Perhaps I am just several days tired. Perhaps it is the sunburn. But my progress has stalled. I have my ass hanging out in the intersection and I’m too listless to even try the ignition again. Let the truck come.
I wonder how many people keep ‘truck’ as a totem for death. Perhaps for city folk it is ‘bus.’ For me it’s ‘truck.’ When I wish for some kind of rural authenticity it’s ‘let the tractor roll over me.’ That’s how old farmers die in Kansas. After sixty or seventy years of keeping a tractor upright, they are found crushed under one. You have to wonder if they do it on purpose.
I visited the Gulf of Mexico last weekend with my family and in-laws, the island of Galveston specifically. Most tourist towns are shitty and Galveston is no exception. There is a lot of money pouring into the place, but not in a way that seems to benefit many people. We stayed at a fancy beach side resident hotel. Someone owns the beautiful three bedroom apartment where we stayed but rents it out most of the time.
I found Katie’s fish market and bought fish so fresh it looked like their eyes would ripple if you touched them.
When we returned to Bryan, Texas, where we live now, we found birthday presents from Dalyn in the Netherlands.
I’ve never seen a prairie chicken. I’m researching them for my novel about a Kansas giant. Like so many Kansas critters, they used to be everywhere, and now they are practically nowhere.
There’s a county in Western Kansas that is invading private ranches that have allowed prairie dogs to live and poisoning them, claiming it is compulsory to kill such pests.
A couple weeks ago coyote hunters killed the first wolf seen in Kansas since 1902. World-wide severe weather has inflated corn and soybean prices so that even more native grassland is being converted into unsustainable farmland.
It is perilous and demoralizing to become native to a place. Exile is certain. Books take root in disrupted soil.
This is just housekeeping. Sweep the dust out the door. Start the kettle when you’re done.