So about this time last year I was in a very small, very shitty car with people I loved, driving on small shitty roads to a small shitty town with a large shitty log pile. There was euphoria and sadness and quintessential summer, you know the kind, in movies with blurry soft lenses and popsicles and sand under feet and all that. And we listened to this song and for me at least, (there we go with the Americana again), it was a fitting backdrop to all the sun and the rain and comings and goings. Two of us were starting an extremely difficult backcountry job, one of us was emigrating to France or East Africa or Kashmir or something, two of us were breaking up, all of us were kind of freewheeling at least a little bit.
I've since developed a pretty strong relationship with the Greyhound, which is good because it looks like we'll be continuing that liaison this summer, starting tomorrow, when I go plant trees again, this time alone. So see you later blog, civilization, bike lanes and butcher shops, all that, I'm out, to be resumed in a few months' time.
