I gathered a bunch of acorns from a tree, two blocks away, dropping acorns all over the place, in the dirt, in the mud when it rained. The only tree I found, with acorns like in my imagination, acorns all over the place, leaves changing against a shocking blue sky. Carolina blue. The marching band here everyone plays in, its colors are Black and Carolina Blue. Hope blue, I said to Jonathan today- Carolina blue is Hope blue. I gathered acorns ten-deep in a canvas bag, the kind we have dozens of, now, use them for everything. It had rained and the acorns were wet, glossy like oak wood, most had lost their little caps. Beautiful. I squatted in the cold sun and picked them from the dirt, waited for assault by pack of free-range pitbull puppies, cute when they’re little, bitch hanging back, tired. Little puppies, dusty black, with fleas and cowlicked fur. Milky eyes. I took the acorns home and dried them in the oven, on a pan, tried to get a long rainy day out of them, dark. Still damp, I left them there. This morning I biked far for no reason- had to anyway but I didn’t even mind. My wrist hurt, my shoulder, I’m not used to riding a bike without a rack. Not used to carrying a backpack everywhere. I felt sort of like I did when I used to live here- like I could go in circles, like I could bike in concentric circles, getting bigger and bigger. Like I would go nowhere. Like there was nowhere I could get to from here.
Even though-
Even though-
On saturday I played drums in the shortest parade. The very shortest parade, I do believe, ever. And afterwards we had lunch- the very longest lunch. We were in a small town that is really an old mill, in the sort of rolling country between here and there. If I told you the name it wouldn’t matter, you’d think I made it up. In the old mill of this very small town in the rolling country between here and there, I ate for lunch a dish of local pork loin, cooked in local onions and peppers, and served with homefries made from local potatoes, if you can believe it. My band-mates looked on in envy, eating their quiche and sandwiches made from fresh mozzarella made that very day behind the counter in the little store in the very smallest town. I got the best lunch, because it was the only gluten free thing.
And tonight, tonight I saw my friend- she is about to have a baby. She is so close, it’s like she’s got a watermelon under her dress. An unlikely romance, friends fall in love and have a baby. Sort of incredible. And now I’m going to bike in the new fall cold, to a bonfire at a friend’s. And we’re going to play The Village, a fun game.
And it’s cold here, but not as cold as everywhere else.
And I leave you with that.
CARROT QUINN 
i went to north carolina on a whim for my 27th birthday. i had never been to the south before. i found the blue ridge mountains there and i still have mount pisgah in my heart.
How do you play the Village? Is it as fun as fugitive?
J
http://adventuresinvoluntarysimplicity.blogspot.com/
Hi Carrot Quinn! This is Inger. I have Celiac Disease. I cannot eat any gluten. Do you have that too? You are a beautiful writer. I am enjoying your blog. My dad retired from N&W-now N&S. He was an engineer for 38 years. He made art from all the railroad parts. Hes a great artist but a crappy dad. My mother is saddly mentally ill too. I do not know where she is. Are you a young teenager or adult? You travel so much. I hope you are happy and safe. Be careful out there. Im gonna finish all your stories now.
Inger
I am enjoying following your adventures from my domestic home base here in Virginia.
amazing incredible blog! adding you to my little list of good folks with great stories and vital worldviews (both travelers & stationarys among them), if you don't mind me doing so. xoxoxo
k-rot, you’re lucky you’re not here, because we’re all sick. and then you’d be sick too. hope you’re having fun out there. i made yummy vegan cornbread the other day that could totally be made gluten-free, too. it was GREAT!
~jernerner
Jack- The Village, unfortunately, is not nearly as fun as Fugitive. The Village is a sit-down game, where each person is a designated “character”, and one person is the “werewolf”, and the “villagers” use their wits to guess who is the “werewolf”. Yawn.
Inger-
Hello and welcome! I do not have Celiac’s disease, just a gluten allergy. It sounds like you have an incredible story! Maybe you should write it out! I’m an adult, not a teenager- although I wish I had written this much as a teenager! Thanks for the support, and keep reading.
Jernerner-
I miss you!
Rubevigor-
Way to have an anti-civ blog! There’s nothing quite as contradictory and wonderful as an anti-civ blog, is there? I plan on reading yours.
yay!
as for contradictory/wonderful things…i can think of lots (except not right this second…), and some almost nearly as great as blogging beyond civilization (you’re right though – that might just be the be-all end…well, if this is not painfully obvious, i don’t know what is.)
okay, one such at least: playing in a river the other day, a major artery upon turtle island, who no longer reaches the sea. how can this be? a god-dammed wonderful (un)free-flowing contradiction for sure.
~!
first of all-that game the village can get totally creepy if you play people who want to creep you out!
also, i wish here in portland we had delicious gluten free refined sugar free pumpkin pie and sweet potato pie like i ate in Santa Fe! You need to swing by New Mexico and pick up a whole pie on your way home!
adrienne