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Good morning Reader, It was 5:30 in the morning, still dark, when the cars started pulling into the commuter parking lot where we built the Freedom Festival every year, the booths, the food tents, and a stage worthy of Lollapalooza all going up before the sun crested the horizon. We did this every year for seven years to support and thank our troops. I couldn't have produced the festival without my friends rallying behind me to turn that parking lot into a place of recognition and thanks. I...
Good morning Reader, I pulled into the winery a little after eight, later than I meant to, on the last night of my three-month writing retreat. It sits off a two-lane road in a quiet stretch of Ohio, the kind of place you find only because you went looking for it. They were already closing, the chairs up on half the tables and the light low. I had called an hour ahead to ask if I could park the RV in their lot for the night, and the two women behind the bar had said yes, and then stayed on...
Good morning Reader, Two weeks is the most they let you stay in Chattahoochee Bend State Park south of Atlanta, which was the perfect length and place to begin my three-month writing retreat earlier this year. So on that last morning I broke camp, packed up the RV, and pulled out. My next stop was Black Rock Mountain State Park north of the city, which meant a long drive through and around all of the big peach sprawl. The first part of my drive gave the same serene peace I had found in...