in that I don’t have cell service.

I’m out in places where my voice – even at its loudest scream – will only travel to the next tree because the woods are so dense.

I go out in the outdoors without a net because the purpose of going out in the outdoors is to escape and explore.

I’ve been doing this since I was a kid, and I really don’t see that changing. I don’t want it to change. I thrive in that environment and those situations.

But it was in one of these situations where I realized that it would only benefit me to carry a firearm. I would change a part my overall life, to balance out a fraction of it.

Wild, right?

It was about ten years ago, after a weird and wicked snowstorm ripped through Connecticut in October. Looking back, it feels like it was over before it began but the days after were long and disrupted as crews worked to clear roads and restore power throughout the state.

On one of those days, I decided to take a hike to one of my favorite spots – a place I had been frequenting weekly for years as it was remote and led me to a part of the forest that had some really unique and long-forgotten trails.

As I came over a ridge, I saw something that instantly turned my stomach – turned the whole vibe sour – it was a massive camp with multiple, family-sized tents and tons of belongings – plastic books cases filled with books, storage bins filled with DVD’s and electronics, clotheslines full of clothes, a couple of tables, etc. It was as if, overnight, a neighborhood had sprouted up from the earth and people had claimed the area as their own.

What made this even more ominous is that this area was remote. A couple miles from any road in any direction – meaning that all of this stuff, all of which was brand new, was carried in – and by a lot of people. I even checked for tracks from a quad or a dirtbike – something that made this all rational, and nothing existed. Nothing had been covered up. It was all hoofed in.

These were people, in a large number, that came out here for one reason or another and completely changed the atmosphere.

Over the course of a couple of days, news spread around town about this camp. About people from out of town, coming and moving out into the woods. There was talk about how crime was up and drugs were more prevalent. How people that nobody recognized had been seen lurking around.

Sounded like pure paranoia, is what it sounded like, to me – but I too had seen it and it made me feel… Off.. Like I didn’t want to go out there anymore; like I shouldn’t go out there anymore.

Now, look – there were people already living on that mountain. Folks who didn’t gel with the locals and society and went into those woods and built themselves a life. I had stayed with them. I had eaten dinner and played music with them. These were good people. And yeah, there was element of drugs and a little bit of danger – but they were accessible people and welcoming.

This new camp was not that. Not at all. Not even a little.
And those other folks living up there felt it too. It put them on high alert – made them uneasy in the place they came to, to feel easy.

So, one day, I went back to the woods because I wanted to see what this really was. I didn’t want to be the guy running to the police because good people fell on the outs and ran to the woods to live. I wasn’t going to blow the whistle on them with just a yucking feeling in my stomach.

I was struggling with it, but not enough to make those people struggle.

I was almost at the camp when a dirty little barefoot boy in an oversized t-shirt crossed my path. Crying the blues about being hungry and not knowing where he was – but me knowing that there was no way he left his house without pants and shoes on.

Or that he was alone.

And that’s when an older, shirtless, gentleman with a rifle emerged from the bramble – trying to sing me a sweet song about poverty, all while keeping his hands keenly positioned on that rifle. He wasn’t pointing at me, but it would only take a fraction of a second for that to change.

The kid was bait.

He was sent out to stop someone coming down the trail so that this older guy could freak them out and get a little cash or food out of them, at minimum.

The same older guy who totally helped carry all the new gear, and collection of DVD’s into the deep of the woods.

This was a bad scene – these people were the bad scene. These people were everything that everyone was whispering about in town. Were they just trying to survive out there? Completely. Were they going about it the wrong way? Completely.

It was very obvious that there was some ill-intention in this conversation.

I talked my way out of that situation and got back to the trailhead. And then back down to the main trail and out to my truck where I sat and gathered my shit for a minute.

And decided that I would become a gun owner.


In a rural setting, the first place people go when they don’t want to be found is the woods. It doesn’t matter the reason, but they are out there because they want to be left alone. It’s why people go hiking, but in the case of these more destitute folks – it’s a little more edgy, not as bountiful, and it’s not so they can post pictures on their favorite outdoor Facebook group page.

Are they a threat? Depends. But why put yourself in a situation where you’re unprepared? The gift of gab got me out of that situation with that old man and his pint-sized accomplice. But if it didn’t? What if there were more folks there? What if there were more guns there?

When we head out in the woods, most of us make sure to bring water, a compass, a knife, cellphone – what’s so different about a handgun? Because they carry a negative connotation in modern civiliazation?

Cool. The woods – the mountains – the forest – the river – caves and root huts – they aren’t modern civilization. They are an escape and, as much as we would like to believe the law extends out, under the canopy, in the middle of nowhere – it doesn’t.

People are in the mindset of escaping, and the tendrils of modern society are a big trigger for that escape.

So, here’s some reality.

For the last ten years, I have carried a handgun with me when I’ve gone hiking and camping – and I have yet to shoot anyone. Hundreds of miles in the woods – and I’ve yet to feel the need to squeeze that trigger and send someone on their way.

I don’t feel cool and courageous when I have it on me and I rarely pay it any more attention than my knife or hatchet. In fact, it’s concealed, unlike my knife or hatchet.

It’s not a toy, it’s a tool – and yes, I have been in a few other situations in the woods where I was happy I had it – but I never pulled it or alluded to it. I am a responsible gun owner.

A handgun – just like a shirtless old man with a hunting rifle – will escalate the situation – as long as you understand that it’s a last resort, and not a first response then it’s not even part of the conversation.

If Outside Magazine, whom I love and adore, wants to keep publishing one-sided articles that just create fear, maybe they can add something like this to their copy:

There are a lot of people who carry handguns and there are a lot of people who are uneasy around them. Both sides need to respect one another – because that dichotomy isn’t going to change. If you choose to carry, then be responsible. If you choose to be worried, then I recommend you educate yourself on handguns, handgun owners, and maybe even head down to a range and fire off a few rounds.

I would also also recommend to expand into the weeds and add something witty, like:

If you’re worried about someone carrying a handgun then you should REALLY be worried about someone carrying a rifle – as those suckers can clip you from far distances with a greater accuracy.

But that would allude to their being a cadre of a murderous rogues living in the woods, hellbent on bloodshed, and we’re just not there yet. Not on a large scale. Maybe in little nooks and crannies somewhere. Which, again – a handgun would come handy in.

All in all, I would just like to see them create awareness instead of fear.

Anyway.

I could go on. I could get into the animal aspect – and how bear spray really doesn’t work. But I won’t – because it’ll just be a tangent at that point.

Be safe.
Be responsible.
Be prepared.

Be yourself..

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RIP Arcades

As a kid growing up in the 80’s and 90’s – arcades were a second home for me. I remember saving up my lunch money and doing odd chores around the house so I could split my bounty between comic books and arcade games – both of which were in the pinnacle of their existence at the time.

I remember once spending a whole day with my friend Marc and his brother – having their father drive us around from comic book shop, to arcade, to the store so we could buy video games, and then out to the casino that night – where we spent the entire night in the arcade.

We had video games everywhere around us.
We had video stores so we could rent video games.

And though I love how technology has advanced to the point where I have all of the aforementioned in my pocket; it doesn’t replace the arcade.

Arcades were a cultural haven. A place to escape and get ensconced. And when you balanced that out against home video game systems – it was a whole thing.

Spending weeknights, after homework, studying combos to unleash on Friday night at the arcade – in Mortal Kombat, Marvel vs. Capcom, Killer Instinct, Primal Rage, Street Fighter, Samurai Showdown… Etc… Etc.. Etc..

The arcades were always dark and loud – with flashing lights and robotic sounds. They smelled like bubblegum, featured greasy buttons, and you had to know just the right spot to hit the coin box to get your quarters to drop so you could get in the mix.

And if you couldn’t get to the mall or the movies – where arcades lived – you could find something at a gas station, Pizza Hut, or a laundromat.

Between that and comic books, it’s a wonder I how I made it as far as I have. Haha. I’m kidding – stop – I had my heads in hands involved in other things – but those were the hobbies of choice.

Now, arcades are niche. There’s a few places that still have the classics rigged up under the loud sounds and blinking lights – but they’re only there to fill in the gaps between reward machines that spit tickets at you so you can win something that’ll end up under the seat of your truck, or under the bed – forgotten before they were gotten.

Now, my skill level is almost non-existent. I used to know how to flow across the game board – how to cut time by just tapping the joystick. Combos. Button tricks. All of it. And sure, a little bit of it comes back as I get into it – but that’s just the kid in me and muscle memory joining forces. I’m no longer a formidable entity in the video game realm. I can’t learn new tricks.

I struggle with Roblox while my two daughters excel.
It’s like I replaced those old skills with new skills and didn’t have room for both in the old memory banks.

And I guess that’s alright. I mean, I probably couldn’t run through a set of combos and defeat my opponent before they even got to throw a jab – but I can drive and do my taxes.

Hahahah.

Times have changed. People have changed.
I miss the bubblegum and greasy buttons…

Hey. Who remembers that INSANE Aerosmith shooter – Revolution X?
How old are those guys now? Wow.

A world before High Definition…
A culture lost.

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New England Winter Hobby

It must be a winter thing – actually, it’s obviously a winter thing – but the birds have really got my attention lately, and I don’t see this distraction letting loose until Spring.

And that’s okay…

It’s this time of year where they go from being “birds” to being Junco’s and Titmice – Wren’s and Chickadee’s, all with interesting descriptors before their species. Names that I’ll forget once it warms up, and rediscover again when it starts to freeze next winter.

I enjoy toiling over what kind of food to get them, and as this is a hobby, I don’t mind making the small investment in that food. I don’t mind spending my time making sure the squirrel’s leave that food alone, or standing by my kitchen sink, silently and motionless, waiting for the next winged wonder to land on the feeder, or dangle off of the suet cage so I can try and take a picture.

Most birds don’t mind you taking their picture.

They have no idea what you’re doing – you just need to be fluid in your motions and make sure not to break an imaginary barrier and get any closer to them. If you can follow these unwritten rules, you’ll get some great shots that you can post and share – come back to and faun over in the future.

Birds are simple, but they’re scared. We’ve domesticated them by feeding them, but we’ve also instilled that fear in them. This is no truer than when you try to capture a Cardinal. Even with a barrier between us, they’ll ditch all their efforts if they see you – even the shadow of you.

Even the idea of you…

Sure, you could snap a great picture of one – or any bird – from a great distance with the right camera and lens – but here at the homestead, it’s more about connecting than collecting. Like trying to get both of your kids to smile in a picture on the first day of school, as opposed to taking the whole class picture.

Details.

Update: Shortly after I published this article, I was able to get a, somewhat decent, pictures of a female Cardinal. This is pretty exceptional, considering the context of this article, and it’s overall crux.

Female Cardinal
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In Dreams…

Storytelling is – and has been – the best form of communication – since.. Forever!

That will never change.

It’s storytelling that has allowed cultures to survive for generations.
Storytelling that brought the news to the masses..

Storytelling is what allows us to thrive.
And it’s in every aspect of communication – fact or fiction, or an amalgamation of both.

It can be flippant or personal, and I have told plenty of both – from all angles and edges – but dreams – dreams have always been the ones that create a connection between the storyteller and their audience.

Sharing your dreams makes you very vulnerable, in the moment – and pit you against time, because dreams eventually evaporate as the real day takes over and your day begins.

When I was growing up, my mom would ask me what I dreamt about when I was sleeping. She did this every day until I moved away to college. She would spend a few minutes of every morning listening to my tales – that I told – complete – with enthusiasm and emotion.

This opportunity to orate built up my storytelling chops, and allowed me to share bits and pieces from the corners of my imagination I had no control over. It was raw and real and I have since passed this tradition on to my daughters.

Every morning, I wake them up – and without fail, at some point, I’ll either ask them about their dreams or they’ll ask to tell me about them.

And they’re just as enthusiastic and emotional as I ever was.

Yesterday, while planning out the day – early in the morning – I was happily disrupted by the trickle of their soft voices. I walked to their room and listened by the door – and they were sharing their dreams with one another.

I cried.
Composed myself.
And joined in to listen.

I heard stories of ghosts and the wonders of driving for the first time from a five year old. Then I was told what life was like as a ballerina in a forest from an eight year old.

It was real. They lived those moments, and ad-libbed in the re-telling…
Creating on the fly to fill in the blanks and sell the story.

It was the best feeling in the world.

In dreams…

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Good Listeners

Last night, the girls were asking me what our next pet should be.

My first response was that we’re full up on pets for the time being, but as they worked on me a bit – and erring to my imagination – I said that our next pet should be a fox.

I understand that they’re not domesticated and any and all stories about people owning them as indoor pets have been shared without including the cons of having one as a pet.

That said, I have a long history with foxes.

Some kind of acceptance that was formed through years of wandering in the woods quietly – as to not disturb them. They watch me until I see them – and then they bounce off – but they make sure I’m sure I saw them.

Maybe a bit of a free pass because I grew up on a farm with them running around in the orchard where I was running around? A kid with some kits just being free before any of us knew the horrors of society and reality.

Then there was the night I hit one with my truck coming out of the woods. I was a teenager. I wasn’t paying attention. Neither was her or she. I shared a moment with this poor creature while it lay dying and I crouched crying before I put it out of it’s misery.

I dreamt about that fox off and on for twenty years after.

Either way, back here in the real world – where I have to make responsible decisions about what I get into in my life, and what I put my kids up against, I know that we can’t own a fox as a pet. And, though they’re a bit sullen about the facts, they’re alright with it.

Pulling in the driveway tonight, there was a beautiful fox waiting for me by the edge of the fence. A fence put up by a complete idiot of a neighbor, that is now keeping me from making an idiotic decision and inviting this fox in for Christmas.

I haven’t see a fox in the wild in twenty years. Now, after having considered one in the midst of light conversation last night, there’s one playing out in the yard with my dog.

Like I called upon the stars to deliver one.
As if my imagination had that much influence.

There are no coincidences in life, just occurrences.
And good listeners..

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Black Bears & Basement Stairs

I sat down this morning to do a little writing for a friend of mine. A link to the past, and connection to my life in the outdoors – nothing monumental, but I’m not looking for a change of pace. This is just something that fell in my lap, through word of mouth, and as it’s all easy stuff for me to write about – I graciously accepted.

When I write, my head goes off into a million different directions to help me piece together what I’m writing about; making it more authentic and relatable. The key to good writing isn’t writing about what you’re writing about, it’s to keep the reader engaged.

Anyway.
This isn’t a MasterClass…
Let’s move on.

Just now, I trailed off to my Aunt and Uncle’s basement – where we spent many amazing holidays, and random days, relaxing and laughing.

It was thick with nostalgia, even then – when I was a kid. A big finished room – like a second living room, but with so much more. A kitchen, a bathroom – a bedroom behind the bar. And an incredible workshop I was only in a few times in the breadth of my life when I got the chance to be down there.

But where I got stuck – today and as a husky, young explorer of sorts – was on my way down the stairs where there’s a door on the right that leads to some dark room.

I remember there being a red light on in that room and that sent my mind in many different directions – regarding what it could be. A little boy with a big imagination and an aunt who wouldn’t want him snooping around.

The perfect combo for a kid like me…

I may have even opened the door and found out what it was at one point – actually turned on the light and looked around. I think it was a utility closet of some sort, but right now, I can’t remember.

It all makes me think of my Uncle and how I wish he was still here.And now I’m completely off task.

Haha.
Anyway.

Back to pocket saws, tooth patterns, and wandering around in those woods that he told me were filled with black bears..

I never saw one..
But I still believe him.

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That Skull and Wreath Combo

I take a ton of pictures.

Sometimes I’ll take a picture and let it simmer – so that when I return to it, if I return to it, it has a different meaning.

Such is the case with this picture – taken randomly as I was walking up to the driveway from the house.

It has no meaning, whatsoever, but it feels deep and dark so it inspired something deep and dark.


“… And those with gnashing teeth”

And all the frights of Festivus,
circled ‘round the lot of us..
As smoke filled up our noses….
And fire lit up our eyes…

And on the horizon,
was the reason why
all the magic was
ever written…

Then glitter fell from the sky
While howls in the distance
reminded us why
we were still alive…

And of course,
as chills ran up our spines,
we refused to go back inside..

Waiting for those with gnashing teeth…

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Therapy from a Stranger

Rumor has it that Kris Kristofferson stumbled into a bar one night, saw a mailman with a guitar on stage – and before you knew it – John Prine stopped delivering mail and became a voice of the people.

Now, I won’t go off on a rant here and tell you that John Prine was a political activist or any pigeon-holing type of shit like that; but I will tell you that John Prine was a common man with a lot of ideas and he was happy to share them.

And people were happy to listen.

I’ve heard Prine’s music my whole life…
On the radio.
On my floor as a kid playing with toys.
On the road to somewhere I’ve long forgotten…
But the first time I really listened to him was during the grip of the pandemic.

Being that a lot of us were separated from one another, I took a lot of time to myself to explore the backroads and trails around my home and in depths of the River Valley. That’s when I really started to dig into his words; follow the trail of breadcrumbs he was leaving while living.

His music strengthened friendships and helped me speak my mind and understand what it was all about – whatever IT is, was, and will be. It was as much of a conduit as it was an influence on me.

(Therapy from a stranger.)

But the one song that grabbed me and held me down until I could see the scene with my eyes open, was “Crooked Piece of Time” off of September 78. It literally notated the place and time we were all living in while politicians and scientists went to war over what they were going to do with this virus and the people it was impacting.

(Petty things from petty people while we all irked out a living.)

The virus – COVID by name – would eventually become a tool to divide us all – people fighting over masks and vaccines. Some crying about freedom, others going with the flow. And as we’re still reaping in that stryfe, and facing another – questionable by some – variant, John has come into focus again – this time in the form of a whole album:

So here’s my bold and accurate statement about a man who I wept for as he died from complications from this ratty virus, last year:

John Prine is a staple in Americana – and not the flag waving, bible dragging, extreme right Americana – but the true grit, blue collar – “smoke some dope, who cares who you sleep with as long as you’re having a good time, and if you don’t mind – love me or leave me alone” – kind of Americana I was raised on.

– Me, right now, sipping coffee, listening to the dog bark at a deer outside,
the girls laughing in their bedroom, and “Hello in There”.

Now I don’t know John. I never knew John. But I know a lot of people like him. People in faded blue jeans, drinking foamy beers and flying their own flag – who bring hope and happiness to whomever they touch.

(Bonus points if they have a guitar.)

People a lot like me and my people – but swapping out the faded jeans for Carhartt unwashed duck double-knees, faded in the ass and knees. People who are proud to be Americans, but not those Americans who drag the Bible around behind them and use it to cover up their shame – Americans who live freely and pour love and laughter into their family and friends. People who stand for themselves and think for themselves so they can be themselves.

Anyway, there are some key tracks on “John Prine” that, if you were to dedicate the next hour of your life to listening to music, would set you on the path of a fantastic day. These are songs, when listened to in order – will present you with balance while tapping into some of those places in your inner-you that you don’t always tap into; especially all at once:

Illegal Smile
Because we all get stoned and want to be left alone, sometimes.

Spanish Pipedream
Because it’s easier to think for yourself than you think.

Hello In There
Because it’s easy to forget people, but it’s easier to remember them.

Sam Stone
Because the bad drugs are really bad.

Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You into Heaven Anymore
Because those Bible Draggers are a real drag.

Angel from Montgomery
Because we’re all looking for an angel to save us.

I’ve listened to this album twice since I started this written reflection. I even bought a copy of the album off of eBay – because maybe I’ll get stoned on the couch one night and think too much about all the things I don’t want to think about all too much?

And maybe I’ll find that those are the things I want to think about after all….

Love you, John.
Thanks for your time…

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Clay

Memories…

I can remember back to when I was 2-3 years old.

Good memories and bad memories. Big family parties and a small kitchen knife that stuck into my finger when I was washing dishes in my diaper.

(I’ll show you the scar.)

But my memories are mostly good, because it was mostly good.

(And, thankfully – It’s still is mostly good.)

But memories…
Memories triggered by a sound or smell.
Memories that keep me going when I need something to keep me going.

Memories of living on Darling St. in Southington and warming up tinfoil chocolate Santa’s on a neighbor’s grill, then ripping through the woods on a moped, strapped to one of my brothers.

Who was that neighbor?
Do I ever see them anymore?
Do they ever see me?
35 years later…

Memories of being in school on the day before Thanksgiving or the day before Christmas break.

Specific memories where you can remember minute details, captured for a reason and triggered randomly in the modern moment…

First kisses..
… On a school bus.
… Thinking how I hope my daughters don’t have their first kiss on a school bus..
… Unless they can kiss that girl..
… And I know that sounds weird.

Last kisses…
… Crying in a parking lot and saying goodbye for the first and last time – and when the memory is recalled, playing out how it could have gone better or worse…

Sunsets in other states…
Sunrises in other countries…
Colorado and Vermont vying for a tie…
Sweden and Copenhagen mixed up in the fog of my mind..
My backyard beating them all..

The last time my grandmother spoke to me as I held her hand in a cold and lonely hospital room…

She could only speak Polish because that last stroke tore through her like a late August thunderstorm..

Even though I had never heard her speak Polish before.

I think my mom was there.
But that I can’t remember…

The first time Penny looked at me and said “Daddy”. Rolling over in bed and tapping me on the arm. Smiling – and letting it loose to see how I would react.

It was her first word.

That time Quinn was genuinely upset about something and I saw it in her eyes. I saw it. I could see the sadness. And I stopped breathing for just a minute. And it felt like we were one person. That connection.

We’re still connected…

(And now I’m crying…)

Some memories are pointed and some are just random – but they’re all significant in the time that we recall them.

Good and bad, they help us put one foot in front of the other – whether we need that extra push or not.

Memories are dreams that really happened. They’re the building blocks of how we get to where we are and how we avoid going to where we shouldn’t have been going.

We are the clay, and they are the warm hands that shape us..

There’s no need to live in the past – but you should never forget where you came from – because it got you to where you are today.

Memories.

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It’s not too late…

The thing about fall – especially, if not exclusively – in New England is that it’s the perfect time to get lost and found – a time to immerse yourself in all of it and let it guide you through without fuss or a set goal in mind.

Whether you get into the witchyness of it, or you’re stuck on the colors, there’s so much more to do in this short span of time called “autumn” when petrichor fills the air and grounds you in the moment.

It’s a “don’t blink or you’ll miss it” scenario – but what it gives you in the gap leaves you both fulfilled and wanting until it comes around again.

Balance.

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The Den

Growing up, we had a room in our house that was designated as a catch-all: a place to store things forgotten that you weren’t ready to forget, a place to iron clothes, and a place to hide Christmas presents from prying eyes…

It’s also where a majority of our houseplants, in varying stages of their lives, were kept and fawned over…

There were a bunch of cacti – dry and pointy, stoic like soldiers, in old hand-thrown pots my mother had made. Some with needles that were easy to remove, others with needles that got under your skin.

There were a couple of dusty, egg-shaped moss terrariums, in various sizes – with various gnome figurines sitting, in humidity, inside. Mossy contents suspended in time with the same air from the day they were made.

There was a beautiful Geranium, that always seemed just far enough out of reach so it could remain undisturbed. Captivating in obscurity. Plump and curious. My favorite of all of the curiosities.

And then there was Coleus.
Little pots with cuttings…
Big pots with impressive plumes..
My grandmother loved Coleus – indoors and outdoors.
In gardens, and in pots – Coleus.

And so it went; so it was – growing up at 1509 Kensington Rd., with my mother and grandmother – who was a professional gardener.

This Coleus is brand new to me.

Just a week old, and hanging happily in front of my bedroom window. Purchased on a whim, without any intention of triggering these memories – but here we are, in the middle of childhood, wandering in wonder…

Yet again…

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Pileated Maple.. Maybe

There’s an old, dying tree out back that was old and dying when I bought this place a few years ago.

It’s upright and alright –
but this tree has decayed

to the point where it can’t be identified.
However, I would assume

it’s in the maple family
based on its size and what’s growing around it
.

Though it’s not exact on a land survey, this relic of a tree represents the eastern most corner of my property – and, if we’re anywhere out back, in the winter months, when the trees are bare – it makes for the perfect landmark to help us find our way back up to the house.

I assume it would serve the same purpose in the warmer months, when the trees are plump with pride, but we don’t head out that way too much then as it’s a haven for Copperhead snakes.

But don’t let me dissuade you from heading out there if you’re ever here. All it takes is me charting a course through there with an industrial brush cutter and we’ll be on Golden Pond; or – in this case – the banks of the Hubbard Brook.

My industrial brush cutter
is up at the cabin in VT
and is going to be a bear to bring back down
unless I can revive it.
Which I most certainly can.
It’s just a
want to do
and not a
need to do
right now.

Anyway…

My view from my bed through my bedroom window is quite fantastic – the focal point of which is this rotting tree. It’s a pin. It’s a geographic center about 150 feet from where I lay my head and dream my dreams.

And there’s so much going on around it and on it, but I rarely get a chance to catch any of the action during the day, as I am up and about with the sun and back to the pillows after sunset.

But this past Saturday, I had done enough for the day and hopped into bed somewhere before 730pm. So – if anything was going to happen in the yard, on that tree – or anywhere out there, in the beyond – I had the perfect view.

And as if were planned, the Pileated Woodpecker who had made that tree its canvas, returned within minutes of me paying attention.

I had first seen this bird – on this tree – last fall – from the top of the yard, where I only saw its back and assumed it was either bear cub or some sort of other something I had yet to identify – as it’s too large to be a bird, by design; the pileated woodpecker.

Anyway…

These birds, have the ability to remove a considerable amount of material with each peck. So, as I lay there, I watched as sawdust was kicked up, and large chunks of layered, dying, and drying wood fell to the ground.

This went on for about an hour – around the tree, up and down – in and about – all in search of some sort of worm or grub. Meanwhile, mere feet away, were probably a nest of snakes laying in wait that would have made a much more fulfilling meal.

It’s quite inspiring to watch this massive bird goto work. It’s not so much a path of destruction, as it is a dance. I mean, there has to be a level of finesse to it, right? This big feathered creature has to have a plan in order to be so exact.

I could go on wondering for days, but I’ll just wait for my next opportunity to observe.

And at that,
I’m thankful I was done with my day
and got to experience all of this,
in proximity.

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Foxglove and Daylily: A Tale Of Two Sisters

In the fall, my daughters will take on the next scholastic chapters in both of their young and wonderful lives.

Penny, eight this coming August, will go into third grade – which I hear is a real doozy in modern times. It’s probably even more-so being that half of this year past year – and half of the last year – was spent distance learning, a situation that forced kids to get acclimated with technology with a quickness, and probably took something away from the organic learning experience.

Though it could be argued that they were instilled with a powerful dose of forced-independence, and there’s merit in that feat.

Either way, she adjusted to both scenarios like a champ.

Quinn, who just turned five and proudly tells everyone so, will take the leap into Kindergarten – an all day commitment at a new school.

Our hometown only hosts the PreK program she was in at one of the three elementary schools in town, and she’ll be heading on up – to the east side, at another elementary school – for the next 6 years of her life. Three of which will be spent with Penny – so she’s excited – Penny is excited – and so am I.

That said…

Today, being the final day of school for the girls, I decided to pick them each something from the yard to give them as a sign of love and congratulations.

In a yard full of flowers, I picked the Foxglove for Penny and the Daylily for Quinn. There was no precognition, no planning – I just picked them because each flower drew me to their personalities.

And man, I wasn’t far off…

“Foxglove” represents intuition and creativity – both things which Penny is renowned for. In fact, she was awarded for her creativity both last year and this year in school. Beyond that, she has an uncanny understanding of everything – generally with little introduction. Penny either gets it, or asks why and how something is the way it is or works – then gets it.

The orange “Daylily” represents courage, which is uncanny seeing that Quinn will be entering a new school, with new people, and new routines – and she’s jazzed for it. It also represents love, and – though both girls are incredibly emotional and caring – Quinn is a healer, in all rights. She wants people to be alright in life – and she’ll do whatever she can to make sure people feel that way.

I won’t lie – I’m a little in awe of this connection. Yes, they’re my daughters. Yes, 50% of their DNA is shared with mine. And yes, we spend an incredible amount of time together – but this is on another level. Our yard has more than a dozen flowers in bloom right now – but I was drawn to the ample Foxglove and the newly bloomed Daylily.

This is some kind of mix of stardust, glitter, and paying attention.
Just goes to show, you don’t even know what you know….
And what you do could really mean…

Anyway…

All of my love ladies. I am just as excited as you are to see what’s around the next bend.

Love,

Dad
aka “Captain Ryan Pooperson”

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Jam On (Recipe At The End)

There’s always been a plan to plant things to grow things to sustain us here at our little homestead – and throughout the course of the pandemic, we made some serious headway:

8 Apple Trees (6 that are a sure thing).

10 Blueberry Bushes (8 that are putting out an impressive amount of fruit.. 2 that may end up on the burn pile).

Too many Wineberry and Raspberry Bushes to count – but I did buy 3 for posterity in April and are letting them thicken up a bit before I put them into the ground.

6 Hop Rhizomes that have turned into 5 intense bines that gave out 1 ounce of hops last year – and could give out a pound this year.

And a cherry tree that has yielded a snack time favorite in the last couple of weeks alone.

But no strawberries.

So, yesterday, to celebrate the end of the school year for the girls, we hit up Lyman Orchards yesterday and picked about 5lbs of some of the most amazing strawberries you ever have seen or eaten.

1lb went straightaway to Strawberry Shortcake to celebrate. And the other 4lbs. went to making jam – which I knew I would always make, but didn’t certainly plan on making.

I put all their tops in a shallow hole up near the apple trees – adjacent to the wineberry brambles and shoots in hopes to grow some plants for next year; after all – that’s how we got all these damn raspberries.

Anyway. Here’s the jam recipe. I have a feeling it’ll translate well to all the other berries in the yard as well. This recipe gives you 12 just about perfectly filled 4oz jelly jars – as well as a few generous spoon licks.

Anyway…

Strawberry Jam Recipe

4lbs of strawberries
2 cups of cane sugar
1/2 cup of lemon juice

Cover over low heat.
Stir randomly
Bring to boil
Mash lightly

Remove from heat
Jar
Let cool
Refrigerate overnight

Give away

It’s Quite Profound…

Driving down a snowy road during sunset.

I’m not sure where any of you land on past lives, but I am way too into parts of the past to not have been here before. And it all peaks at different times of the year.

Like right now.

Right now, I feel really in touch with what’s going on around me. From the scenery to the weather to the music – the whole fucking vibe. It’s as if once the sun sets and the moon rises above the tips of the pines, that I am finally home – spiritually. I yearn for it. I wait for it. I feel complete when it is upon us.

Every. Damn. Day.

I literally just planned part of my afternoon with my kids around one of those sunsets. I hope to catch a popcorn sky that fades to the point where you can only see it retreating off the surface of the snow into your memory banks…

I hope I’m shoveling snow when that happens with the scent of wood smoke tickling my nose and lingering longer in my beard.

Enchanting, right? Sure as you’re born it is…

I think part of all of this is the fact that I live on property that my family once owned. They were the original settlers of this area and made a living trading on the banks of the Connecticut River. Once a community was formed and roles needed to be established in the burgeoning society, some of those members branched out to make names for themselves.

A great uncle of mine was a “friend to negroes” and was jailed for “giving guns to savages”. Sounds like my kind of guy. He became a top-tier political figure out here before he checked out. Helped shape all of Middlesex County. He’s buried in a prominent cemetery in the middle of the city I live on the edge of. You need to request permission to get the key to visit the place.

He and his wife lived where I live now, and there’s a wild group of hiking trails named after her down the street. I didn’t know this until two years after I moved out here, but I was drawn to that area of land. That same area where my family’s trading post used to be.

It’s kind of crazy and wild. Maybe I was there?

There are so many trails out here in Maromas. Why would I be so laser-focused on those simple few that lead me down to the river like all the others do?

Regarding the music, it’s that heavy banjo and fiddle stuff that requires you to wear a belt knife and get a little dramatic when the stars and pretty women reflect off your eyes. It makes you want to say sweet things people remember and hunt for pinecones and berries in the snow. Makes you want to hold long conversations about nothing while you look for shapes in the smoke your breath makes…

It’s all quite profound.

We all connect to something, right?

Check this out: In another bit of unexplained celestial energy, I’ve always had a connection to Vermont. I thought it was the mountains and streams. Turns out that another part of my family settled that state. The whole thing. Sons of the revolution! Daughters too. The 1800s were a series of watershed moments for my dad’s side of the family.

A while back, I sat in an old taproom in Wilmington that was in a building another member of my family built one hundred or more years ago. I didn’t know it at the time, although I didn’t want to leave. And it wasn’t the beer or the company. I wandered around in old parts of that place that were closed off to the public, like I had wandered around there before – with the bartender’s dog keeping to my heels like he caught the scent of adventure and wanted a little bit of it too…

Anyway.

I’m not sure where any of you land on past lives, but I am way too into parts of the past to not have been here before. And it all peaks at different times of the year.

Like right now…

Pump the brakes, Hoss. This isn’t a movie and you’re not a kid anymore | 7.27.2025

Kool-Aid flavored fever dreams
of a possible future influenced by a romanticized and partly fabricated past
keep me out of the kind of sleep I need at night
but allow my imagination to stretch into long-ignored voids.

What’s more to want than
a cool country lake or to stare into a forest of pines?
… Getting lost on an unkept trail?

You’re well-established and unwavering.
Right?
Just you, the kids, and the kitten
..

(Laughs)

I feel the tethers pulling at me.
Pulling me from that.
Feelings that put me somewhere I want to be
But don’t need to be – but maybe have to be.

That’s a lot, man.
Where’s your compass?

Pulling parts from the ruins that can be salvaged…
Not willing to sacrifice the present, but to expand my future…

And now these dreams.
Reinforcing those tethers…
Walking beside me wherever.
Subconscious stop signs
That turn into wide-awake red lights.

It’s hard to ignore the buzzing…
The whirring…
The all-encompassing…

(Nods in agreement)

I am blinded by the light.
I am enamored with it.

You’re smiling…

(Scoffs)

All the while
thinking about those lakes and trees and trails that have protected me…

Forever stumbling forward
into a possible future that has nothing to do with my past.

(Cue “Changes” by Black Sabbath)

Add A Lanyard: Function Over Form

It’s hard not to condemn someone for condemning you, but there I was – reading an ample tirade regarding “how stupid” I was for putting lanyards on my pocket knives – written by someone who just thought it was for looks.

A collection of knives with lanyards and lanyard beads on top of a bookcase.
Photo: Nick LeFort

I’ve been carrying a pocket knife for more than 30 years. I’ve carried them here, there, and everywhere, and I have realized above all that they need to be easy to access and retrieve.

There have been plenty of times when I’ve been in a calm and relaxing situation and needed a knife. However, there have been just as many when I was in a more amplified situation, and I needed to get my knife.

None of this is for self-defense, mind you – just utility; cutting a rope while on top of a ladder when I only have one free hand; wedged under my truck on a trail trying to free some zip tie or vegetation.

Having that lanyard attached to the butt of the knife makes pulling it out of my back pocket fathoms easier than if there wasn’t one there. This is especially true with folders that have deep carry pocket clips, which push the knife as far down into a pocket as possible.

There’s also the gloved hand factor, where it’s easier to grab at a lanyard – bead or no bead – than it is to try and grab a pocketed knife with a puffy paw.

So, if I were to respond to the person who took the time to lash out at me over something as simple as a piece of paracord, with or without a bead, I would tell them: Sure – I like them to look nice dangling out of my pocket – but its more about function than form.

… and that they should proofread their rants if they want to seem credible.

#your #youre #their #theyre #there

She Could Change Everything About Her Using Colors Bold and Bright | 3.27.2025

The sparkle in your eyes
was always competing
with the eagerness in your smile.

You never spoke too much.
You let your body do the talking…

And you caught me in your sway.

Everything was a photograph.
Everything was perfect.
Everything was what it needed to be to be in love…

But you were never settled.
There was something missing.
A loneliness inside you.

Even though you had it all right in front of you…
You were never whole until you gave yourself to someone else..

I first noticed it at a party at home.
You stood in a doorway watching everyone.
The life of said party,
sequestered to the sidelines.

Then the stories started swirling.

You and I were not alone…

Then I was all alone.

Two babies,
one for each arm.
And you were already someone else’s….

And now you want to play make-believe.
Now you want them in your arms.
Social media icons…
Now that the work is done, you want a starring role…

You’re no longer a fairy tale.
Glitter doesn’t line your walk home..
You’re torn and tattered.

And I am fine with raising them on my own…

And I dream about you…
Admirable you..
Not today, you…

And she fucking hates you…


The Lost Boys

When I was a kid, my cousin set up a blanket tent for me in her apartment, the opening of which was a clear shot of her television. She made some amazing nachos, climbed into the tent, and turned on “The Lost Boys.”

This was the 1980s, back when horror movies were relative.

That movie stuck with me and is still – 35 years later – one of my favorites.

… as is the soundtrack

https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/4KFyuG1e7yTOknV9Pm893S?utm_source=generator

I was heading home this afternoon, listening to a Halloween playlist I put together, and a few songs from the soundtrack came on.

As they were playing, I drove on. I pulled over at some point to respond to a text my friend sent me and was able to take the following two photos.

I took them with my iPhone 16 Pro and only adjusted the lighting for the time of day.

Of the 12,000 photos I take a year, personally and professionally, these are among my favorites.*

*excluding the photos I take of my kids.

The Golden Retriever | 7.17.24

Another sunrise.
A different place.
I’m taller than them.
I’m not taller than anyone.

So this is the dream…

One locked door
that leads to conversations about Picasso
and a room full of puppies.

I try to relate.
Small talk and Birkenstocks.

A roommate unimpressed.
A Sunday afternoon interrupted.
She doesn’t care that we went camping.
I don’t remember the part about camping.

I look around as if
I couldn’t just leave the room.
You’re getting ready.
I want to get ready but this place is brand new.
I stand around not knowing what to do with my hands…

Their houseplants are dying.
But this is a two-room apartment.
My houseplants are dying and I’ve got a whole house.

It reminds me of what I should be doing.
Everything is out of order.
I’m losing touch with who I am
to be with someone who doesn’t know me.

All of a sudden I don’t want to touch anything.
It feels like alcohol.
One too many parties.

The golden retriever gets it.
She’s wildly unimpressed.
Didn’t even raise her head when we walked in.

She’s seen enough.

The elevator to the grocery store is full of people I used to know.
Everyone’s a little blurry.
They come into focus one by one.

I try to explain why I’m there
and lay my head against your chest.

You’re taller now.
I just don’t want to talk anymore.
I’m so used to the silence that fills the gaps.

I’m shaking hands to make you laugh.
We have no idea what we’re doing.
We used to know what we were doing when we weren’t doing things together…

When the doors open
Nothing else matters.
Bagels and hummus and holding hands.

Moonlit Feather | 7.16.24

I’m back to waking up
from dreams of people on the horizon.
Caught up.
Tapping me on the shoulder.
Must be a summer thing.

Glimmers of regret.
People talk too much about things they don’t know.
Putting words in my mouth.

But oh to be distracted…

It’s a wonderfully scary thing
that I’m trying to convince myself
I have no interest in it.

Maybe it’ll become this year’s Autumn theme?
Pumpkin spice…
Eyeliner…
And all the things I thought were out of sight and out of mind.

It’s a real son of a bitch
knowing an army of false hope
is fortifying itself in the fog –
waiting to point out the things I choose to ignore with reckless abandon.

Bringing in tow a soft parade of the sweetest things.
Things I’d like to point out.
Things that need to be said.

Things I need to do my very best to avoid.
Hiding out on some crooked trail
deep in the forest
where I can’t be found.

At least for a little while.
It’s fun to face it head-on and get lost…

…like staring at a moonlit feather.