From “Go North, Young Woman,” by Sarah Gilman:

Mountain ranges, then more mountain ranges, and then the Spatsizi uncoiled below us like a rope thrown across the valley floor. Aprons of rust-colored scree descended from high ridges to oxbows that looped around pocket lakes. Our landing on one of them was so smooth that I barely registered touching down until I saw spray jetting past my window. Standing on the gravel beach next to a fresh pile of bear scat, we watched the floatplane rise again, drag its reflection into the trees, vanish. We were alone in the middle of nowhere, alone in the middle of everywhere. Then, we were in the water, swimming our first loaded canoe to the portage that would put us on the 135-mile stretch of river we’d waited so long to paddle. That night, as I climbed into my tent on our first beach camp, mayflies glittered in my headlamp beam like animate stars. They reminded me of the constellation of bruises on my shins. They pointed the way.

This is a wonderful piece of writing. It makes me dearly miss the friends I used to adventure with, and the time and places where we once went.

And STOP. Huevos time.

“Dad, can I stay up a little late if we go out and look at the stars together?”

Hoo this kid knows my buttons. 🌌

Today’s puppy mood: Sunshine snuggle on the porch before work.

I realize a lot of you are having Second Winter right now, so just let me know if you want me to think of you as I sit on my porch with a local brew after work. No charge.

Today’s puppy mood: portrait mode.

that ‘guys yelling at each other’ meme, this time about how a proper Manhattan is always with rye, up, and in a cocktail glass.

I just mandolined a pound of brussels sprouts and still have all my fingertips AMA.

Watched Coco last night. It was beautiful and I didn’t cry even a litt–that was a lie and I apologize. I was a weepy puddle.