Kersten is delighted by how quickly we arrive at the trailhead, and after two dashes back to the car—Kersten to shed her sweater and I to retrieve my hair tie—we launch our Thursday morning adventure.
At first, I only hear it when I get up to pee at night, and it seems to come from the exhaust vent.
When disaster strikes, we reach for the familiar — something sturdy like the trunk of a tree — and hold on.
I wrote this post in 2016 and Sheri McGregor put it in an anthology, a kind of “Chicken Soup for the Soul” for nature freaks. The essay would belong to Sowing Creek Press for a year following publication after which I could do anything I wanted with it, such as post it here on Plastic […]
The American Dream is alive and well just around the corner, a short walk from Trouts Farm.