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The short
I had to say goodbye to Sadie, Wolf of my Heart, on June 5th. It has been weeks and weeks, and almost months, and I am still heartsick and aching.
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20 Things I Didn’t Hate In 2020
Blah, blah, blah, 2020 sucked, but it wasn’t all bad, blah, blah, blah, deep thoughts, etc. Here are some things that got me through that dumpster fire of a year. MY RUMPL. A Rumpl is a blanket, but like a really good blanket made for outdoor adventures. It is very cozy, very good and very warm. If I made a list of five adventuring items I am deeply in love with, my Rumpl would be on that list (along with this pillow).
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That Time I Fell & Smashed My Face in Desolation Canyon
On my second day in Death Valley, I tripped over my own feet, landed on my face and left a puddle of blood in Desolation Canyon. Really, I’m a little surprised it took me so long to hurt myself while alone in the wilderness. I am clumsy. I trip often and without reason. Sometimes my ankles roll out from under me, just for fun, as if they have better things to do than keep me upright. I am forever knocking into things, dinging myself lightly on furniture, cabinetry, sun shades and dog paws. I stab myself in the eye with a mascara wand at least once a week, never mind…
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Death Valley’s Ubehebe Peak & the Tremendous Power of Solitude
I found the trail two years ago, back in 2018 when I first visited Death Valley National Park. It wasn’t a planned hike. I didn’t even know there was a trail there, didn’t even know what it was called. As soon as I saw it though, I knew I was meant to take it. I’d followed a long, winding, bumpy, gravel and pit-ridden road for 26 miles to get there, to get to the Racetrack. It’s this far-flung and magical place in Death Valley. It’s a place where stones float themselves across the floor of the desert, gouging a path as they go. It’s a place where you can be…
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20 Years.
I took a deep breath, trying to find the words to explain a thing that used to be so close to the surface that it seeped from my pores. It wasn’t information I’d introduced to anyone in so long and this wasn’t the time to dig into it, to crack it open and unpack it. Quickly, I said, “When I was 16, a friend, David, committed suicide. He gave me a ride home that day, asked if I wanted a ride the next day and I said no because I was afraid of missing the bus and then twenty minutes later he was dead.”
