Tag: nature

our big trip

August 15th, 2021

Some mornings I want to wake slowly. Watch myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth and give myself the benefit of the doubt. Some forgiveness.

Overall, we’ve done well. We’re not finished by any means. There’s still so much more living to do. But there are days—like this Summer Sunday morning, feeling closer to Autumn than Spring—that we’re thankful, calm. Peaceful and happy because we’re just fine with the being we’ve become.

Learning hasn’t been easy. For years, I forced myself into the hardest path. Rarely taking advice. Choosing to find my own way, rather than take directions from someone claiming to know what was going to happen. Sure, they got here too—to their mornings of silent recognition. Satisfaction. A willingness to let the day fall where it may. Do nothing. Do something. Do everything. It’s hard to tell, right now. Too early in the morning and the coffee hasn’t hit the bloodstream.

In any case, I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t chosen my path. I do regret bad decisions. The parts I played that negatively affected others. But I’m learning to accept those decisions, realize they are part of me, and I’m getting better at not getting hung up on regret. People that don’t rise, that never really reach their potential, spend too much time beating themselves up for moments that have passed. There’s always a way toward salvation. A way to accept yourself. To live with your demons. But you have to cut yourself some slack.

We have skeletons in our closets. Secrets we’ll take to the grave. We shape our story each day with every moment. Action. Non-action. Love. Hate. Fun. Boredom. Generosity. Greed. Acts of kindness. Fights. The key is to focus on the good. Look for the light.

Like a fuzzy caterpillar on the sidewalk as you enjoy a sunshine morning stroll with your wife. A tiny thing of intricacy. Doing whatever it does. Thirty feet from the big lake. In a moment of time and space. Sharing existence and energy on this—our big trip—round and round the sun.

~ KJ
backroaders

June 8th, 2020

the backroaders

It’s time to drive gravel roads that cut through the hardwoods. To creep along sandy trails that meander through sprawling forests of pine. Driving off the pavement is one of my favorites. I enjoy opening the windows, smelling the fresh air, listening to the sound the tires make as they explore unfamiliar terrain.

I am meant for the backroads.

Some of my happiest times are when I am in a four-wheel drive with my wife and kids tooling around paths in the middle of nowhere. I don’t know that they enjoy it as much as I do, but they humor me. I don’t go as deep into the unknown when I am with them. If the road makes my wife stiffen in her seat and she starts looking around warily, I turn around.

When it’s me and my daughter all paths can be traveled. With fishing and camping gear in the backseat, we are great adventurers navigating muddy two-tracks, uneven ruts, rocks, water holes, and fields. We count butterflies and birch trees. Stop to talk to turkeys, squirrels, and deer. We laugh when we plow through deep water and it sprays like a geyser into the air. She giggles when we fly up and over steep hills.

“My belly!” she shouts.

We reach places others can’t and set up camp. We drive stakes into dirt, put up the tent, gather kindling and wood to build a fire, and before long, we have our home away from home. We talk about how we miss Mom and Julian, but we know they don’t understand. They don’t see what we see, and that’s okay.

We appreciate the stickiness of a hot day. The shivers of a cold night. We don’t mind bugs, coyotes, the strange sounds that tingle our guts and make us stay up late and talk for as long as it takes to sleep. With stars that glint and streak, crickets and frogs that sing, there’s no place else to be. Until morning. When we eat fried eggs and bacon cooked over the fire pit in our cast iron skillet. Then put on our waders, gather up the poles and lures and bait.

“Where are we headed, Dad?”

“This way seems right.”

And we hike together toward the sound of water rushing in the distance.

~ K.J.
another year

June 4th, 2020

Up late on the eve of my 47^th birthday. Drinking vodka and Sprite. Eating sour Twizzlers. Looking at the flies I purchased from Orvis during a 70% off sale.

Finally, they’re here.

The media shows a world going to hell, but selfish me, I’ve been thinking about fishing. Checking the mailbox twice a day for the past week. It’s not that I don’t care about the state of the world. I do. That’s why I’d rather be wading a stream. Balancing on an uneven surface. Casting into sunlight that shimmers on ripples. Landing line under low-hanging branches. Near the banks. Onto swirling dark pools. Over deadfalls. All as life expands and contracts, creatures living and dying and growing and fighting, giving birth and murdering, all around me.

And if you take a moment to remove yourself from where you’re at by looking up—maybe through a basement window at pinholes of light in a black sky, as you type and drink and think, letting yourself be taken away like a lure in uncertain current—you will consider and appreciate all of this. No matter how dark and fluid and out of control it may be.

Fight the urge to fall into the roles they make for you.

Explore all that’s not shown in your own good time.

Let yourself be moved by this experience. Even if it’s a bit of boozy self-indulgence, marveling at colorful flies tied by mysterious hands, as you await the arrival of another year.

~ KJ

Tag: nature

our big trip

backroaders

another year