ancient ideas, fresh trails
There are two kinds of people in the world. (there are more than that, but let’s not nitpick) People who love to stay home and people who love to wander. Home people nest and settle in for the long haul as nostalgia rules the day. Wanderers are restless horizon watchers who understand that to be a…
Continue reading ➞ The Tiny Home in Our Driveway
Tuesday we hiked up to St. Mary's waterfall. After a 3 mile hike including 1,000 feet of vertical rise, we drank cold water pouring down the face of the granite. That was right after Lauren and Karen startled two young men and a young woman who had built a sort of cold water mountain pool…
Certain languages, including French and Bulgarian, have one word for both“time” and “weather.” The French is rendered Le Temps. One of my treasured moments as a Dad combined weather, time, and beauty. I was sitting on a peak in Arkansas with my son on a Sunday morning singing while watching a thunderstorm roll in not…
"We are going to Hyde Park to see King Lear," Brandon said. Turns out he said High Park. Which is where we sat, perched high on a hill overlooking the outdoor stage at High Park in north Toronto. My expectations were low but I did carry high expectations in a picnic bag, a sub sandwich…
Continue reading ➞ Toronto journal 4: King Lear and the Subterranean Underground
Last summer my friend Bob and I were in Denver at a fly fishing outfitter admiring the gear and clothing. It was in that moment of idealistic longing that we decided to go trout fishing. Neither of us fish much. But the river called to us like the sirens singing to Delmar and Pete in…
While Brandon was home this winter he was imitating a Coast Guard cutter on our frozen pond, whacking the ice from a kayak with a double-bladed oar. He broke the oar like a hobo eating a hard pretzel. Which means he really is my son. Our family has a long legacy of tearing things up.…
