There’s something about being on the road that makes you thankful for home. We pulled into our driveway Thursday evening, about a half hour after sunset. (What I’ve always thought of as the edge of shooting light.)
After five days of tent camping in the heat, I was especially thankful for air conditioning. It’s a sweet blessing, and I still can’t believe I spent the first eighteen years of my life without it.
I just finished up an article for MeatEater about how a camper can extend your hunting season. I’ve kind of been poking at the idea of investing in a second-hand rig. Writing this one may be what tips me over the edge. There’s something appealing about sleeping close to where I hunt without giving up all the creature comforts.
I’m also trying to focus on the “memoir.” Damn, I still hate calling it that. It sounds like the kind of thing somebody writes after they’ve become famous. I’ve never been into that. I’m just trying to exorcise some demons.
I currently have Tobias Wolfe’s This Boy’s Life sitting on my nightstand. It’s a compelling read, even if I hate all of the characters.
I’ve also been avoiding my traditional morning doomscroll by focusing on reading more good work on Substack. Some of my favorites are Chad Love, Christine Cunningham, Joshua Ross.
They write very different kinds of stories, but all three have a way of making me slow down and pay attention. I find myself reading and rereading their stuff, especially when the posts don’t come fast enough to satisfy my reading habits.
It’s hot in eastern North Carolina. I’m talking triple-digit heat index and UV levels high enough to scald cast iron. That means that aside from Penny Dog’s early morning and after-dark walks, I’ve been watching the world mostly through windows.
The air conditioner has been working overtime, and I’ve spent a lot of time inside enjoying it. I figure if I’m gonna pay that electric bill at the end of the month, I might as well soak up as much of it as I can.
But the garden is loving it. Every morning, I walk out expecting the garden to look mostly the same as it did the night before. This time of year it never does. I pulled the first harvest of cukes. A good dozen pieces perfect for pickling. And I’ve got sweet peppers and zucchini near about ready for the frying pan. Life is good.
I’m looking for more things to save me from doomscroll brain rot. So…
Whose writing are you reading right now that you wish more people knew about?
For now, I’m content to stay close to home, work on the book-that-shall-not-be-called-a-memoir, and keep an eye out for squash bugs.
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.