Springer's Journey

Hurricane Mills, Tennessee — October 2026

Should you happen across this little blog called Springer’s Journey, you may have noticed that it’s been a while since I’ve written anything.

It’s not because I’ve been terribly busy.

Quite the contrary.

Life has been peaceful.

And perhaps the most remarkable part of that statement is that I can finally say it and mean it.

When I began this journey, I was alone. I was frightened, sad, and had absolutely no idea where I was going. My only real sense of direction was that I wanted to end up somewhere in the South.

That was it. That was the grand plan.

ARE YOU SERIOUS??!!

I had romantic notions of traveling the country, visiting farmers’ markets, meeting interesting people, and discovering wonderful places. And while I’ve certainly done some of those things, I also discovered that life on the road can be extraordinarily difficult.

There were breakdowns, thunderstorms, moments of uncertainty, and more than a few occasions when I wondered what on earth I had gotten myself into.

But somewhere along those miles, something wonderful happened.

I found my people.

Actually, I need to correct that.

They found me.

HURRICANE MILLS, TENNESSEE

I love that name.

Hurricane Mills, Tennessee.

Doesn’t it sound as though it has a story to tell?

I have found myself in a community that I genuinely love. People who welcome me, include me, laugh with me, and make me feel that my presence matters.

I’ve also found a church that speaks to me. Not simply through its words, but through the sincerity and kindness of the people I’ve met there. I’ve been welcomed with open arms, and I can feel that the welcome comes from the heart.

For someone who began this journey wondering where she belonged, that means more than I can adequately express.

There is a wonderful difference between being somewhere and belonging somewhere.

I think I’m beginning to understand it.

Now, if you’ve followed this journey for any length of time, you already know that I haven’t traveled entirely alone.

There’s Professor Headquarters, my patient and occasionally exasperated companion in all things scientific.

There’s Mayday Murphy, our magnificent Steller’s jay, who takes her library duties very seriously.

Ferrari, our beautiful and formidable wolverine.

Morris, the Creature from the Black Lagoon, whose contributions to our conversations are frequently questionable but almost always entertaining.

And, of course, Stick. My faithful walking stick.

Yes, some of my companions are imaginary.

You may be thinking, Good heavens. This woman has imaginary friends!

I sure do!

And do you know what?

I’ve laughed until I’ve cried. I’ve learned about geology, birds, chemistry, astronomy, and things I never imagined I’d be curious about. I’ve had company during some very lonely moments.

And I’ve discovered that a little imagination can make an enormous difference when the world feels uncertain.

Our motto?

The books are organized. The conversations are not. And the Moon is made of cheese.

I’ll leave you to ponder that one.

The other day, I came across something in a thrift store that stopped me in my tracks.

An old aluminum cake cover.

Not a fancy one. Not an antique displayed behind glass. Just a humble, well-used cake cover with dents and bumps and a lifetime of stories written into its surface.

It was just like the one my Grandma Johnson had in her tiny kitchen.

And suddenly, there she was again.

Not literally, of course. But the memory of her kitchen, the familiar objects, and that wonderful feeling of being a child in a place where you belonged came rushing back.

I knew immediately that cake cover was coming home with me.

The price?

One dollar.

One dollar for a walk down memory lane.

I think that’s a pretty extraordinary bargain.

And those dents? I wouldn’t trade them for a shiny new one. They’re part of its history.

A cheerful red-and-white checked tablecloth. A pumpkin for autumn. A couple of plants. Two placemats and Grandma Johnson’s cake cover.

Nothing extravagant.

But when I look at that little table, I smile.

I’ve also acquired a suet feeder, although acquired may be a rather grand word for something I rescued from beneath a pile of leaves near the shop.

I asked Mike if I could use it for the birds, and he said yes.

A few minor repairs, a suitable hanger, and soon it will be ready for business.

I suspect the local birds will be delighted.

Mayday Murphy, however, has already requested that the feeding station be placed under the supervision of a qualified corvid.

Naturally.

And then there are the evenings.

The other night, I stood beneath the trees here at Hurricane Mills and watched the Moon shining through their branches.

I tried to photograph it.

My phone had other ideas.

But perhaps that’s all right.

The photographs don’t quite capture the extraordinary beauty of the scene, but they remind me of what it felt like to stand there.

The dark trees. The soft campground lights. The Moon glowing above everything.

And a sense of peace that I haven’t always known.

Sometimes the most important part of a journey isn’t what you see.

It’s what you finally feel.

I have some very personal and happy news.

My husband, Neil Jones, whom I haven’t seen in more than two years, is coming to Tennessee.

We are getting back together.

And I am joyful. ❤️🎶❤️🎶

Neil and I have always shared a love of music. We’ve played wonderful music together, and over the years we often talked about retiring and traveling the country in an RV.

Life, of course, doesn’t always follow the itinerary we write for it.

For the time being, we’re not planning to travel the country.

We’re going to be right here.

In Hurricane Mills, Tennessee.

And that makes me very happy.

Perhaps this was the destination all along.

When I set out, I thought the journey was about discovering America.

And it has been.

I’ve seen beautiful country, met remarkable people, learned wonderful things, and had adventures I couldn’t possibly have anticipated.

But I’ve begun to wonder whether the journey was also about something else.

Finding my way back to joy.

Finding a community.

Finding a place where I could put a pumpkin on the table, hang a bird feeder, watch the Moon rise, and look forward to tomorrow.

For the first time in a long while, I’m not particularly anxious to see what’s around the next bend in the road.

I’m happy right here.

And perhaps that’s why I haven’t written much lately.

I’ve been busy doing something I didn’t quite know how to do when this journey began.

I’ve been living peacefully.

And isn’t that something?

With love from Hurricane Mills, Tennessee,

Springer’s Journey ❤️🌼