Site #64, Piney Grove Campground, New Site, Mississippi. Overlooking the quieter, (jet ski free) side of Bay Springs Lake, Mississippi.
1,409 miles later. Whew. We’re both thankful for the rest. That would be Nomadkins himself, as well as my courageously reliable 22-year-old Toyota Highlander (“Buddy”).
Northern Wisconsin and the Apostle Islands were drop-dead beautiful, and I made it a point to drive through the Red Cliff, Bad River and Lac du Flambeau reservations—pristine islands of Northwoods wilderness mixed with not-so-pristine islands of human poverty and garish casino-marquee neon: “Slot payout last month…$41.5 million!” (The empath in me is still grappling with a newfound awareness of the devastating generational trauma triggered by age-old European “exploration,” but that’s an editorial angle—likely an unpopular one—for another post.)
Further south, the manic, 18-wheeler infested Midwest was a smoky, throat-clogging slog. Apparently, every Illinois corn farmer decided to burn their stubble on the very day I drove down through the “Prairie State.” Combined with great clouds of seasonal ragweed, it was a recipe for respiratory disaster.
But I survived (thank you, Xyzal and Flonase).
Up next: visits with family members and friends, doctor appointments, continued knee rehab, and my 67th birthday on October 4th. Feel free to fire back a birthday emoji, but not the cake one since I need to lose 30 pounds😩.
In the meantime, my ears are wide open for the splashdown of my migratory friends from Minnesota. Maybe one evening soon, while I’m cursing yet another dropped call thanks to the lousy AT&T coverage here, I’ll hear the spine-tingling call of a loon instead, echoing loud and clear on the lake and suddenly reminding me that some calls are more important than others.
Peace & Love,
Mark
A Pause in the Pines