I loaded up my mare and hit the road before dawn, my dog, Guapo, in the cab next to me. It had been a while since I helped work cattle. Today’s job would take me to the Lazy J. We’d wrap up by Noon and a grilled steak would be our payment. Guapo could hardly wait.
Adam was created in the outback, whereas Eve was created in the garden. It’s the Bible’s way of explaining a man’s innate drive to explore the wild, swim the rivers and climb the mountains.
Players rush the line with fearless grit. Cheerleaders sparkle and twirl. On a Friday night beneath the lights, it’s impossible not to catch the thrill of it all.
The soon-to-be husband leads me into the basement of the old house. He points to a boulder in the south wall. “Just look at the size of it!” He rubs his hand across the pocked surface. “It’d take four men to shove this in place.”
A boy with a deer-hunting uncle will occasionally hear that uncle mention “buck rubs," a term that refers to gouges left on tree trunks by bucks rubbing velvet off their antlers.
It is my first time attending a meeting of the local historical society. It is also the first time I’ve heard of Grey Mule, a former town not far from where I live.
The prison guard weighed the small plastic bottle in the palm of her hand. “It’s not grape juice?” “No, ma’am.” She held the three ounces of rose-colored liquid up to the light. “Not permitted,” she said.
When it comes to long-distance travel, most people book airline flights or drive Interstates. Personally, I prefer blue highways, those two-lane roads printed in blue, squiggly lines on foldout maps.
Invocations from the Litany of Loreto play in my mind as I drive through Indiana and across Illinois: Morning Star, Ark of the Covenant, Gate of Heaven.
