Springer's Journey

Headquarters report:

Today’s discoveries included one very important scientific breakthrough:

Crickets were heard outside the tent.

As any serious field researcher would do, I counted chirps and calculated the approximate temperature.

Result:

65°F.

I regret to inform everyone that the cricket department was correct.

I have always loved words. Not just because of what they mean, but because of how they feel when they leave your mouth and what pictures they paint in your mind.

Tucumcari.

Bioluminescence.

Pyracantha.

Karesansui.

Petroglyph.

Favorite words have to do more than define something. They have to open a door.

Today also reminded me that stories work that way too.

I spoke with locals and asked about their pretty little town and the story behind its name. I have discovered that I am apparently incapable of passing through a place without asking questions. GPS tells you where to go.

Stories tell you where you are.

Then, somewhere in the middle of weather conversations, I found myself remembering a storm from years ago.

Jessica and I were floating on a river when a storm moved in fast. Fast enough that I stopped worrying about floating reptiles entirely — and if you know me, you understand the magnitude of that statement.

I said, “We HAVE TO GET OFF THE WATER.”

We ended up on a sandbar with our inner tubes over us like some strange little emergency fortress. People began diving in with us. One boy stopped long enough to ask permission before joining us.

Jessica didn’t hesitate.

“Get in here!”

Then lightning struck a tree behind us.

Not nearby.

Fifteen feet behind us.

And I remember tasting metal in my mouth and thinking, Well… this is interesting.

Funny what people remember.

I remembered fear.

I remembered Jessica gripping my hand.

I remembered the boy asking first.

I remembered making room.

Maybe that’s why I continue writing.

Because someone else may be sitting somewhere thinking:

“I’m too old.”

“It’s too late.”

“I missed my chance.”

And maybe they stumble across this journey and decide to learn bass guitar at 56.

Or take a trip.

Or sleep in a tent.

Or simply become curious again.

Life has been interesting.

And truthfully?

I wouldn’t want boring after all.

— Lorrie

Polished with help from ChatGPT, who understands Mayday Murphy far better than any reasonable being should.