We hopped back on dry land and rounded a bend. Ahead of us, a brown bear strolled toward us like a casual fellow hiker.

We’re on a mission to find something we lost, and we know exactly where to look: where the white pine recedes to chalky scree.

Soft wings slap my arms and face like miniature kites in the wind; ants bite my belly; but still I prefer this solitary space.

Middle Tennessee is a verdant wet, a palate of green dripping with spring and sugar.

I decided to start this blog to ask questions existential and rhetorical, to muse and marvel, and to share adventures into the wild.

Every time I dipped my kayak paddle into the water, swirls of dinoflagellates danced under the stars.