Open Doors
New paths have been cut
The river is high; the doors are open.
Twilight—consciousness delivers me back into our bed. I step outside under the waning crescent moon. A cottontail stands motionless, I do too. The first arm of light reaches from the east.
I pick up my pen. So many words, so many thoughts—most escaping. I sip coffee and wait for some of them to return. Dreams speak to me—sometimes in riddles, sometimes plain spoken. Most of it I forget. What I remember, I add to my waking thoughts.
I pedal my bike through the woods. Where trees have fallen new paths have been cut. I misjudge a feature in the rock garden; I hesitate and fall—sliding down the side of the low ridge. I catch myself and climb back up. A scraped shin, a strained thigh. I get back on my bike and begin again.
I’m standing in a teenager’s basement bedroom. I’m surrounded by Legos, Batman posters, guitars and amplifiers. Wade plugs in his bass, Jake adjusts his drums, Josh shoulders his guitar. I yell into the microphone—These Are The Days!
The shadows of turkey vultures sweep across the trail. White-tailed deer leap through the brush upon my approach. A great blue heron flies mightily over the river.
I get out a blanket and lay on it in the backyard with the dogs.
Annie and I drive a ribbon of pavement through an ocean of farmland. We cross the Des Moines River in Boone, the Raccoon River in Carroll, and the Missouri River in Council Bluffs into Omaha, Nebraska.
We go book shopping—my wallet can’t keep up with my interests.
We see Bob Mould at The Waiting Room in Omaha. The songs come in rapid fire—distortion, tone, and sweat.
I drive through the Meskwaki Settlement in Tama County, Iowa, to photograph the old Lincoln Highway bridge on 5th Street in Tama.
I pilot my bike north through the woods along the river. I jog along animal trails out onto every sandbar. I watch the river, great blue heron and bald eagle. Back on the trail, Rob and Kyle rip past me on their bikes—What’s up Mike V?
The blackbirds dominate the feeders. The new woodchuck shows up—the old gray one hasn’t been seen yet this year. I’d like to think this new one is its offspring.
I ride out to Grinnell, Iowa, with Annie for lunch. We check out the Louis Sullivan Jewel Box Bank and the B.J. Richer House. We hike the mowed paths of the Jacob Krumm Nature Conservancy.
I ride my bike to Woodland Cemetery to see the giant northern catalpa, then onto Walnut Woods State Park and Purple Martin Lake.
I join the mushroom hunters amongst the trees. Hours pass uncounted. I find my first two morels.
Annie and I fly to New York City for the Bones Brigade Experience event, and to spend a few days visiting with Lucy and Hayden. We walk The Highline, watch Lucy teach a dance class, and visit the Brooklyn Banks. We eat bagels, tacos, and sushi. Our bellies and hearts are full.
A buck come walking through the backyard—his antlers just fuzzy knots on top of his head.
I walk the dogs in the rain.
The old gray woodchuck is spotted under the feeders—hello. Rabbits chase each other through the yard. Red-headed woodpecker, hairy woodpecker, blue jay, wild turkey, and Baltimore oriole visit throughout the day.
We drive to Amana Colonies in Iowa with Wade and Jenny. We eat schnitzel, then push onto McGregor. We stand on Pike’s Peak and look out over the confluence of the Mississippi and Wisconsin Rivers, then hike down to Bridal Falls.
I look out the window of the American House in McGregor, studying the exposed layers of transportation history: river, railroad, and highway.
We drive the Great River Road north along the Mississippi. We hike out to Hanging Rock at Effigy Mounds National Monument. Train horns sound throughout the Driftless Area.
We drive north, stopping in Lansing for coffee then into Minnesota. We cross the river to La Crosse, Wisconsin.
We head south. Every view and vantagepoint of the Mississippi from every mile of road is awe-inspiring. The Mississippi is more than a river, it’s a realm.
Wade and I hike back up to Pike’s Peak from town. Through the woods, along the bluffs. We talk about biking, music, and our upcoming tour. Annie and Jenny pick us up in the truck and we drive back to the American House for a spaghetti dinner.
Emily and Brandon are in town for a few days, working at Foxcroft Estate. We happily take whatever free time they have to spend with them. Even just driving them to the airport is a family event.
Standing in the backyard, I watch the last arm of light recede from the northern horizon. The day let’s go and night floods in. I get in bed with Annie to the call of the barred owl. I have thirteen books on my nightstand—two dogs in our bed.
The river is high; the doors are open.
Thanks for reading!
