Tidbits - rewind and revisit

Eight years ago, I had an idea for a blog post - dismayed by the abysmal cabinet Diaper-Don assembled for his first term. The business of life and parenthood overshadowed the thoughts I had about the potential post so it was a plan with no execution. A lot has happened in the two presidential terms since then. Other ideas percolated and faded into the fuzziness of incomplete and half baked notions, haunting my cranium for frequent contemplation. Back then, I thought the tangerine tyrant’s cabinet was the worst possible collection of unqualified and incompetent individuals to ever disgrace the White House. The events of the last six months have proven me wrong. The sentient Cheeto’s current cabinet makes his original group of advisors look like sober genius patriotic saints in comparison. This newness of lower lows in politics has rekindled inspiration from the murky depths of previous designs.

Needless to say my typing fingers have been busy. The project I had originally thought to be a single blog post or two has grown. Burgeoned. Ballooned. Expanded. Exponentialized. It has bred with other unmaterialized concepts and decided it was gonna go big or hibernate. I’m in the middle of composing the eighth part and have no clue how far it’ll go. But it is going somewhere.

This is not the only big thing I’m working on either. I’m editing and revising the first 1500 words of “Only for a Day” (my superhero/pandemic science fiction novel) to enter it into a contest. This work in progress is more commercially viable than my first book so I have high hopes. Even if I don’t succeed in the contest, I’m looking forward to querying the final product as soon I get to that phase.

In the meantime, I wanted to throw out a quick update since it will be a while before I post any new content. It’s also June, practically halfway through the year and a good time to revisit my new year’s resolution: take more hikes, read more books, and watch more movies.

Well, I’ve only gone on one hike. Technically that’s more than I completed last year but there’s still room for improvement. The other two parts are more successful. So far I’ve watched 25 new (or new to me) movies and read five books. I know the latter number isn’t that impressive but compared to last year it’s a win. Not included in my January declaration is a goal to attend more live shows (comedy/theater/music) of which I’ve seen four so far with a fifth happening tonight.

A full list will be provided at the end of the year. Until then, here’s a brief preview.
Least favorite movie so far: Blink Twice.
Favorite movie so far: The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent.
Least favorite book so far: We Ate the Dark by Mallory Pearson.
Favorite book so far: Hip-Hop Is History by Questlove.
Lease favorite performance: Seether.
Favorite performance: Steve Hofstetter.

With that said, I’m headed back into the writer’s lab. Things to do, words to type, and ideas to solidify. Happy escapism my friends.

Grounding

Something interesting happened at San Diego Comic-Con. The cast of Fantastic Four: First Steps graced the stage as a part of Marvel’s big presentation. That’s normal though. Nothing spectacular in what Marvel doing what they have been doing for more than a decade. The most intriguing moment is what transpired while they were on stage. During the F4 segment, actor Pedro Pascal had a moment of panic and reached out to touch the arm of co-star Vanessa Kirby. Understanding what was happening, she took hold of him and the two continued hand in hand.

To the inexperienced eye, this might seem like an innocent gesture, perhaps even romantic. After all, they do portray a married couple in Fantastic Four. It wouldn’t be the first time an onscreen couple developed a real life relationship. However, those of us who battle anxiety, depression, PTSD, and/or autism witnessed something familiar. We recognized the change in Pascal’s demeanor. We watched as one moment he was smiling and totally fine then a second later he most definitely was not fine. His look of panic has also flashed in our eyes. Sometimes for obvious reasons but often without cause. As we’ve struggled with mental health, we have faced occasions where our amygdala short circuited and triggered our fight or flight instincts. One second we’re OK then the next we need something to bring us back to earth.

Pedro Pascal has been open about his mental health struggles. He’s admitted anxiety being a part of his psyche since he was a child. In press interviews and red carpet events, you’ll often see him with his left hand over his chest, a coping mechanism he’s learned to keep himself centered. In extreme moments of panic, he needs to hold someone else. Not inappropriate touching condemned by HR offices everywhere, but a steady and platonic grasp - like holding the hand of a colleague. Vanessa Kirby understood the assignment and allowed Pascal to ground himself through her.

Unfortunately, the trollish side of the internet is mocking the situation. Some are claiming Pascal’s experiences with anxiety are fantastical inventions of his imagination. Others are saying it’s a sign of weakness. Meanwhile, I’m over in my corner of the universe with nothing but respect for Kirby and Pascal. One human in crisis expressing their vulnerability, and another human reciprocating their need with kindness. I have never wanted to be friends with Pedro Pascal more than I do now.

If the toxic half of the internet could shut up for a few minutes, there’s a couple lessons we could learn from Pascal’s interaction on the Comic-Con stage.

First: depression, anxiety, and trauma do not discriminate. It can strike anyone from any socio-economic class. It doesn’t care about your politics, your race, your gender, or your religion. No amount of success, wealth, fame, or acclaim can protect you from mental illness. It strikes rich and poor. It affects beautiful people as much as the ugly dudes. It weighs on the hearts and minds of CEOs and janitors. It is a curse upon the righteous and the unrighteous. And here’s the weird one - even happy people can struggle with depression. I know, because I am one of those happy depressed folks.

Pedro Pascal has a career many actors envy. He’s been the lead actor in celebrated franchises for Star Wars, DC, Marvel, Kingsman, Game of Thrones, and The Last of Us. He’s won a Screen Actor’s Guild Award, two MTV Movie & TV Awards, and a People’s Choice Award. He’s been nominated for Golden Globes, Emmys, Teen Choice Awards, and more. He’s universally loved and respected by those who work with him. He’s made enough money to retire comfortably. Yet despite all his successes, accolades, admiration, and popularity he still battles anxiety.

The other moral of Pascal’s time at Comic-Con is the importance of grounding. Electricians know grounding as a safety method of connecting a powered system to the earth. The therapeutic definition is much the same, but instead of electrical components it connects humans to the terrain. Grounding grounds us. In the simplest sense, grounding is nothing more than touching soil. Walking barefoot through grass or along a sandy beach, wading into a lake or river, lying down in a field or meadow.

One of my favorite podcasts shared a story from a listener who overcame a phobia by grabbing a handful of dirt and allowing it to fall through her fingers every time she had a fear induced panic attack. I have a therapist friend who advocates taking your shoes off outside at least once a day to improve your mood. I’ve even discovered an odd calmness after running my fingers through needles on boughs of pine, fir, cedar, and spruce trees. Psychologists and patients in treatment have praised the use of grounding to treat a wide variety of both mental and physical conditions: depression, anxiety, PTSD, insomnia, hypertension, and chronic pain. It’s not a cure for anything, but it’s an excellent boost when in distress. Kind of like a shot of espresso for a sleepy driver in the middle of a road trip.

Another form of grounding is human contact. My dad preaches the benefits of a good hug. As for Pedro Pascal, finding balance is as simple as holding someone else’s hand. There are times when the feel of the earth isn’t available, no forest or beach or lawn near enough to touch. In those moments, what you need most is the gentle kindness of someone else’s grasp.

It is my hope if you ever find yourself in a time of suffering you have someone like Vanessa Kirby near you, a person understanding and willing to hold your hand to steady your nerves and anxieties. I pray I never reject the needs of a fellow human when their emotional state necessitates a stable platonic touch.

Stolen

The veneration of soldiers as heroes is an honor reserved for military members who served - especially those who sacrificed their lives, health, safety, and sanity.

To be clear, I’ve never been a soldier. I’ve never served in any branch of the military. The Army recruiting office I visited as a 17 year old told me I was too underweight to join - which is funny now considering how chunky I’ve become as an adult. Regardless, the experiences of our armed forces is something I’ll never fully understand no matter how many stories I hear from people who actually served in combat. I can read history books, play Call of Duty, or watch war movies and none of it will compare to the horrors real soldiers endured.

The greatest insult to our veterans is the way this nation treats them. Our government is eager to send our soldiers off to war but hesitant to help those soldiers when they return home physically, emotionally, and mentally broken. War is hell, or so I’ve been told. But a greater hell awaits when the fighting is over and these warriors are abandoned to civilian life with missing limbs, bullet wounds, damaged hearing, traumatic brain injuries, and PTSD. They’re expected to figure it out alone in a country with shortages of mental health professionals and understaffed VA hospitals. We broke them then refuse to fix them. They need our help and we’ve turned a blind eye to their needs. That, in my opinion, is a bigger middle finger to our military personnel than any anti-war protest.

And for years I thought this is the worst we could do to those who served in the armed forces. I was wrong.

Then a draft dodging con-artist wormed his way into the presidency and championed himself as the only true hero the military needed while maligning POWs, families of soldiers killed in combat, and anyone wounded in the line of duty. Trump claimed avoiding STDs was his Vietnam. The man made repeated attempts to make it harder for veterans to qualify for benefits and tried to gut the Veteran Affairs Department budget every year he was in office. The VA staff shrank under Trump’s administration as 50,000 vacancies went unfilled creating severe staffing shortages and closures of clinics meant to help our veterans. When 100 soldiers reported concussion symptoms after an Iranian air strike, the former president brushed it off as mere headaches and said they were not significant injuries. He routinely skipped traditional visits to military ceremonies and battlefield memorials to play golf instead of honoring America’s fallen warriors. His Memorial Day and Veterans Day posts of social media were (and continue to be) abhorrent attacks against his perceived enemies while ignoring the real sacrifices made by our true military heroes.

Somehow this asshole who called our soldiers losers and suckers is lauded as the biggest supporter of the US military. How? Because this is the most insulting thing I could imagine.

This is stolen valor. Someone got confused because he never served. Donald was granted deferments thanks to a combination of his rich daddy’s money and a fake claim of bone spurs. His disdain for American soldiers is thoroughly documented. His face should never be associated with any form of military action.

It is my desire no one ever photoshops my face onto the body of a real soldier or prompts an AI generated image of me in military uniform. I hope no one conflates my respect for members of our military as my membership within their ranks. I’m just a civilian and that is all I’ll ever be. No matter how heroic I might someday become or the capacity to which I may contribute to the betterment of society, I will never be a soldier. I will never understand what it’s like to walk in their combat boots. I will never experience their commitment and sacrifice. If you want to celebrate a soldier, celebrate them - not me.

While we’re here, regardless of your feelings of the military and war, our veterans need and deserve support. There are ample opportunities for you to use your time and resources to help those in your community by reaching out to your local American Legion or VA.

Our Region In Flames

I thought about fire burning in your eyes. I thought about fire. - Blindside

Image Courtesy Thoma Casey

How can we dance when the world is turning? How do we sleep while our beds are burning? - Midnight Oil

Image courtesy Myk Crawford

We didn't start the fire. It was always burning, since the world's been turning. We didn't start the fire. No, we didn't light it but we tried to fight it. - Billy Joel

Image courtesy WADOT

Now I see fire inside the mountain, I see fire burning the trees, and I see fire howling souls. I see fire, blood in the trees, and I hope that you’ll remember me. - Ed Sheeran

Image courtesy Greg Halling

I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain. I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end. I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend. - James Taylor

Image courtesy Tom Burgess

Death is on the top of her tongue and danger’s on the tip of her fingers. Streets are on fire tonight. - Lupe Fiasco

Image courtesy WADOT

Things we lost to the flames, things we’ll never see again. All that we’ve amassed sit before us shattered into ash. - Bastille

Image courtesy Zack Zappone

Liar, liar, the world's on fire. What you gonna do when it all burns down? - Dolly Parton

Image courtesy Erik Smith

We’ve built our confidence on wasteland. We’ve seen how the walls come down. Life burns. - Apocalyptica

Image courtesy Brian Jacob

Sleep now in the fire. - Rage Against the Machine

Image courtesy Colin Mulvany @ SR

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There are three major fires burning around us. To our east, Ridge Creek above Hayden Lake has burned 4100 acres. North of us, Oregon Road in Elk has burned 10,000 acres. Finally, the Gray fire west of us in Medical Lake has also burned 10,000 acres. There are two known deaths and hundreds of homes and businesses destroyed. The Spokane region is devistated and funds are being raised by the American Red Cross, Salvation Army, Giving Back Spokane, and No-Li Brewhouse. We also have family direclty impacted who had to evacuate including the grandparents in Medical Lake who host all of our holiday gatherings. If you think of us, please pray for rain.

Coping Isn’t Coping

Situational depression. Or at least that’s what my therapist called it. One situation in my life sucked and another was really crappy. A + B = D for depressed. Ideally, once circumstances changed, I’d be happier.

Things did change and eventually I did feel better. I also attended therapy and took medication. I had a couple different support groups and was involved in my church. I was happy, or at least as close to happy as possible.

Biologically speaking, depression is always there. For some people, it’s a lingering presence and daily burden. For others it ebbs and flows like the tide. Today is OK but tomorrow never knows. Those with SAD (or seasonal affective disorder) fall into this latter category, their mental health dependent on the weather. My situational depression makes me a candidate for the occasionally depressed. Since it’s a chemical imbalance, there isn’t a cure, only treatment through prescriptions and counseling can reduce the symptoms. Your brain is what it is. It can be rewired but not replaced.

So this is who I am. Some days my depression is an echo in the basement of my psyche. Other days it’s the annoying neighbor throwing an all night kegger when I have to work at 5am the next morning. Some days, it’s mellow enough to be forgotten and other days it’s so loud and crippling it can’t be ignored. Some days, it is a circus clown waving in the distance, other days it’s a masked killer from a slasher flick chasing me up a flight of stairs because why wouldn’t I be foolish enough to ascend the stairs where there’s no means for me to escape - that’s what people do in horror movies.

image courtesy of Dark Sky Films

I didn’t learn about my depression and anxiety until I was in my mid-30s. My oblivious perspective didn’t mean I was not depressed prior to my diagnosis. I didn’t suddenly develop symptoms the moment my therapist gave me a label.


My journey through depression and anxiety mirrors my story of autism. I didn’t know I was on the spectrum until I was 40, but I’ve been autistic my whole life. In the same way, I didn’t know I was depressed until I was an adult. Looking back I can see I’ve struggled with depression since adolescence.

These are challenges no one should face alone. Life doesn’t come with a user guide; the closest thing we have to cheat codes are therapists. So I got one. She prescribed some drugs. So I took them. And it helped.

Mental health doesn’t have easy fixes. Therapeutic and pharmaceutical solutions are not cures, they’re temporary salves. Wonderful and helpful yet not enough to heal the deepest wounds. To cope with the stresses of life, changes in weather, and negative self talk, people plagued with depression and anxiety need to develop useful coping mechanisms.

Neurotypical people cope naturally. They do it without thinking. Bad things happen, they adjust and keep moving. They’re upset about something, they process the emotion and continue to function. It’s the natural order. However, not all brains are able to self-regulate on autopilot. That’s why good therapists teach coping mechanisms.

Some people count or take deep breaths, meditate or punch a pillow, read or play video games. I have a big challenge though: coping strategies don’t last. For example, I tap my fingers when I’m anxious and it helps me feel calm. Yet the anxiety returns the moment I stop tapping unless I’ve resolved the cause of my worried stress. However, finger tapping isn’t the only coping mechanism I’ve tried.

Doing something nice for someone else is a great anti-depressant. I’ve volunteered for various community programs, served homeless people, opened doors for strangers, participated in charity events, and donated to non-profit organizations. All of it feels great in the moment. I never feel depressed when engaging in acts of kindness. Unfortunately, I’m not able to do these happy acts all day every day. I have a regular job, kids to feed, and a farm to run. I can have the serotonin high of helping someone, only to come home confronted with the reality of laundry that never ends and fences perpetually in need of repair.

I’ve been told nature walks and spending time with animals are good for mental health. I agree. That’s why I tend to linger outside longer than necessary after doing evening barn chores. Giving ear scratches to our donkey, playing with the goats, or staring at the stars. It’s a peaceful end to an often hectic day. As refreshing as this time is, I can’t stay outside forever. The next day is coming with a new set of stressors.

I feel great at my DJ gigs; music is therapeutic. But my gigs have end times when the speakers are turned off and I must tear down my equipment. There are times throughout my day where music cannot be played in the background, whether due to business calls or a lack of accessibility. Songs, regardless of genre, calm me, but the benefit vanishes as soon as the music stops.

There are more coping methods. I could go on ad nauseam. Hopefully, you get the point. Coping is great until it isn’t. Coping doesn’t last. Coping isn’t coping. I still have to function.

Neurotypical people are able to cope without coping mechanisms. Either due to depression, anxiety, or autism, I do not posses that skill. How do I do it? I don’t know. What I do know is I wake up every day and do what must be done because there are people (and animals) who depend on me.

I’m OK, and even when I’m not, it’s OK. If you see me tapping my fingers, at least you know why.

The Vows

We did a thing this week. After our wedding a month ago and our reception last Friday, Annie and I entered a courtroom in the Public Saftey Building in downtown Spokane to make our marraige legally recognized by the state.

We intentionally kept our ceremony small with only a handful of the most important people in our lives sharing a place on the beach with us as we dedicated our lives to each other. There is a video of the ceremony but the crashing of ocean waves drowned out most of the audio. Thankfully, we wrote down our vows. For those of you who did not attend in person, the vows we exchanged are transcribed below. As we forge our way into our future together, please know that Annie and I appreciate all who have been here to support and encourage us over the past few years. We value your friendships more than we could ever describe.

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From me to Annie:
Andria, I give myself to you today to be your husband - your partner, lover, companion, and friend. To have you by my side and hold you in times of comfort and distress so we may build our lives and pursue our dreams together.

I promise an unwavering love through the worst days, for it will make our better days sweeter. To cherish you regardless of status or wealth, when we have money and when we don’t. To love you when life brings us sickness and health because we know we will endure both. To be faithful in times of sorrow and joy, because we know we will experience both.

I will support you in any endeavor, celebrate your successes, and carry you when you’re too weak to walk. I will forever be your biggest fan. I owe you everything and you owe me nothing.

Together, we will demonstrate a love which cannot be burned by fire, nor washed away by flood. We will overcome any challenge as a team, equally devoted. We will fill our home with laughter and hope. We will set an example of a vibrant marriage for our kids and our friends to follow. I have no greater honor than to share this journey with you.

Our bond will be strong for as long as we are alive as death will be the only thing capable of tearing us apart. This is my lifelong promise. You are mine and I will always be yours.

From Annie to me:
Nicholas Casey, I love you endlessly. You have made my life better by just being you. You are my rock and my heart. You support my dreams even when I struggle to believe in myself.

I vow to be giving and forgiving; to make you laugh and to laugh at myself. I vow to love you as you love me through our hardships, darkness, and pain. I vow to reach for our joys, our hopes, always with honesty and faith. I vow to keep dreaming with you.

Our marriage will be perfect because it’s ours. I promise these things until I am no more. I’m ready to show you how much I love you everyday for the rest of our lives.

(side note: as a surprise to both Annie and Joylyn, I also wrote some vows as a step-dad becoming dad to his new daughter)

From me to Joylyn:
Today, your mom and I are exchanging wedding vows. A vow is a promise, one to be taken seriously and never be broken.

As I make a vow to love and cherish your mom forever and always, I am also making the same promise to you. As your dad, I promise to love you just as I have always loved Christian, Chloe, and Josiah.

It will be my job to teach you, protect you, and support you every day for as long as I am alive.

Now and forever after, you are my daughter.

                            with love,

sincerely

Mr & Mrs Casey                   

Sedona

Two years and a half ago, we got Sedona intending her to become Chloe’s new barrel racing horse. Our daughter needed a step up horse, a steed who could help Chloe reach her full potential as a rider and a competitor.

Chloe rode Sedona bareback the first day we had her. It’s one of the happiest moments I have ever witnessed. The two made a quick bond and practiced together any chance Chloe could find. Sedona was a little overweight so we placed her on a strict diet and had her exercising in the round pen daily. We took her out for walks and runs on trails and roads. Sedona worked her muscles walking up and down a hill we affectionately refer to as “the butt kicker hill.”

photo courtesy of Susan Shouse Photography

Sedona competed with Chloe through most of the 2019 rodeo season and we watched as both the girl and her horse made improvements in their skill. After the Covid pandemic ended everyone’s rodeo season for 2020, Chloe continued to ride and work with Sedona. She had her eyes on the future. She knew that one canceled season was not the end of anyone’s rodeo career. If she was going to compete again, Sedona would need to stay in shape.

Chloe hustled. Sometimes she begged to do it and other times we bribed her. With the 2021 season approaching, we hired a trainer to work with Chloe and it looked like Sedona was going to be the perfect partner.

Then April 22 happened.

Like many other days preceding it, Chloe and Sedona were in the round pen working. My daughter stood in the middle directing the speed and direction for her horse to run. Some occurrences come out of nowhere, freak accidents you are unable to explain even as you watch it happen. One moment, Sedona was running like a race horse, the next she was spooked and tried to jump the gate. Sedona is not a jumping horse and she was too short to clear the gate. Instead of landing on the other side, Sedona’s front right leg slipped into the smallest space possible: directly between the wood post, the end of the metal gate, and the chain looped to keep the gate closed. Sedona’s sudden predicament scared her even more and she started thrashing around, aggravating any potential injury caused by her dreams of flight.

Chloe, Christian, and I made quick efforts to free Sedona while JJ ran in the house to get Annie. The next few hours were spent trying to calm the horse and clean her wounds. Phone calls were made to the emergency overnight veterinarian who gave us practical advice and we arranged to bring her in the next morning. We feared she would need to be put down. Chloe feared losing the bond she spent two years building with Sedona. We worried about the potential costs about the veterinary care Sedona would need.

In the end, all our fears were relieved. Miraculously, Sedona did not break any bones. Her official diagnosis was a complete degloving. This is a severe injury where she did more than tear away her fur – she also ripped off the outer layers of her skin and connective tissue. She managed to deglove a solid ring around the lower part of her leg, requiring multiple stitches and isolation while she healed.

This picture is her wound several weeks after the initial injury. The first photos we sent to the veterinarian are too gory to share.

Results were better than we imagined possible. However, Sedona still had a long road ahead of her. The next few days were chaotic and filled with sleep deprivation for both horse and humans. She would need regular bandage changes for several weeks, requiring sedation for her to allow us to wrap fresh bandages around her leg. The vet prescribed antibiotics and pain medications, both of which Sedona hated consuming. Finally, she would need to miss out on the 2021 rodeo season.

Instead of forfeiting the season Chloe chose to train Renegade; the result of her decision is a beautiful and victorious story deserving a blog post of its own. Sedona slowly recovered, eventually rejoined the heard, stopped exercising, and ate a bunch of hay. She regained a bunch of weight but she would live, nay … thrive.

Sedona’s injury did more than complicate Chloe’s rodeo season, it threw a wrench into our wedding plans. Annie and I had arranged two horses to go with us to the wedding: Sedona and Roxy. After exchanging vows on the beach, we hoped to ride off into the sunset together. With Sedona’s injury, that possibility was cast into doubt. Renegade has a habit of bucking and throwing riders and we only have one other ridable horse – the mare Annie planned on using.

We kept Sedona healthy and fed. We let her walk the pasture at her own leisurely pace. Gradually, she built up her strength. Her wounds were scabbing over. It was clear I would need to begin working with her soon, shed some of the belly weight she added while in recovery, and build a bond with her so she trusts me when there are ocean waves crashing next to us.

Sedona’s most common recent interactions with me were through the ritual of medicating, sedating, and changing bandages. None of those activities were experiences she enjoyed; she actively attempted to avoid it as much as she could. She wanted nothing to do with me but she didn’t keep that attitude. First she let me approach her while she was munching on hay. Next she allowed me to scratch her neck and ears. Then she started lining up with the other horses when she saw me walking from the house to the barn to feed them. She would follow me as I dragged a bale into the pasture and stood patiently while I broke open the twine. As soon as I threw a flake of alfalfa, she’d turn away from me to go eat. Finally, on a Monday night a few weeks ago, I took a bale out to the horses while all the horses were grazing in the back half of the pasture. I looked up and saw this running at me.

Instead of waiting for me to toss some food in her general direction, she walked up to me and invaded my personal space. I spread out several flakes; the other horses found their own personal pile and started to dine. Not Sedona. She stayed with me. I picked up her feet to check her hooves, rubbed her back to see if she had any sore spots, and patted her neck to let her know she’s a good girl. As I was running my fingers through her mane, she rested her jaw on my shoulder and turned her neck to place her head behind mine – the closest imitation of a hug a horse can give.

I knew then it was time. It was time for me to start working with Sedona in the round pen. I knew it was time for her to have a rider. I knew it was time for me to (figuratively and literally) get back on the horse.

Last Saturday, we did a thing. While the family completed morning barn chores, I got Sedona into the round pen and strapped a saddle to her back. We walked around in circles in the round pen for a while, both of us reacquainting the experience of riding (me) or being ridden (Sedona). Feeling brave, I followed Chloe out to the back half of our property. It’s the first time in a couple years we’ve rode horses together. We did some practicing in our arena and I had Sedona walking through a pole bending pattern. I even got her into a trot.

Three weeks from now, Sedona will be introduced to a new environment: road trips and beaches. A couple weeks ago, I was feeling nervous about how she would handle my weight or how I would manage to control her in the sand. Now I feel much more confident and prepared. I think Sedona and I are going to enjoy our time together.

Like Orion on a Cloudy Night

It was a stressful day. Which is weird because it should not have been so burdened by stress. The morning started like any other Sunday: Joylyn and Annie helped me complete barn chores before we all went out to breakfast as a family at our favorite little greasy dive in Rathrum. Later in the day, Annie went out for a horseback ride with one of her friends while I relaxed and played video games. I spent some time cleaning in the kitchen while Annie prepped the dining room table for a crafting project. Then we went on some errands to get wood stain and groceries. The day ended after a walk with our Mastiff at the dog park, more housework, and bedtime barn chores.

No dire emergencies. No kids arguing. No mishaps. No perceivable cause for frustration. Still, while we were on the freeway between home and Winco my brain declared battle against itself, like there was a civil war waging between my prefrontal cortex and my amygdala. From the coattails of a relaxing Sunday, I was suddenly and inexplicably overwhelmed by anxiety. My shoulders tightened, my chest was constricted, and my breathing grew shallow. Thoughts of impending dread and inevitable failure flooded over me.

There was no logical reason for me to feel the way I felt. Even in the moment I knew there was no validity behind my anxiety. It was what it was. I knew my emotional paralysis was devoid of substance yet I was powerless to avoid it. I felt better the next morning, ready to tackle a new work week and carry on as if I hadn’t been plagued by self sabotage less than 24 hours prior. But Sunday night, for causes beyond my capability to describe or understand, was rough. Sometimes it’s hard to get out of my own head.

After we returned home, and when the worst of the anxiety faded, I walked out of the house to retrieve groceries from the trunk. I briefly looked up and noticed a small break in the clouds perfectly framing the constellation Orion. The belt was shining bright. A few years of living on the farm has made those three stars the easiest for me to identify among the abundance of distant suns populating our night sky. I stood still for a moment and traced the outline of Orion up to the club and shield then down to the hem of his garment. I marveled at the unique position of my geographical location. The constellation was perfectly framed by cloud cover - grey masses above and below it, and to both sides. The overcast sky obscured all other constellations visible in early February.

I removed a few grocery bags from the trunk, closed it and looked up once more before going inside. In the time it took me to gather our purchases, the clouds shifted, blown by currents of wind. The only stars still visible were Zeta, Epsilon, and Delta – Orion’s Belt. A few seconds later and those stars also disappeared behind the overcast weather.

A couple hours later, I ventured outside once more to feed our animals and refill their water troughs. At the barn, my eyes wandered toward space again and the clouds populating the inland northwest earlier in the day had dissipated, pushed further east by the jet stream, revealing the clear and beautiful expanse of endless galaxies above us. Orion the hunter still stood proud above me, joined by his neighbors Cassiopeia and Pisces.

Orion is there somewhere

In a short span of time, Orion was the only constellation to be seen, vanished, then reappeared joined by dozens of visible constellations. Time and meteorological changes in the atmosphere alter the way we see the stars. Yet the shifts and adjustments in astronomy move slower. Night after night, Orion is still Orion. Mars and Jupiter move into and out of our night sky in long lethargic arcs. The moon cycles through its phases from full to new and back again every 29 and a half days, the subtle change barely perceptible from one night to the next.

As I pondered these quick adjustments in weather and its effect on our perception of the longer lasting existence of astronomical phenomena, I realized my struggles with depression and anxiety were much the same. My emotional state is often like the clouds, moved by circumstance and unseen forces. My melancholic disposition sways between bitter and sweet, often lingering where the two are blended. There are times my anxiety completely blurs my grandeur, other times it breaks long enough to observe glimmers of greatness. Then there are days where depression breaks and I feel as if I can shine. Regardless of how I feel from one moment to the next, I’m still me. I possess the same hopes and fears while overcome with anxiety as I do when serotonin and dopamine levels in my brain are stable. Moods come and go like the weather but my goals and beliefs remain, only to be changed through slow progression.

When I am feeling down, I know that feelings are only temporary. Anxiety comes, but it also goes. Happiness exists on the other side of these temporal adjustments. This concept isn’t an easy one to explain to someone who doesn’t struggle with depression and anxiety. If you want to better understand what it’s like to be me, just watch the stars on a partially cloudy night. Perhaps you could learn something from Orion.

A Few of My Favorite Things

Almost a month into 2021. Are we ready to remember last year? I know it sucked for almost everyone on earth but it can’t be all bad. While I pity the future history teachers who will have to explain the events of 2020 to kids not yet born, we need to remember the treasures in what was demonstrably a dumpster fire of the year. To do so, my first post of the new year is looking back at what I believe to be the best of the worst year I’ve ever experienced.

found on Reddit

Starting with my Top 10 movies from 2020. Since moving to the farm, I haven’t been able to get to the theaters as much as I used to. In 2020, theaters closed and everyone felt the same unrequited yearning for the true movie experience. However, being home all the time gave me more time to watch one of my favorite mediums. There’s a lot of 2020 movies I’ve not yet had the chance to see, but these were (in no particular order) my favorite films from the year.

Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga
Hamilton
Enola Holmes
Guns Akimbo
Soul
My Spy
The Platform
Onward
Project Power
Coffee & Kareem

Not a lot of new music came out last year. Or at least, not a lot wowed me in any way. Some big name artists even pushed back planned releases because of Covid. However, even in the dearth of musical debuts and massive singles, there were songs that still worked their way into my consciousness and remained there. These are my five favorite songs of 2020, also in no particular order.

Pigeon John - The Greatest
Twenty One Pilots - Level of Concern
Blue October - Oh My My
Eels - Are We Alright Again
LANY - If This is the Last Time

Being home all the time gave me more time to watch movies. But it also gave me more time to read. However, much of what I read were older books. So here are my top four books from 2020 plus one from 2019 that I read this last year. Two fiction, three non-fiction.

Mike McHargue - You’re a Miracle and a Pain in the Ass
Carlos Whitaker - Enter Wild
Max Brooks - Devolution
Stephen King - If It Bleeds
Ibram X. Kendi - How to Be Antiracist

Enough about what kept me entertained. What about what kept you entertained. Here are my five most frequently read blog posts of 2020, and these are in order with the most popular first.

Bragging Rights 
Tortured 
Pay Up 
The Spring of Babies 
Tour de Bux 

However, not all of my favorite posts are particularly popular. Sometimes, I write things I’m eager to share then no one seems to notice when I do. Regardless of total views, I am most proud of these five posts.

Protect Ya Neck: Sanity in the Age of Social Media 
Geeks Will Save the World 
Rise of the Sidekicks 
All Other Ground 
What Does Love Require 

Our farm’s population is always in flux. The population of our chickens and duck ebb and flow with hatchlings and death. Geese and turkeys come and go. We breed the goats in the fall and sell their kids in the spring. We find stray kittens in the barn and re-home them after getting them spayed or neutered. We are ground zero for the circle of life. We also bring in animals who become permanent residents of our circus. Three of them have become my favorite animals on our property. A with apologies to all our our pre-existing furry and feathered friends, these are the three best additions to our farm.

Edgar the Mastiff

Wasabi the Emu

Hank the Donkey

Now for the absolute best thing about 2020? We had one more addition to the family in 2020. She was a surprise we didn’t think was possible. Violet has made our world even brighter than it was before and she seems to bring out the best in her older siblings.

Annie and I inadvertently scheduled our annual camping trip for the same weekend we originally planned on getting married. Our venue canceled because of insurance issues. Then we found out Annie was pregnant. Then Covid happened and the world got put on hold. Wedding plans got delayed until further notice. Instead of getting married on the beach, we went hiking on the beach. Instead of a bed-and-breakfast, we slept in a tent. It was the best option we could come up with for a socially distanced family vacation. Instead of a destination wedding with about 50 friends and family members, we Took our family of seven camping 50 miles north of our previous plans. While there, we went hiking in the Hoh Rain Forest. This is where I experienced my most surreal moment of 2020. Along the Hall of Mosses Trail, I took some snapshots of the kids. Looking at those pictures now, I am confronted with the reality of 2020 and the weirdness of being surrounded by unparalleled natural beauty in the midst of a pandemic. Our existence on earth is a clash between the ancient and the modern, a truth most evident in photos like these.

Finally, a few of your favorite things. On New Years Eve, I asked my Facebook friends to share their favorite part of 2020. Here is a summary of the most inspiring responses.

While Annie and I (along with countless other couples) canceled their 2020 nuptials, love endured and some people found a way to get married in the midst of a pandemic. I know because my friend Syafiq DJ’d for a couple fun receptions. My friend Nate officiated what he called a beautiful wedding. And my friend Heather married the love of her life.
My cousin Allen reconnected with his dad (who travels a lot) in Miami to watch the Super Bowl. He grew up in Kansas City so the Chiefs are his favorite team. Spending time with his dad and watching his favorite team is a memory worth holding dear.
And he wasn’t the only one to reconnect with family. My Aunt Kim made a trip to Portland to spend time with her kids, my friend Julie’s son came home, and a distant cousin of mine reached out to her extended family (which included me).
Other friends focused on their home, like Natasha who remodeled her kitchen and Tiffany and her husband who put a down payment on their first home.
My best friend from high school graduated with her BSW, an old family friend watched her granddaughter graduate high school, and my cousins decided to permanently home school their kids.
Then there is my friend Jennifer who got her first tattoo. The story behind it is beautiful but it’s her story to tell, not mine.

courtesy Jennifer Nixon

The Covid Effect

It’s been a year (give or take a couple weeks) since the initial cases of Covid-19 were reported in the city of Wuhan. A little more than a month later, the first documented cases would appear in the US and we were given warnings this would turn into a global pandemic. In the following months, the Coronavirus overwhelmed our culture impacting every American – some through getting sick but most through changes in lifestyle. 

When states begin implementing various orders to wear masks or close non-essential businesses, we thought it would only be a few weeks and life would get back to normal. Spring and summer passed with the pandemic dominating headlines, controlling American life, and a menagerie of state or municipality protections remaining in place. Now in autumn with winter upon us, we’re seeing new government measures issued to try and contain this virus and it seems things will never be the same. 

It’s obvious the shelter in place directives interrupted the way Americans live, work, and play. The three Es of education, employment, and entertainment all drastically altered how they exist and operate. When this pandemic is over (and it will be over eventually) it’s likely some of the changes in our lifestyle will never return to the way it was before. 

But is that a bad thing? 

There is cause for concern, elements of American culture in need of repair. We’re facing an enormous mental health crisis as isolation is not good for the human psyche. There is a generation of school kids falling behind as they’re missing essential learning while schools are scrambling to prevent making the pandemic worse. The masses of newly unemployed workers will need to find new jobs. Many who contracted Covid-19 and recovered have been and will be suffering long term effects of the virus. 

There is also reason for hope. Fewer pollutants have been released into our atmosphere and waterways because less people are travelling. Reduced exhaust and fossil fuel usage means we’re breathing cleaner air; rivers and lakes are clearer. People are paying better attention to basic hygiene – doing the things they should have always been doing like washing their hands frequently, sanitizing high use surfaces, exercising, spending time in the wilderness, and eating at home instead of getting fast food. There’s a greater attention on science and increased appreciation for nurses and doctors. Individuals are investing in acts of kindness and generosity in ways to inspire and renew faith in humanity. 

In this pandemic, as with most things, both the good and the bad inhabit the same space. 

But what about the post Corona life? What lasting affect will Covid have on our culture? With a few different possible vaccines on the horizon, I think it might be beneficial to speculate on what our world will be like after life returns to normal. Or if it ever will be normal again. 

Since business as usual went on lockdown last spring, corporate America adjusted. In the process, we learned to use technology to our advantage, canceling non-essential meetings and moving important group conversations into virtual spaces like Zoom or Google Meet. Employers got creative giving more employees the option to work from home. New remote jobs became available. Those still working on site have been encouraged to stay home when they’re sick. These are changes to American life I hope never return to the way things were before. 

I am optimistic supervisors, managers, directors, and CEOs everywhere have learned some things are better for an email and not every idea is worth a half hour meeting in a conference room. I wish for telecommuting becomes more prevalent as it will make our workforce larger and more diverse. More people working is good for the economy and more people working from home is good for the environment. Side note: I don’t miss my 25 minute commute to the office. I hope more people consider the health of their neighbors, friends, and colleagues before leaving the home with flulike symptoms. As much as we all hate wearing masks, people should keep them – not to wear indefinitely, but for times of illness. Maybe if people wore masks any time they were sick, we would live in a healthier society by limiting the spread of the flu, common cold, and other contagious diseases.

(psst, wear a mask) 

Still, there are things I miss in this Covid world. When this is all over, I hope some elements from our former lives resume as soon as possible. I miss concerts and movie theaters. I miss hanging out in coffee shops. I miss seeing smiles on strangers’ faces. I miss parades and festivals and farmers markets. Of everything we’ve lost, there is experience I miss more than anything else and I hope it isn’t gone forever: the samples at Costco. 

Please bring back the samples as soon as it is safe to do so.

Tour de Bux

The City of Coeur d’Alene could (if they wanted) hold a unique race every year. No, not Ironman, that’s already a thing. The city also runs their own triathlon, duathlon, marathon, and 10k runs. There’s a marathon done in the neighboring town of Hayden. And you can compete in a scenic bike race around the lake called Coeur d’Fondo.

My proposal for the city by the lake is a new bike race – one that combines this region’s love for fitness and coffee. Part race, part scavenger hunt, and part endurance test: I call it Tour de Bux.

Here’s how it works. Riders must race their bikes from one Starbucks to another, stopping at every location to consume a drink of their choice as quickly as possible, and collect a tag documenting completion for each individual store. First competitor across the finish line with the correct number of tags win. Starbucks swag and gift cards could be awarded as prizes.

The race begins with the first drink at the Coeur d’Alene Resort where Starbucks is served in the lobby cafe. Stop number two is two miles up Northwest Blvd to the Riverstone Starbucks. Next, riders head over the hill and one mile east to Ironwood Square. After drinking their third coffee, racers will ride 1.2 miles north on Government Way to the Starbucks next to Costco, then across the street to the Starbucks inside Safeway. The next two stops are also inside stores: Fred Meyer is less than a mile to the west, followed by Target about a mile and a half north on Highway 95. The final stop where competitors will drink their eighth cup of coffee is one mile north of Target at the Cornerstone Starbucks.

Finishers won’t sleep for days.

If that sounds a bit ridiculous, it is. Actually, it’s a lot of ridiculous.

Combined population for Cd’A, Dalton Gardens, and Hayden is around 69,000 people. With eight different Starbucks to choose from, that’s roughly one Starbucks per 8600 citizens. Contrast with the city of Spokane Valley (population is 99,700) where there is also eight Starbucks locations. Coeur d’Alene is comparatively coffee crowded.

In calculating Starbucks per capita in Coeur d’Alene, you can easily reduce the ration by eliminating people who (like my older brother) refuse to consume anything related to Starbucks. You can also remove people who are loyal customers of the various drive through stands and rival coffee shops like Thomas Hammer, The Human Bean, and Dutch Bros. Generously speaking, you’re left with half of the population who might frequently or occasionally patronize one of the local Starbucks which leaves us with one Starbucks per 4300 residents. Store hours are often open for business 15 hours a day. According to my overly analytical nerdy brain, each Cd’A area Starbucks exists for 287 locals during every hour it’s open.

photo courtesy of Eventige

This is overkill. Unlike my brother, I don’t despise Starbucks. I enjoy their salted caramel mochas during the holidays and I think their vanilla bean Frappuccino can be deeply satisfying on a hot summer afternoon. Yet I wonder if we really need eight different Starbucks so geographically close to each other?

News earlier this week announced the closure of 400 Starbucks stores. It wouldn’t surprise me if at least one of those closures is in Coeur d’Alene. The market is saturated, too much of a good thing.

However, if there are no store closures in Coeur d’Alene, there should be a Tour de Bux as soon as this whole COVID pandemic is over.

Tidbits

In my life, I’ve been told I have a few famous look-alikes. In no particular order, I have been compared to Billy Corgan, an older Mark Hamill, Drew Carey, and the Pillsbury Doughboy.

This week, a coworker discovered another celebrity twin for me. Unfortunately, she couldn’t remember his name.

“I saw your doppelgänger this weekend.” She told me. “He was on TV and I thought, wow, he looks just like Nic Casey, but without a mowhawk.”

Note, I don’t have a mowhawk. It’s a fauxhawk. Semantics.

She confirmed it was an actor on TV, but not any of those I listed above. She couldn’t recall what show he was in, just that he looked like me if I had a normal haircut. So I’m clueless. If you know who it might be, let me know.

---

“Dad,” it was Chloe. She had a question. “You know the Shawn Mendes song If I Can’t Have You?”
“Yeah.”
“The line, where he says he can’t drink without thinking about you, how does he know drinking alcohol makes him think of someone if he’s not old enough to drink?”
“Um, because he’s old enough.”
“No he’s not, he’s 20.”
I did a quick Google search to verify Mendes is indeed 20 years old.
“How do you know Shawn Mendez’s age.”
“Because I know things, Dad.”
“Well, he’s old enough to drink in Canada, maybe he’s from Canada.” Another Google search confirmed the singer is from Toronto.

Phew, saved by geography and Canadian law.

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Summertime is rodeo season. And baseball season. As a result, we’re a busy household.

The girls competed in two different rodeos this weekend, one in Davenport, and a second in Spokane. We’re hosting a graduation party for Annie’s nephew tomorrow and Josiah’s first baseball game is on Tuesday followed by team pictures on Wednesday.

In addition to all this activity, we both have full time jobs, a farm to maintain, and a house to keep clean. We live at a frenetic pace. While lamenting the hectic schedule ahead of us, Annie asked if we were ever going to get a chance to breathe. I gave her the most accurate answer I could imagine.

---

Did you know cows can jump? And not just a little hop, but jump over barriers higher than the top of their head?

Yeah, neither did I.

We had a bit of an adventure this morning. A total of five cows escaped from two adjoining properties in the neighborhood. Christian and I were on our way to the store when we encountered a blockade on our street. A few local cowboys in a couple of trucks and at least one quad were blocking driveways and partially obstructing the road while a half dozen men were running around with lassos and ropes. I followed their gaze to the target of their attention; a trio of bulls were running free and causing chaos in the yard a couple properties south of our house.

Then I saw an unimaginable sight, one of the bulls jumped the fence. It wasn’t graceful in any form. It nearly tangled itself in the electric wire. I don’t know if the fencing was hot, if it was the bull didn’t care. He progressed across our neighbor’s yard straight toward our fence line. I parked the van and hopped out in hopes to help contain the beast so the owners could retrieve it. The fence between us and our neighbor is chain link and the fence is taller than the bull, so I thought it was adequately trapped with no way out.

This is him, in the corner of our neighbor’s property, moments before he jumped into our front yard. I didn’t think it was possible. Even after witnessing the bovine acrobatics in person, my brain wants to deny it ever happened – as if it would be more believable for the cow to have phased through solid matter as if the fence didn’t exist, than it would be for the bull to leap over the top like a high jump event in the Cattle Olympics.

I drove into the back pasture with a whip, thinking I could corral it back toward our front gate, onto the road, and into the ropes of his pursuers. Instead, he slipped through the electric wires at the back of our land, a stretch of fencing we just completed a couple months ago. Then it happily pranced away out of view and away from our pasture. While there, I talked to the owner of two of the five escapees. She filled me in on the full story: the location of the three bulls where known, but a heifer and calf where missing. The five animals busted out together but had separated. They had been running loose for about an hour by the time I got involved and I have no idea how much longer before all were contained and returned to their own fields.

On my second attempt at grocery shopping, I pulled along the side of a truck parked in the middle of our road. The driver was an older farmer with an exasperated expression. I asked if he was a part of the crew looking for the cows and he nodded. I wished him luck to which he responded, “It’s not the first time they got out, and it won’t be the last.”

Wait.

Not the first time? So this has happened before?

A Fowl Tale of Horror and Survival

The attack happened in darkness. The morning sun revealed carnage none of us were expecting.

Nemo and Dory were the original residents of our barn – a pair of Chinese geese who first lived in the yard behind Annie’s old house. We stuffed them into a carrier and they rode in my car for a noisy transport to the new property. At first, they didn’t care much for the farm life; they made frequent attempts to run away. Within weeks at our new residence, Annie had lost them only to find them at the neighbor’s neighbor’s neighbor. The poor lady was scared to go out her back door because our geese camped out there, honking at her and refusing to vacate the premises. Last spring, they hatched a few eggs; we sold two of their chicks with the intention of doing the same for the third. Instead, it lingered with us where she became fond of our kids. All of our water fowl are named after Disney characters, but we never picked one for the little goose – our friend Pam lovingly called her Peepers.

We also had a collection of ducks. Rouens, pekins, khaki campbells. They were a mixed bunch – two drakes and four hens who stuck close to each other. If you ever saw one, the others were close behind, all squawking and quacking and waddling between the house and barn like the happiest flock you’d ever meet.

Between the geese and ducks, our farm was constantly noisy. The geese would honk anytime another creature approached. The ducks quacked as they walked; the only time they ever shut up is when they were sitting still. Our environment was exuberant and dominated by our birds.

It was over in one night. When the boys and I headed out to the barn for morning chores the air was silent – an unnatural absence of sound. JJ noticed something out of the ordinary before any of the rest of us, pointing toward the fence and asking what was over there. I dismissed it at first, but then I looked closer: two motionless white lumps in the grass didn’t belong there. On closer inspection, it was Nemo and Dory, slain and left side by side. Closer to the barn we discovered Peepers. The ducks were also quiet. I opened the barn door, fearing the worst. Inside, two ducks started quacking at the site of us humans and they scurried into a side room. But there were only two, the other six were gone.

We suspect the predator was a cougar. It killed indiscriminately, stole away what it could carry, and left behind the extras as if it planned to return to collect the rest at a later time.

Heartsong Meadow has been a great learning experience for the kids. They’ve learned how to care for animals and manage the land, how to be good stewards, how to enjoy and appreciate the natural world. Along with the good, there is tragedy. We live in bear country. And cougar territory. And near coyote habitats. Possibly in the midst of wolves. Falcons, hawks, and owls patrol our air space. Raising farm animals in lands inhabited by nature’s savage killers, it’s only a matter of time before one of our beloved creatures fall victim to a predator. Our time ran out. The ducks were gone and the geese remained to be buried. Christian and I dug their graves and laid them to rest. Our plans for the day were sidelined as the kids figured out how to grieve.

However, the final count of the deceased was not as bad as we originally thought. Later the same morning, I found Tadashi in front of the house. He was disoriented and having trouble walking; he found his way into the garage where I caught him and held him for a while. There were no signs of injury but he demonstrated the effects of trauma.

As evening approached, we found another reprieve from our loss. It started with a light quacking in the distance, coming from the far side of the horse pasture. It came closer and closer, the squawk of distress growing louder until we could determine its identity. The larger of our two pekins: Merida. The cougar must have carried her to the gully at the back of our farm. Attempted murder yet Merida survived. When she reached the barn, we picked her up for inspection. She had puncture wounds in her neck, blood streaked through her white feathers, dirty and disheveled but otherwise unharmed. We brought her to the house where we had a makeshift hutch built in the garage. Merida and Tadashi stayed there for a few days while we nursed them back to health.

Unfortunately for Merida, the battle with a cougar had lasting consequences. The bite in her neck damaged a nerve. Within weeks, it was apparent she had lost most of her vision. Before long, she was completely blind.

Merida is still with us. We added new ducks to our flock and she enjoys the extra company. She waddles around the farm sightless; she listens for the quacks of her duck pack and follows where ever their sounds lead. She finds food and water by smell. Sometimes, she walks into solid objects, bumps into other birds, or trips over obstacles. Other times, the main flock walks out of the barn and turns right but Merida will turn right before leaving the barn – ending up lonely in the corner unsure of how to join her companions.

There she is, the one in white, walking into Mulan.

She’s alive and she’s the sweetest thing. Christian has adopted her has his own – his duck. Any time he picks her up, she snuggles into him in a way she doesn’t do with any other person.

She’s also my favorite duck. Then again, I have always had a thing for the broken ones, the odd ducks, the weirdoes, the outcasts, the ones who aren’t normal. I root for the underdog. Always. Merida is all of that. She’s also a fighter and a survivor. There’s no reason she should still be living, but there she is, every morning when I throw out seed. Every time I go into the barn to check on our pregnant goat. In the evening when I feed hay to the horses. She follows the other ducks’ quacks in a search for food, often stumbling over my feet while impatiently waiting for grain. Merida is determined to thrive against all odds. Or, Jeff Goldblum as Dr Ian Malcolm said: “Life, uh, finds a way.”

Truck Yeah

A couple weeks ago, a coworker caught me on my way out the office door. "Headed home?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered. "Well, actually to the store first to get pig food, then home." He looked at me funny and asked why I'm getting pig food. "For a pig. I have pigs." He looked even more confused so I added more. I live on a farm. We have pigs, horses, goats, chickens, ducks, and turkeys.

He started laughing. "For real?" I nodded. He said, "So you're telling me our super geeky system access administrator lives on a farm. That might be the most North Idaho thing I've ever heard." Our farm might not be in Idaho but it's close enough and his point is legitimate. This region is where nerds get a little dirt under their fingernails.

If you've been following along over the past year and a half, you'll know this has been a season of change. I left the apartment and relocated into the country. My family lives on acreage and we're raising an assortment of furry and feathered friends. I got a horse of my own and frequently wear my cowboy boots to work. While I'm still a giant nerd, I'm now a rural nerd. I am becoming equal parts giddy up and all your base are belong to us.

Last weekend, I did something I never imagined doing. As a result, my farmer transformation is almost complete. I traded in the sedan and got myself a truck. But not just any truck, I bought one with a lift kit.

There's some grief and loss here. I miss the Honda's gas mileage, heated seats, sunroof, defroster that doesn't take 20 minutes to warm up, remote keyfob for keyless locks, soundsystem with a decent subwoofer, and windshield I can easily reach when it's frosty outside. But we needed a truck. We need something to tow the horses during rodeo season and a way to haul hay for the animals so we can avoid paying extra to get it delivered. And it'll be nice to drive it out behind the back pastures on a warm summer night, park it, climb into the bed, lay down, and appreciate the beautiful and vast expanse of galaxies stretched above us.

Don't worry though, I'm not going to become a complete redneck. Everybody knows you never go full redneck.

As we drove home from the dealership, Annie asked me if I'd be her geeky farmer. I think I can handle that. Country living is alluring with this strange and inexplicable romantic feeling. I am being assimilated. Resistance is futile.