Wild Things

You think you know a place, and then you don’t visit for eight or nine years, and things start to feel a little foreign.  I’m...

I was at Fort Zachary Taylor, hiding in the afternoon shade of the canopy, near the blacksmith’s shop, when I had a clear look...

When we got our first German short-haired pointer, Coffee, I thought she would have a more journalistic relationship with birds than, say, a retriever....

Damn I love the rivers that run through the Mud Keys. They are just the perfect distillation of the raw beauty of the backcountry,...

A tiny piece of plastic broke in our CR-V’s brake pedal, which meant the brake lights didn’t shut off when we parked it at...

The Cloisters, we figured, were up there somewhere, though we weren’t totally sure where. Intermittently, as we walked, we could see part of a...

I watch a lot of bike racing. For some reason it is the only sport I’ve ever consistently cared about. The early part of...

There is a bench up on the berm path at Fort Zach that I forget about on a regular basis. It’s a small thing,...

The cadence of a songbird’s daily life, of its moment-to-moment motions, are generally faster than we can follow. The speed at which they hop...

The sky was foreboding and maybe overdoing it – a two-tone wall of gray and darker gray moving closer and closer to where we...