Chronicles of the Wayward Moot

WELCOME TO THE MOOT, oh world-wanderers and word-whisperers. After two years of Peace Corps. After 2,200 miles on the Pacific Crest Trail. What. Comes. Next?


Bzzz bzzzz, I walk and you collect pollen and that's just the way it is.

Bzzz bzzz, whoah tough crowd. Can't get a laugh out of any of yall!

I walked the Quincy-LaPorte road down to where the Nelson Creek is crossed on a bridge. I was out of water and so went down to investimagate. Holy campsite, Batman! There were two gorgeous sites right alongside the creek, bathed in sun and sand and that peculiar babbling burbling sound that every good creek is born knowing how to make. I had planned on getting much closer to Quincy that day but after the pure insanity that had been rampant since I left Donner Pass I was quite content with encountering a good reason to hang out in one spot and let my feet heal a bit. Made friends with some water striders, too. Ever taken a good close look at a water strider? Those guys are weeeird.

I got an email not too long ago from a friend who was concerned with how much I was beginning to resemble a concentration camp survivor. Yes, when I lay down and arch my back I can cut glass with my protruding ribs, but as you can see from this shot, taken on the old historic bridge spanning Nelson Creek, from certain angles and with a skilled photographer managing the light, I am developing quite the physique. Translation: Don't worry too much. I'm doing alright and having a great time inhaling Ben and Jerry's ice cream whenever I can. I think I ate a whole pint the other day in under 7 minutes.


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