Nice Things

Why are we so scared, so tentative, so unwilling, to compliment others? Perhaps it's because we're afraid what they might think, or that we'd say something wrong and make it super awkward or something. Yet we all love receiving positive remarks and (for the most part) none of the above scenarios ever actually happen. It doesn't have to be a big deal, and with a little practice, we can successfully brighten peoples' days with just a few words. What sorts of things should you compliment though? For starters, take note of peoples' hair, and when they get a haircut or put it up differently, tell them you like it. Or say something about their jacket, tie, shoes, or dress. Or their smile. It's not that hard to think of others. Alternatively, you could also try just giving a small bit of encouragement to people throughout the day who look like they could use it. A word here, a note there, and you'd be surprised how much good can be wrought. You don't even have to know the person and you can still add a dash of sunshine to their life. If you're driving down a hill and someone is biking slowly, determinedly, up, shout out your window, "You can do it!" as you pass. It really is the little things in life that often make the largest difference, and if we all go out of our way just a time or two a day to do something nice for somebody, the world will be a happier better place. What are we waiting for? Let's go!

Socks

Tuesday, August 29th, 2017

It happens all the time; you might be surprised. And today was a great example: I found a hoodie and a pair of socks left in my truck. The hoodie was obviously Anna's, but I didn't know who belonged to the socks. It couldn't have been anybody who had ridden in my truck yesterday, they all had shoes on the whole time, so it must have been from the day before. That narrowed down my conceivable options to three people: Luke, Christy, and Rachel. The socks were super low ankle style, just enough to slip over your heel while barely managing to hold on. They were stretchy, form-fitting, and black with various shades of bright light blue going wide ways across. In a word, they were girl socks. I never really got how these types of socks ever made it past the screening process for being an actual sock. You know, the simple stuff like: staying on your foot, protecting your foot, preventing chaffing for more than two and a half centimeters up your ankle, and ease of being spotted (because they're so small and short and curl up easily into a tiny ball because of the stretchiness). At least the last one they remedy by slapping all sorts of outlandishly bright colors all over it so you can actually spot them when they go missing, because they always will for they are so tiny when not stretched out. In a word, they were girl socks. There are some obstacles in this world that girls have to deal with that would drive me mad, and which I'm always amazed at the apparent ease with which they accomplish these feats. This pair of socks is one of those things.

Anyways, I sought out Rachel in the commons this morning to return said pair of socks, but she denied ownership of them and did not show any desire whatsoever of claiming them for herself, so I resolved to seek out Christy. But just then class started, so I was delayed from my pursuit, and immediately after that class was another one, and after that class was through, Christy was not to be found. Determined, I went upstairs to the pidge boxes, which are these little mail boxes that each student has for in-school mail, flyers, etc. I wrote a quick note detailing how I thought the socks were hers, and saying if they were not hers she could either return them to me or adopt them herself. This done, I placed the note and the socks in her pidge box and went on with my day.

I thought nothing of this for the rest of the day, and as evening came upon the earth, it found me sitting at a table drinking tea with Christy and Charli. I had just swung by to drop off nine plates, but we got to talking, and then the teapot whistled, and next thing you know I was sitting down with a mug of tea in my hand... still not quite sure how that happened. At any rate, it was a sore-needed study break. Well, by and by Christy mentioned the socks she had found in her pidge along with the note, and that she had determined to adopt them as her own. She was just going to put them in her bag when who should come walking by but Luke himself: "What are you doing with my socks!?" At this Christy burst up laughing and told him about the note left behind, and that she and I had assumed they were girl socks. Luke, to be sure, was left in a small amount of disarray concerning the assumed provenance of his socks. As Christy related this all to me I cracked up laughing in slightly contorted fits of uncontrollable smiles and dampness around the corner of my eyes, and didn't stop until she had finished her account, and even kept going a little after that. It was just too much. It was perfect.

Injuries and Healers

September, 2016

It was my first year of college, and I was already off to a bad footing. Literally. The second day of class I twisted my ankle really bad at rugby practice and was unable to play. I couldn't join any of the frisbee or volleyball games that popped up every week. All the get-togethers gace me little joy because I couldn't goof around or do anything fun. All that was left to me was sitting and talking. Talking isn't that bad, but when it isn't tempered by running around and exercise, it becomes quite a chore. Anybody who knows me knows that I'm always moving around doing something or other, and that I can't stand to do nothing for too long a time. So you can see it was a little annoying for me to not be able to run around and do stuff, and I tried my best to get off my crutches as soon as possible. Well, I was too hasty. I'm always too hasty when it comes to this sort of thing. I switched to walking with a stick, my baculum as it was affectionately known as, but I did it too soon. My ankle had not healed, and walking with the stick made it worse. Finally, I realized the error of my ways and switched back to crutches for it to heal completely. This, unfortunately for me, was about a week and a half before finals week.

The seniors had a fund-raiser for their gift to the school that weekend, and they invited everybody out to the loft of this barn out in the countryside to watch a movie for five dollars a person. Most of the freshmen went out to show their support, I among them. I dawdled along behind most of the group, taking it slow on my crutches. When I entered the barn, a bright smile leapt across my face. I love barns. They're always so much fun to climb around in and explore, and this one had plenty of beams going every which way. I reached for the nearest one and hoisted myself up with my arms, one foot pushing against the wall to help up, the hurt one dangling and just hanging around for the ride. I proceeded in this way around the beams, and then I came to what seemed like a window. It was, in fact, and it opened out into the loft area, which I found out when it was opened and two seniors poked their heads out. "Look at this guy, climbing around up there. Yeah you know his leg is really hurt!" The first taunted. The second chimed in, "Boy, he's just acting for the attention all right!" "Haha, right before finals too. Trying to get some pity points from the professors, maybe edge your grade up a bit, eh?" They laughed together. My smile dropped. I was angry, more so than I'd been in for several months. If they only knew...  I wanted to spit in their faces, or worse. But I controlled myself and just climbed down. I didn't go towards the stairs, I didn't buy a ticket, I just left. I ran into someone from my class as I was hopping away on my crutches, and they asked me where I was going. I just needed to get something out of my truck I told them. I got in, shut the door, and sat there for five minutes, fuming. I was already missing out on most of the fun, and the little I could find for myself only got people to think I was pretending injury just for attention. Words have difficulty describing what I felt like that night. Finally, I just drove away, leaving everybody behind to enjoy themselves, all too quickly going from righteous anger to bitterness. And not just at the two seniors, but at all of life. Nobody would even notice I was gone I told myself, and it doesn't matter, nothing matters.

But then, my phone rang. Who would call me at this time of night? It was Luke. He wanted to know if I had left since he knew I was there but didn't see me. I told him, shortly because I was still angry, that I had indeed left. He must have sensed something was up, because he asked why I'd left, to which I replied that I'd tell him tomorrow and to go ahead and enjoy the movie. He said a couple other words of encouragement, then we hung up. It wasn't a very long conversation, but it was influential. It changed the course of that night, spurring me out of my self-pity and bitterness, inviting me to re-evaluate the situation, and maybe even slow down to at least ten over the speed limit. The next day we talked about the night before and he really put things in perspective, sympathized with my situation, and encouraged me on for the road ahead. He was there for me when I didn't ask for his help, but that was precisely when I needed it the most. We all want friends like this. So ask yourself: are you that friend? Do you keep an eye out for things that are off-kilter in others' lives? Do you give encouragement and exhortations? Are you that friend who will do everything for his brother or sister? Sometimes you'll never know if what you've done was any help. Sometimes there isn't much glory in it, not much praise, and it's never center-stage. But sometimes it's all that matters. What else is there for me to say? Do it. Be the friend. Love isn't a feeling, it's an action. So show it.

The Star Squealed Night

Saturday, August 26th, 2017

Slumber. Tis a marvelous thing. But then, there was a hand on my shoulder. Was this a part of my dream? I wasn't quite sure. People don't usually wake me up by putting their hand on my shoulder, so it probably was my dream. But no, it persisted. Eyes opened. It was John. Wait, what!? Where am I, what's happening, why am I in this strange room with people talking and... oh. Right, gotcha. I was still at Caleb's surprise birthday party, on his couch. I looked over at John and blinked. "Hey, when are you leaving?" he asked. I blinked again, and then once more. "I don't know. We'll see." And then I was awake. Most everybody had left by this point, and there were only about nine of us still there, and it was shutting down pretty quickly. John got on his bike and rode off, Danny left soon after, and then besides Caleb and his roommates, there was just Anna, Brooke, Lucy, myself, and a question: should we have an after party and hit up the town, or should we simply shut it down and go to sleep.

And so we set off walking down the street over to my truck; the decision had been made. Since it was a little chilly out, the girls wanted to stop by their house to get some warmer clothes, so that's where we went first. Caleb and I waited in truck while they all ran inside. A minute passed. "Do you think I'll have enough time to run back to my house and get something before they get back?" "Oh yeah, go for it." With that, Caleb took off running, leaving the passenger side door open. Now I was alone. Heh heh. Thoughts of trickery and sabotage rushed into my mind, and nothing prevented me from following their lead. I dropped to the ground and slid under my truck, lying in wait to grab the first unfortunate person's ankles. Even though it was dark out, I took care to be on the far side from where they were approaching, for if they brought a light they'd be much more likely to see me if I was on the near side. Then I silenced my phone in case they tried to call me so that the ringer wouldn't give me away. And then, I waited.

If you've never sat in wait for your prey, like a hunter with infinite patience at his disposal, then you will not know the pleasure I am going to tell you. Time stops. It stands still and doesn't move. There is no second, no minute, no hour, nothing besides the expectation of that moment when you strike. You must wait for the perfect moment. Don't be hasty, don't be rash, don't reveal your hand. Silence is a virtue, something to be kept with utmost severity. Forget about your eyes. Concentrate all your power on both your ears, and listen for movement. I lay there, crouched and ready. It was only what felt like a few seconds later, though in reality who knows how much time elapsed (but it wasn't very much), that I heard voices. They were loud and cheery, not expecting a thing, chatting happily along. They rounded the bend, and stopped in their tracks. "Where'd the guys go?" "They're probably waiting to scare us." "They're going to jump out of a tree and get us!" "Let's wait for Brooke!" With that they hastened back inside. A moment later the three of them came back outside with a light, knowing something was up and trying not to spring the trap. They slowly approached the truck, and I shut my eyes so as to avoid them glinting in the light and betraying me. Cautiously, ever so cautiously, they came closer. Nobody was around, so they opened the side door. Lucy cried out a little as they did so, anticipating something to jump out at them. Nothing did. They threw a shoe in, but nothing happened. "Quick, get in, we'll lock them out!" They hurriedly piled in, but I was on the wrong side of the truck and none of them came to my side, and I couldn't get over there fast enough to catch an ankle. Phooey. Somebody closed the passenger door from the inside, and then they settled down to wait, with much giggling, excited whispers, and hushed shouts. I waited more, Caleb was now the wild card. What would happen?

By and by he came back. All the girls quickly got quiet, not knowing if this was a scheme to get them or if Caleb wasn't in on the trick. He walked around a bit, puzzled that it would take the girls that long to get there stuff, since at first glance there wasn't anybody in the pitch black truck or out in the road. He retraced his steps, and leaned against the hood of the truck and then saw them in there. By this time the girls decided he was innocent so they opened a door and shout-whispered, "Get in Caleb, quick, we gotta lock Leaf out!" He jumped in and they shut the door immediately, locking it securely. I waited longer, letting them percolate a bit. They were still discussing what might happen and wondering where I was and what I was doing, and waiting for something to happen. Finally, they quieted down a bit. This was the perfect moment I'd been waiting for. I sent a text to each of their phone's that read, "I see you." The little check mark went off on my phone telling me the message was sent, and then a second later they all received the same message at the same time. Screams erupted, shattering the stillness of the night. "Agghhh, he sees us!" It took several seconds before they settled back down again. And then I sent a second text: "Screaming won't help." After this one went through Brooke said, "Yes it will!", while the rest of them laughed a little and kept on talking about what would happen. I waited longer still, finally texting Anna, "Get out", to which she replied in typical Spartan style, "No", and I retorted with, "Yes". Anna told the others what I wanted them to do, but they had no desire to exit the vehicle. So I waited some more. I had already slid over to the door they'd been using just in case they actually did get out, and now I slid out from under the truck and crouched underneath the window. I waited until there was a moment of complete silence and they weren't talking, and then I jumped up, shouted, and banged on the window all at once. Perfection. Utter perfection. Screams erupted from all of them, loud and long. Through the confusion someome shouted, "We're not letting you in Leaf!" and Anna said with conviction, "LEAF HARRIS!!" I was busting up laughing by this time, and unlocked to driver door and sat down. It was fantastic, and we were laughing for a little while after that and discussing how it went down.

From there we drove out into the countryside where the wide rolling wheat fields are and pulled into Brooke and Anna's favorite star gazing spot. We parked the truck, walked up to the top of the hill, and laid down on a blanket and watched the stars. Lucy and I had never seen a shooting star, and the other three already saw one on the way up but the two of us had missed it. As we sat there watching and talking about all sorts of hilarious things that I'd probably never bring up with someone I'd just met, a nice shooting star shot across the sky, right in front off us all. Lucy squealed with delight and clapped her hands, while the rest of us laughed joyously. We stayed there for a while, and then once we'd had our fill, descended the hill back to the truck. It was a fun night and one of the best birthday parties I've been to in a while. It's great to have friends.

The Fight

Saturday, August 26th, 2017

He was good. I could tell by how he handled himself. We had yet to exchange blows, but I knew it'd be a tough fight. I had been walking down a sidewalk in downtown when I found myself in a lonely alley. This isn't too strange, as I often go wherever the wind takes me, but this time it was a little different because a man stepped out from behind a dumpster, spread his feet apart and crossed his arms as if to say, "You ain't going nowhere. You're mine." He had about two and a half inches on me, a green shirt while I had only a brown one, and you could tell by his fists he was a fighter. Gulp. What to do? Run? No, the path behind me was blocked with people waiting expectantly for the fight to come. Well, here goes something.

Not being one to respond first, I went in with a quick jab from the left. He parried and threw a right hook. Then we both backed off and circled for a second, sizing each other up. I prepared to land a vicious uppercut, but before I could start it he threw a quick jab. I kicked his foot dislocating a toe or two, and the fight raged on. It went and went. Endurance is usually on my side, and this was no exception. As the fight wore on, he slowed down. He was tiring. I could almost taste victory on my lips. Then, somebody threw a banana peel off to the right and I caught a glimpse of it. My opponent took advantage of my distraction and threw a wide hard right hook, hitting me in the temple. It was a simple pawn fork I hadn't seen, checking my king and winning the rook, and then he would queen on the next move. I hadn't seen it, and so now I resigned. I shook hands with my worthy opponent whom I'd chanced across at the chess tables in downtown Moscow during farmer's market, and went on my way. He asked for a rematch, but I had to be somewhere in a couple minutes so I left. Maybe next time.

The Wreck

Thursday, August 24th, 2017

There I was, on my two-wheeled foot-powered metal and rubber contraption, rushing toward home. Except when I got to the driveway, I sped on past, not even slowing a smidgin. Why? Had I forgotten where I was going? Not at all. I may have slightly misled the reader, for I was actually going to a friend's house where my dog Jex was living at. Every day I go there to walk her, and today was no exception. So there I was, speeding along at twenty-two mile per hour, when the truck four meters in front of my put on his brakes sharply for a right turn at the bottom of the incline. This was a slight problem, because I was right there on his tail on the far right-hand side of the road, and he was turning right in front of me. Being a sensible person, I applied my brakes but didn't swerve to the left to avoid the oncoming collision; there was another car following that big white diesel truck, and I'd assuredly get rear-ended if I swerved. That is a bad thing if you're on a bike. It's also a bad thing to run into the side of an expensive truck, but hey, at least I wouldn't get run over after being hit, or in this case, doing the hitting. As I approached to my certain demise, brakes clenched all the way down but doing nothing to stop me in time, the driver of said truck noticed me in his passenger side mirror and applied the brakes, allowing me to rush past his grill and come to a stop on the other side of the street. He stared me down with a steely gaze as he accelerated past as I stood there and grinned back.

After that excitement, I jumped back on my bicycle and sped on to my destination. A block later I swung right and raced down the slight incline to the approaching little hill down the way, and what sound was it that tickled my ear and made my face contract into a devious smirk reminiscent of a little boy who's just released two fat toads amongst his sisters' tea party? The dull roar of a diesel engine. As I rushed past the same white truck I'd almost run into half a minute ago, I beamed him with a smile so bright you'd need a pair of sunglasses to keep from burning as my right hand whipped up into the wave position so enthusiastically you could taste the salt and feel the spray from a mile away. A boisterous hearty laugh resonated from the depths of my being as I sped past, and it almost seemed like the sun shone a little brighter too.

Pedestrians

There's always that guy. And when it comes to operators of motor vehicles, most are 'that guy'. This could easily launch into a multi-page essay on all things driving, but I'll keep it down to just one thing for now.

There I was, an innocent pedestrian walking his dog, about to cross the lazy neighborhood street. One car approached the intersection, and, instead of turning left like a sensible person, decided they should be polite and wait for me to cross first. This would be a fine idea if I was already in the street, but I was not. Five meters still sat between me and the road. And yet, she stopped and waited, waving for me to go ahead. Now, I know when people do this they're trying to be courteous, but it's just not helpful. Maybe if we were attempting to cross a busy metropolis street during rush hour with our three-year-old kid and second-cousin once-removed this would actually be helpful, but if you're waiting on us in a tiny town that takes a long yawn and two winks before you get to the other side, it's not going to be very helpful. In fact, it makes it terribly awkward for us poor pedestrians, who now have to do the Walk of Shame: continue walking at the speed we are wont to, forcing the driver to wait an inordinate amount of time for us to cross. We were, you'll remember, still five meters away from even starting to cross when they started waiting for us. If we want to avoid this Walk of Shame, the only other option is to do the Jog of Awkward Acceleration, where you don't want to commit to a full run, (you were out a walk to begin with!) but you still want to hurry across the street to minimize their wait time. It's this really uncomfortable half-committed trot that is just unbearably embarrassing and awkward at the same time, and if you are ever so unfortunate to make eye-contact with the driver... I feel your pain.

Drivers, it's not that hard. Make it easier on all us poor wayfaring pedestrians, and when you come to a street corner and you happen to see somebody on the sidewalk a quarter mile away, do us all a favor and just make your turn. Believe me, our feelings and/or pride won't be hurt if you don't stop and wait for us. And no, waiting two and half minutes for a pedestrian to cross in front of you does not count as your daily good deed. I honestly think getting where you're going is more important than waiting on us, and I know for sure that we'll be glad you didn't.

Eclipse and a Hike

Monday, August 21st, 2017

There we were, a mighty convoy of three vehicles filled to the brim with people, on our way to Paradise Ridge. Everyone knew it'd be great, and as we all piled out onto the little gravel space to park, we were totally reassured; there was only one or two other cars there. This in and of itself was quite the feat, for we figured all the good places to watch the eclipse around Moscow would be crowded to the fullest with Mosquitoes staring up at the heavens in awe. But no, not here. We basically had it all to ourselves. Perfect. Now, a choice lay out before us: take the normal gravel path up, or the fun little footpath through the underbrush. With unanimity, the group plunged forward toward the fun way. Jex was along for the ride too, so naturally I ended up at the back of the line, since she wanted to stop and smell every other twig, and so we walked along merrily, with the sweet almost silent sounds of nature humming about us; it was a beautiful summer day, the type that makes you want to fall into some tall grass, stare up at the sky, and wonder in awe at the majesty of it. A couple hundred yards later, a few of us in the back of the line did just that when we opened up on a cute little glen with not quite waist high grass gently brushing our legs as we walked past. A few of us couldn't resist the urge to jump into it and thoroughly enjoy the lush grass.

By and by we made it to the top. Not long after, it started. The moon came into view, just a little at first, but slowly and surely covering up the sun. All the eclipse glasses were promptly looked through, and I pulled out my welding hood to take a look. It was pretty cool! These things take a while to fully actualize, so we all settled down in the grass and talked happily, checking back every couple minutes to see the progress. Jex, meanwhile, was more than happy. I let her wander around, and she stayed near the group, now here, now there, but always with somebody petting her or playing with her ears, or enticing her to move over to them. She loved it, but even more so she loved it when I was there with her. At one point Christy was petting her, and while Jex was sitting she had her head turned toward me with those anxious eyes as if to say, "Are you fine with me being over here? Call me and I'll be there in a second!" I laughed and scooted over next to her and then she was fully content. Ahh, I could go on and on talking about how sweet, gentle, and amazing my dog is, but there are other things to talk about, and you probably don't want hear any more on how cute she is, but let me tell you this: not only is she great with the people, but she's always down for an adventure too. I called her to the edge of the group, and then we went on a quick run down part of the hill, across the side, and back up the other side. I didn't even need to hold her leash, she just loped along right beside me, following wherever I ran. It was great!

Then, it was 10:27 I believe, or somewhere around there at least, the moon covered 93% of the sun, the most it would for where we were at before it started to uncover again. By this time the temperature had dropped significantly, and the little sunlight that did make it through cast the world into a strange limelight of semi-darkness. It was something new I'd never seen before. There weren't any clouds in the way, not a storm on the horizon, no wind kicking up for a tornado, but still the light danced like something was going to happen. It reminded me of that world in The Magician's Nephew when the two children encounter the huge, old, dying sun, which doesn't give light quite like it used to. And then, its peak reached, the sun slowly came back out again, the light came back, the warmth too, and soon enough everything was back to normal.

Once again, a decision stood before us: go back down the way we came (boor-ring) or go down a different way. If our track record is anything to go by, you already know which path greeted us on our return down the ridge. Three of us, Brooke, Anna, and Sarah, had already left down the way we came, because they were tired of waiting for us to get our stuff into our backpacks and get going. The rest of us, however, went down the new way. Almost right off the bat, we were encountered by a steep hillside, requiring careful footwork to not take a tumble. Once at the bottom, we continued on, and it quickly opened out onto a nice grassy path wide enough for three or four people to walk side by side. Talking happily the whole way down, we soon realized that we'd need to cut across to the right to get back to our vehicles, since the path we were on was taking us down sharply to the left. Thankfully, a path popped up into view and, being at the front of the group this time, I immediately turned onto it, as it was going the way we needed to go. About a hundred yards later though, it died off, terminating in a sea of underbrush canopied with little trees and above them, the tall skeleton of the larger trees that give the hillside and the surrounding ridges their shape.

There wasn't a moment to lose. Why the rush? I'd seen it many times before: the Council of Directional Decisions. The problem I have with the CDD is that it never works. Everybody puts in their thoughts as to what the group should do, and after a long arduous debate, a decision is finally reached, and usually it's the wrong one. Even if it happens to be right, tons of time has already been wasted, and if it's close to dark, this can be very bad. As it was still only mid-day it wasn't a huge problem, but I didn't feel like waiting around for the CDD to convene. In times like these, it's often best if someone who knows what they're doing just scouts ahead and sees what's what and then continue on from there, so that's exactly what I did. Dropping my bag and handing my leash to a friend, I bounced off through the underbrush, weaving my way betweenst the branches, brambles, and what have you. Soon enough I came to the edge of the ridge we were on, and I looked across it to the next one on the other side. This ridge wasn't wooded at all, but was covered with head-high brush and shoulder-high bushes. I'd have to make it to the other side and climb the opposite ridge if I wanted a good view of where we were heading, so I started off into my dog-run, a trot that I can keep up for miles at a time without stopping, perfect for maneuvering forested areas and uninhabited spaces. After several minutes I came up to the other side, crested the point, and saw, across the way a fair distance, a glimpse of the road that lead to our vehicles. I wanted to make sure it was the right road first, so I rung Anna to ask them to let out a shout so I could hear if it was the right road or not.

Well... Anna answered alright, but she said they hadn't made it back to the cars yet. There had been a slight difference of opinions as to which way was the right way, and they weren't quite sure where they were. This made things extra interesting for me. Now I needed to find them as well as lead the rest of us back to the vehicles! Thankfully though, Brooke took up to singing when Anna answered the phone, and I could hear her off in the distance. They weren't far away at all, and I ran up the hill a little way, and soon enough we met. They were glad to see me, and I was happy they weren't lost. After telling them to stay where they were at and that I was coming back, I loped off to the rest of them. I also called Luke to tell him to go ahead and start going the direction I had left in, and by the time they were halfway down the first ridge I met back up with them. From there we fought our way through the brush, me doing the best I could to stomp down a clear path for everybody. Most of the girls had worn shorts and their legs were gets beat up pretty good by all the thorns and scratchy underbrush, so I did my best to pick the clearest path forward.

After much walking and slow going, (large groups of people never move quickly, especially in single file!) we finally met back up with Brooke, Anna and Sarah, who were still waiting for us. Then we continued down the hillside. Again we encountered some very thick brush, and so I ran ahead to find the best path down to the road. Several minutes later I was back with a good way to go, and we were off once more. At long last we made it back to the road, and that was that. Everybody had a great time and thoroughly enjoyed their trek through the woods, but nobody was as happy as I. It's been too long since I've had a nice romp through the woods, and it refreshed me to my bones and lightened my heart. What a marvelous world we live in!

Then, with my truck bed filled with people, we tore up the dust and ran down the gravel road. The wind waved through my face and brought with it all the smells of the countryside that remind me why I will always love it. Ah, to run, explore, and enjoy the small little things that make this world great would take a lifetime. Don't take your life for granted; every day is a blessing.

Granite Point

Sunday, August 20th, 2017

It was eleven o'clock. Sharp. We were there. They were not. No matter, it was going to be a great day anyway. We settled in to a cool conversation, conversating conservatively, concisely, and courageously on how to covertly converse contractually without committing conflicted or conflagrated fallacious fallacies. Soon enough they arrived, and we took off. The drive was absolutely gorgeous, and we had a ton of fun. All seven seat were filled in my truck, and the two people in the back were loving the twisty windy road down to the river. Everybody always wants to ride back there. I can't hardly blame them, it's a lot of fun.

And then we made it. The wide river stretched out beside us shimmering up with joyful glee, just so happy us to see. We parked next to the large granite outcrop and jumped out. There wasn't even anybody there yet! Scampering up the rocks to the top gave us all a wonderful view to behold. The cliff, the drop, twenty feet of sheer terror and enjoyment. The river eyed us gleefully, was that a sparkle of mischievousness I saw there? wondering who would be the first to make the plunge into the green and blue depths beneath. Surprisingly, Kelly, a new Freshman, leapt first. We cheered us on as she flew, and then she waited for the next to come down after. One after the other jumped, plummeted, and bobbed up happily twenty feet below. Then it was only Rachel and I left. Knowing if I left her there alone she probably would take twice as long to go for it, I stayed and waited. She tried to calm and collect herself, then went to take a step forward, but stopped and breathed out. Almost! Offering some words of encouragement, she went forward again and almost went for it, but paused. Finally, she regained complete composure, got that determined look in her eye, and ran. Once you run, there's no turning back. She leapt through the air, let out a scream, and splashed into the water below. We cheered, she did it! Now it was my turn, alone up on the cliff. Eyeing the water beneath me, I realized how far down it was. An odd feeling churned in my stomach. What was that? It had been what seemed like ages since I'd felt it. Fear. Fear for the unknown. For the height. For the leap. I'd never jumped from such a height before. Closing my eyes, I prepared to run off the edge. And then I heard Christy's cry come from below, "Do a flip Leaf!" I'd already decided to jump off a few times like regular before I tried any flips so I could get used to the height, but now, that plan was gone, deserted, forgotten, like a snowball in summer. Forgetting the heights, I ran, dove, turned into a flip, and went to land on my feet in the water. Except... I had a little too much spin, and landed half on my stomach. The water was less than soft.

Ugh.... I treaded water and gently made it over to rocks where we climb out at. Now I remembered the wisdom of my previous plan, laughing at me from the dark recesses of my mind like a pack of coyotes. They taunted and jeered at my misfortune, "But hey," I thought, "it was fun at least. As the day wore on we jumped a bunch more, then moved to one of the lower cliffs when all the other university students came. They had interesting vocabularies and went through all sorts of vulgarities to coerce their fearful friends to make the jump, but where we were at it was still pretty nice, and we thoroughly enjoyed our remaining time there. We swam around, got cold, came back up, dried off, jumped in, got wet, swam, got cold, and so forth. It was great! At one point there were about five of us treading water while one person up top threw popcorn down for us to catch in our mouths. We were like so many fish coming to be fed, I could hardly keep from laughing! Then we all loaded up back in the truck and drove back through the twisty windy road that eventually led back to town.

The Book

Saturday, August 19th, 2017

You wouldn't have thought it would raise so many eyebrows. It's not even like it was an unordinary thing to do. All I did was simply read a book. Now, why would this cause such a stir, and leave everyone wondering what in the world I was reading? It was the front cover that did it really. Not that the cover was super awesome or super lame, indeed it was just right, but more of the fact that nobody at all recognized what book it was. Why would I read some random book? Was there an assignment due they didn't know about? "No," I'd tell them, "it's just a book for fun." The idea was a new concept, smashing against the iron doors of tradition. They always asked me once more, in case I was just tricking them, if it really was just a book for fun. With serious face and reassuring voice I told them it was true. They were awed. See, we read so many books through college, that when people do have free time, they tend to invest it in other areas, since reading constantly for school and then even in leisure time can be considered by some as a little odd. In this particular case though, it was considered passing odd, and they all inquired what book it was. I'd hold it up so they could see better, and tell them it was The Star Under the City, by Maggie Joy. I'd go on to say that my friend had just written it and was her first published work. At this my hearers generally let out an, "Ohh, nice!". To say the least, they were intrigued. So the question before us now is, are you? If so, you can find it on Amazon, amazing right? I have yet to finish it myself, but so far it has proved fun. Especially with regards to one of the characters, Tytus, and the way you grasp his essence in totality. He reminds me a lot of Gavroche from Les Miserables, another book you should definitely read if you like good books. And there are my two book recommendations for those days when you have nothing to do and are looking for a good excuse to start a new book. So, 300 pages, or 1100?

Smoking

Have you ever done something stupid? I have. We all have. It’s unavoidable. Most of us try to avoid doing these things, and sometimes in our zeal we like to paint with wide sweeping strokes exactly what you should or should not do. Sure, processed GMO foods aren’t as healthy as their organic counterparts, but does that mean you need to break the bank to eat healthily? It might, especially if you or someone in your family suffers from poor health and can’t handle any more stresses. Then again, there may be times when you should just go for the cheap food. If you’re broke, in college, working two jobs, and still barely scraping by, perhaps you shouldn’t buy the grass-fed organic beef. If you’re in a different position in life, it might make sense to buy some good quality food, and fill in the holes with whatever else you can find. Although we can still hold that organic food is better for you, there is still room for the other stuff based on where you are in life at the time. You can’t make eating healthy foods all the time a hard-and-fast rule for everybody, because we’re not the same and have different priorities.

How about smoking? It’s pretty much agreed across the board that smoking has negative health repercussions, and based on that alone we might just say that nobody should ever smoke. But that leaves out what the section in bold above says. Just replace that bolded section with ‘based on what you think is an acceptable amount of risk for the pleasure to be gained’, and see how the argument is basically the same. Some may choose not to smoke, stating that the risks are too great, but they mustn’t impose their choices on others who may very well think it’s not that bad a tradeoff. We can still live together peacefully, despite having different beliefs on smoking.

I myself enjoy a good pipe now and then. It’s always pleasant to sit out the front porch as evening comes on, gently rocking back and forth in your chair, talking with friends about anything and everything that comes up. I’ve had many worthwhile conversations in such a way, and it’s been well worth my time. I don’t smoke often, it’s never been a constant habit of mine, but I do enjoy it from time to time. We could have a whole ‘nuther discussion on different types of smoking, what’s better than what, and where I draw the line, but that’s just it. It’s where I draw the line, not you; where your line is is for you to decide. Granted, there is definitely a way to go too far, but that’s where wisdom comes in. As my professor was famous for always saying, “It’s a wisdom issue”. And it is. That’s something for you to wrestle with. And if we come to different conclusions, that’s totally fine: we can have a good discussion about it and try to convince each other of a better way to approach it. If we never get on the same page, that’s fine too: it’s not the end of the world. We’ll live.

Now, the attentive reader may have followed the argument laid out in the previous paragraphs and conclude that my worldview is based totally on personal beliefs and feelings. Let me add one major addition: the above argument only works for things that are not explicitly right or explicitly wrong: the gray areas, or wisdom issues as you might say. How can we know which things are right or wrong? That, my friend, is a discussion for another day.

Strangers

Wednesday, August 16th, 2017

It was a brief moment, not lasting more than half a minute or so, but it was enough to make us all laugh, and I'm sure they did too. We were just sitting there, happily studying away, when all at once an employee told us they were closed. So we did what any sensible people would do and packed up our stuff to leave. While doing so, Brooke said laughingly, "Hey, they're waving!" We finished what we were doing and walked over to the window to see. Sure enough, about five stories up in the dormitories across the way, was a room with the lights on, shades up, and a girl making her bed, who evidently had been waving at us a minute before. Me, being the person who I am, immediately started waving back in long sweeping arcs. Soon enough I got her attention, and she started waving back excitedly. Then I started waving goofily, and she mimicked me. I continued waving outrageously, and by this time her roommate had joined her at the window waving at the random guy down in the restaurant at closing time. I waved one last time, let out a deep hearty laugh that they could easily see, and then left.

It didn't take long, it didn't take much, but even just that was just enough. With the wave of a hand I had brightened their day, brought a smile to their faces and gave them something to tell their friends. Of course, some of my friends were glowing red by this time from sheer embarrassment, but that was okay. It's not like we're ever going to see these people again, or they us, so we may as well live happily and be ourselves while we're at it. And who knows? We all just might be a little better for it.

Pictures

A picture is worth a thousand words, or so they say. If you were to go to a museum covering more modern history, you’ll see black and white pictures of all sorts of things: families in front of their houses, men digging ditches and working in coal mines, and many other things that we get the amazing opportunity to see with our own eyes how it actually looked at the time. When you go farther back in human memory, there are only fragments of pottery, arrowheads, and crumbled walls to tell the stories. There is much more left to be guessed at, and we’re not sure how it actually was back then. Pictures, then, are surely a marvel of the modern age, preserving the present for our children’s children to see in the future. What a marvelous thing indeed!

Here we need to pause for a moment and look at some basic economics. I firmly believe that all subjects are somehow connected with each other, and to fully understand one you need to draw from another to sharpen your view and aid in your pursuit of truth. Basic Economics 101: When there is a surplus of products, price falls. When there is a shortage of products, price rises. This is commonly called the Law of Supply and Demand, and it governs all areas of commerce. Suppose for a minute that on one particular year, rainfall is perfect, there’s plenty of sun, no flooding, and all the variables are perfect and grain yields are outstanding. Everybody has a record-setting year and bags literally tons of grain. What happens? Does everybody around suddenly start eating twice the normal amount of grain? Of course not! They will continue to buy it at the normal rate of speed, but since all the farmers need to sell their grain, there is tons of competition since everyone has plenty. They’ll be willing to drop their prices so that they can sell any at all, and they will be quite fortunate if they sell all of it. Unless there is a shortage somewhere relatively close where they can ship the grain to, it won’t be a terribly profitable year, despite the high yields. Let’s suppose that a few years later, there is just a dreadful lack of rain. Drought plagues the countryside, and barely any grain is harvested at all. Will everybody suddenly start eating half as much grain? Of course not! They’ll continue buying at the same rate. Since there is so little, farmers will be able to charge high amounts per pound, but since they don’t have much grain, they still won’t have a terribly profitable year. The local populace will probably import grain from another region to satisfy the demand, paying a high price while doing so. All in all, farmers won’t be raking in the dough. Years that are, all things considered, pretty average across the board, will provide decent profits for farmers. The best situation by far though, is when most other farmers hardly harvest any grain at all, while you yourself have a bountiful harvest. This is the way to reach record profits for your farming statistics. Supply and demand, as we have seen, greatly affect the outcome of each year’s profit, and thus we see why prices can vary so much.

Bringing it back to pictures, let’s look at it in our modern day. Pictures are by far more advanced than they were before, they have color, can easily be transferred from person to person, and are much more versatile. Have a picture on your phone? You can print it off in any size you desire. The main difference between nowadays and back when pictures were all in black and white though is just the sheer volume of them. Almost everybody literally has thousands of pictures, strewn across their phones, laptops, iPads, you name it. They are everywhere. In other words, the supply has increased dramatically. As we have just learned from our little talk on economic principles, what will that do to price? Demand may have risen some, but not near enough to keep up with the supply. Thus the value we assign to pictures drops significantly. They don’t mean much anymore. They’re a dime a dozen. They’re worthless. Or are they? We know deep down inside there is some meaning, some significance there, and so we keep taking more, trying to get more of the worth we know is there out of it. But it doesn’t work. We drown ourselves in our own pictures, and never think to stop. When are we going to look at them anyway? When was the last time you looked through all of yours? It’s probably been awhile. You might not see them again until you’re eighty. What will your kids do with all those pictures when you’re gone? Who knows, it’s hard to say, but they’ll most likely be looked at once or twice, then stored in on some hard-drive somewhere and eventually get lost in a dusty box somewhere. What was the point of it? To capture a moment in our lives that we enjoyed, wanted to hold on to. But life is too big for that, and you’ll never get it all, no matter how hard you try.

So what are we to do? Stop taking pictures? Far from it! The answer is to only take a few. Enough to remind you of stories, of things that happened and so forth, but few enough that it’s manageable. Take some time to live in the present, and don’t dwell too much in the past. Do this and I’ll guarantee that the few pictures you do have will be cherished for years to come. 

Parks

Wednesday, August 16th, 2017

Have we discussed parks? I don’t think so. If you are or have ever been a child, parks, in some way shape form or fashion, have probably held a high place in your mind as one of the single greatest destinations of all time. The good ones have long monkey bars, tall slides, and enough swings to act out the motion of cilia as they move the cell or other items around in their microscopic world… but I detract. Too many of the more modern ones have only miniature everything, as if to dissuade older people from using it. They aren’t usually that great, unless you happen upon one of those good ones mentioned earlier. If you are ever so fortunate to find one of those old-style parks with real merry-go-rounds, super high swings, and those bar thingys that you climb on that nobody knows what they’re called, you’ll truly wish you had found it sooner. These old types are even amazing when you’re twenty years old, anonymous sources confirm. And then, there are those boring types of parks. You know what I’m talking about. It’s just a big empty lot of dry dirt, perhaps some patchy grass if you’re lucky, and maybe even a picnic table out there in the hot sun. The only redeemable quality to these sorts of parks is they provides an open space for larger group games, such as frisbee, various types of tag, and so forth. Of course, if you go with only four or five people, there’s not much to do and you may as well head home.

This park was not like any of these. It was almost a hybrid between the modern park and the boring park; except not quite. There was indeed the token playground area with miniature equipment, and the two swings they had were on the small side, but they did have a sand volleyball court. There were plenty of picnic tables and park benches dotted the path that divided the park into two large triangles. A decent sized area was cleared out and flat for frisbee and games like that, while lush grass covered everything that wasn’t concrete. Tall oaks spread their leafy boughs over most of the area, providing plenty of shade under their wings, but there was still an ample supply of sunny spots for those who so desired. It is there that we find them, one with his back leaned against a tree as the sun pokes through and showers down in its radiant light, the other lying on her back gazing up at the puffy clouds as they sail by. He was intently reading a book and holding it with one hand, while the other lay across her stomach and occasionally scratched her ears. Whenever another dog walked by she’d prick her ears up attentively, but then lay back down once it was gone, content to just sit there and be petted.

I never thought I’d be that boring person who goes to a park to read, but it was just that I found myself doing. My nine-year-old self would balk and say that couldn’t possibly be himself, yet here I was. What had happened? Not a lot actually, I just had some reading to do, and thought I may as well spend my time doing it at the park with my dog than inside all alone. Parks, it seem, have even more uses now.

To Write, or Not to Write

Everyone wants to have written, but nobody wants to write.  I have found this to be 98% true. For months and months, possibly a few years now, I’ve thought it a good idea to write about things that have happened to me and things I have thought about. But that’s just it. I’ve only thought about it, I’ve never actually done it. Well, there’s only one way to change that: write. So here goes nothing. Or something, I hope. I guess you could say writing is a lot like other things in life. The only way to actually get it done is to start, and not give it up. Even if it’s only a little a day. If you want to get stronger, what do you do? Start exercising a little each day, and when it becomes routine, increase it a little. If you want to have strong friendships, what do you do? Interact with them throughout the week, not just call them once a month. So, if you’d like to write, start writing. Try doing it just once or twice a week, and see what happens. You’ll never know if you never go.

From AZ to ID

Wednesday-Saturday, August 9th-12th, 2017

It was an odd night… mostly because I was driving. Not that the driving made it weird, but more of the fact that I was starting a trip at ten p.m. Usually I start in the early morning, not at night. Still cruising the smaller streets before I made it to I-10, the hot air over the pavement gently and stifily whisping through the windows and curling up over my face trying and succeeding to raise my body temperature, I realized that perhaps I should try to fix my ac. At least it’s dark, and not the heat of the day. I pulled into a Fry’s station to fuel up for $2.19 a gallon, and then hopped on the interstate. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep… or the side of the road rather. Well, it wasn’t quite the side of the road, and I hadn’t quite fallen asleep, my mind had just more or less entertained the idea of sleeping, with my eyelids wholeheartedly agreeing it would be a fabulous idea. My cognitive faculties thankfully won the contest and I hadn’t closed my eyes, but still, the whole debate within and against myself was somewhat disturbing to me; not the fact that I was arguing with myself, that was perfectly normal, but rather the matter of contention: should I or should I not sleep? The fact that that was even under consideration was quite appalling, for I had just begun a road trip! That’s why I prefer to start in the morning.

At any rate, I made decent time to the state line and proceeded into California, where the roads, unsurprisingly, took a sudden turn for the worse. The bug population was a little high too and they kept splattering all over my windshield. This always annoys me because then you have to keep driving until your next fuel stop to clean it off. The road twisted and winded its way along the countryside, precariously at times, but at least consistently. At long last, we came Nevada, and she was so happy to get there. Why? Because the roads were pristine. Smooth. Perfect even. Flawless. She liked Nevada better with every mile of glorious consistency. I was still tired, and with nobody else to talk to, I started up a conversation with her. “Nissan, how far do you think we should go before we stop to sleep? I am ever so tired.” She thought for a second before replying with a satisfied hum and a measured tread. In other words, she wanted to at least get past Las Vegas. Stop and go traffic is not exactly her favorite. With the matter decided, I settled in for the drive. About twenty-three minutes after three a.m. we came to a nice lonely exit five miles outside of Vegas, who just begged us to stay for a while. We willingly complied, and parked in a little gravel circle right off the highway. I grabbed my pillow and stretched myself as comfortably as I could across the pipes which filled the back, ready for a good night’s sleep.

The sun was still entertaining thoughts of rising for the day when I yawned and woke up from my sweet sleep at five. As we started down the highway she reminded me that she was thirsty and wanted a drink, so we stopped and got her favorite: good ‘ole Octane 87. I also partook of some fuel for the road, in the form of a couple cute little sandwiches, the likes of which I’d never tasted in my life. There was something different about them, and they were good. Sadly, they were totally devoured right then and there, so I never got a chance to see what was in them. And then we were off again, and didn’t stop for a long time. There wasn’t much to say, so we didn’t talk much and mostly listened to the single radio station that we could find. Nevada stretched on and on. The sun rose steadily and the world became bright again. My drowsiness burned away with the morning light and my spirit leapt within me with its oppressor dispersed. Freedom! The road smiled and welcomed us to enjoy the day, and so we did. The sun crept slowly over the mountains to the east, casting oblong shadows over the plains in the valley, which crafted the most intricate web of shadowlands I’d ever seen or am likely to see again: they were gorgeous. And then, it happened.

A line of cars and trucks. A lack of movement. A sign that said, “30 minute delays possible.” Construction. This usually spells doom to aspiring motorists on road trips, but my heart leapt within me at the sight. Nissan took a little nap while I got out and stretched my legs and went for a little jaunt through the brush. I was waking up for real this time, and I knew it. I did some push-ups and sit-ups, preceded by some stretching exercises and proceeded by another little jog. I saw the cars start to move at the front of the line, so I woke Nissan up and we started off through the construction. I made a phonecall, but was then rudely interrupted by some blue lights. What could they want? I hung up and went through my checklist: stopped on the shoulder, hands on the steering wheel, windows down, smile on my face, and then at the right time, “Morning Officer.” “Hey, good morning. So the reason I stopped you is you were on your phone back there. This is a hands-free state so you can’t be doing that sort of thing.” I hadn’t realized this was the case, but evidently it was so. We talked for a little bit and I told him about myself; where I was going, where I had come from, what I was doing in both places, what in the world was up with all that pipe in the back, these being the highlights. It was a little one-sided, I kind of wanted to know why he decided to become a highway patrol officer, but alas, I didn’t get the chance to ask. He took my fancy documents and ran them through his system and came back in a few minutes. “So I went ahead and gave you a citation. Since this is your first ticket it doesn’t count against your license or count as a moving violation, but there is a fine to pay or a court date to appear on, whichever you like. Next time get a Bluetooth, it’s a lot cheaper than that right there.” I thanked him and said I’d be sure to not hold my phone while driving anymore, and we parted ways. He was a pretty nice cop and acted professionally and wasn’t aggressive or rude at all, so I was happy for that. It was my first ticket though, and it was in a construction zone which is a double fine area. That could be bad. It could be a large ticket. I peeked at the paper he’d given me.. only $115! A sigh of relief escaped the inner recesses of my stomach: that could easily have been a $400 ticket. It pays to be courteous and not cause trouble when you get pulled over! Nissan wasn’t terribly happy with me though, for we had lost a lot of time. She was right too. So we carried on and kept driving.

By and by we came to the first fuel station since Las Vegas. With only a quarter tank left, we were happy it was there. We were happier when twelve miles later we passed a sign that read, “No services next 142 miles.” And so we skipped our heels, kicked up the dust, and burnt down the miles. Then there were more orange signs, but this time no line of vehicles. We were the first, and so started the line, waiting until it was our turn to go across the vast expanse . The lady who held the stop/slow sign ambled over and started a conversation, and we chatted about all sorts of stuff until it was time to get going. She was glad because most people vent their frustration with the construction on her, and it does get kinda boring just standing out there all day. Eventually it was our time to get going, so we bid farewell and left. And what more is there to tell? The road kept going on, eventually coming to the bonny fields of Idaho, and finally leading right up to the shining city of Boise herself. It was there I picked my sister up from the airport.

She was so happy to see me, and I her. She gave a deep loving hug, the type only a sister can ever give, and we chatted fifteen minutes or so till we came to the spot her car was parked, at which point the conversation came to a screeching halt. While jumping up and down in her seat and clapping her hands prettily, my sister exclaimed, “Oooh it’s so pretty! Ha ha, it’s beautiful, look at my new car!” So you could say that perhaps she wasn’t too displeased with it. While sis went to the store with Nissan to get a few things for her trip, I changed the oil of her car and checked all the fluids, and generally got it ready for the coming trip. Then we drove both cars to Denny’s and had some dinner and talked about what had gone on and what was likely to happen, and so forth. Then, for she had to make it back in time, sister had to leave. We said goodbye in the parking lot and told each other how we wished we had more time, since it’d been eight months since our last meeting. And with that we hugged once more and she drove away. I pulled up to the nearest Taco Bell and cleared the front two seats for sleeping. The bed was far more comfortable, even with the pipe, but in the middle of Boise it’s a little too risky to be sleeping outside your truck. I leaned myself across the center console, resting as comfortably as I could across the two seats, and drifted off to sleep. Drifted is far too soft a word. I was tired. In the past forty-eight hours I’d slept five and a half hours, chopped up into three chunks: two hours, two hours, and an hour and a half. I was tired. I didn’t drift to sleep, I didn’t even fall asleep. I plummeted off an airplane going mach three about thirty thousand feet above the Grand Canyon with no parachute. Did it hurt much when I landed? I couldn’t tell you, because I was asleep.

Nine hours later, I awoke refreshed. Now, it might surprise you that I only slept nine hours considering how tired I was. Let me tell you something that nobody besides the last travelling mattress salesman to cross my path knows: I cannot sleep more than nine hours at a time. Why? I don’t know. Go ask your doctor. Or your mother. Someone who knows more than me. And when you find the answer, come back and tell me, for I am dreadfully curious myself.

And then, the wait. I had a little more than twelve hours to wait before Jex came in on her flight. If you’re going to be waiting that long, you may as well redeem the time as best you can. Maybe change your oil, or buy a new shirt, or talk to every single person on your phone’s contact list. Or do all of these, like me. (Okay, okay, it wasn’t my entire contact list, just some of them. That’d be a little awkward calling your old boss from three years ago or that random person who insisted on giving you their number on that American Airlines flight ages ago…  Yeah, no. Please no.) I still had about two hours more to wait for the plane to arrive with Jex, and, since I’d done everything I could imagine to do and was tired of it all, there was only one course of action left to me. So I jumped up on a fire hydrant in a little roadside patch of green grass, complete with a cute little picnic table a laundromat near by. I stood there and waited. Presently three young boys, they must’ve been ten or eleven, came cruising by on their bikes. The one up front, bolder than the others, called out, “Hey, can you do a backflip?” I was somewhat surprised at this seemingly random question, until I recalled I was still standing on the fire hydrant. “It’s been a couple years since I did one. Can any of yall do one?” “He can!” two of the boys said, pointing to the third. “Alright, let’s see it!” With all three of us egging him on, he dismounted his bike, took a good clump of grass with his feet, jumped up, and executed a wonderful backflip. “Since he did it can you do it too?” “Well, I’m not as good as him. I’ll have to jump off this picnic table.” They all leaned on the opposite side of it to keep it from flipping over, and waited expectantly. I swung my arms, leapt up and curved backwards… and landed square on my stomach. They all let out a collective “oooh, that’s gotta hurt.”, but I jumped up laughing at my mistake saying, “Oh wow, that was horrible. Let’s try it again.” For the second time they watched expectantly. I swung my arms, leapt up and curved backwards… and landed on my feet. Cheers erupted from the young boys, and with that they said they had to go home for dinner, wished me a good day, and rode off. It was almost time for me to leave to the airport.

At long last, the time came. The cart with the dog crate was pushed into the little room at the airport, and Jex was there. I kneeled down and stuck my fingers through the grate door. She smelt them, saw my face, and erupted into uncontrolled whines, whimpers, kicks, and contortions, rocking the crate on back and forth. Our reunion was a happy one, and you never saw a more contented pair than us late that night. We drove until we found a nice quiet spot, and then went off to sleep. In the morning, before the sun had yet risen, we set off once more. It’s quite a fun drive from Boise to Moscow, and it starts off almost immediately with two lines of mountains on either side. You could almost say that the road ran along between these two lines in the valley, but the space was a little too narrow for it to be a valley, so it was more of a gorge. It was gorgeous. And beautiful too. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, and took the time to stop at all the fun spots. We waded in the river, climbed the hills, walked along the train tracks, and just generally had fun. And that’s about it. We made it to Moscow about half an hour till noon, and the rest is history.