Nearly 12 years ago, I joined a backcountry trail crew for the summer. It changed the entire trajectory of my life.

This is the story of that summer, up on the Bangor Daily News today.

Thank you for reading.

lIt makes my heart immensely full that my most recent essay, A Geography of Grief, was published by Hippocampus today.  I wrote this essay perched on the edge of the old bed, my computer on resting on a dresser, while the fog pushed its way through the window screen.  I felt so compelled to write this piece at that exact moment in time, unlike any other essay I've ever written.  Something about the juxtaposition of the difficulty of the time, the love I have for that island, and the sorrow and bliss that pervaded that afternoon.

It's remarkable to think that nearly 14 months has passed since I sat in my grandmother's house and typed through the beauty and the grief of that trip.  A lot of time has passed, a lot of things have changed.  Shortly after we returned, I went through all of his clothes and belongings, and the baby things are long gone: sold, donated, given away.  Those size 13 work boots, however, are still exactly where they were 14 months ago, laces askew on the basement floor.

In time, I tell myself.  In time.