grateful

for this capture. the set. the joy. the color. inside and out. 

best company. sun. sand. salt. sea. and these two. plus the guy behind the shot. 

to make the sunset over the water at the end of the peninsula we had to run. to make nova before the beach went black. we had to run. miles.

my camelbak left a hell of a bruise. bare feet busted up. hounds beyond exhaustion. worth it. totally. all four of us plunged into the bay at the lighthouse while the sun dropped behind the preserve. 

i don't remember this exact moment when i kneeled down, it was likely to offer water and i didn't realize he took the photo. thank you for the shot - life.

i always strive for some balance but this week i'm off. my old girl (left) is not 100% and i'm so far sideways. way off. i have always told her she must. must live forever. she knows and i know she'll certainly try. 

that's one tough dog

you never know. i'm not sure i really care to know.

and who knows what we really know. or if we just keep on trying to work it out.

          so for now. live everywhere anywhere and everybeat. hug extra. run for the sunset. and show them what they mean. cause who really knows if we'll ever work it all out - or if we really want to.

get drunk bear down . do the nova dance . and hug your dog .

happy birthday jonny

---

blues

shack up inn. harmonica camp. favorites. last juke alive. novalife. cotton fields.

this place was fullilove. 

clarksdale, missisippi. 

who knew. 

we didn’t go live in our van for fifteen weeks to prove anything. not to defy society. not for luxurious destinations. attention or to follow the tiny home trend. further, there are few roadtreks along the east coast. even fewer travelers with two large dogs in an eighteen foot van.

looking back. it wasn’t always the so-called van community that brought us close to people. it varied. in clarksdale it was music. culture. history. shared interest. and

harmonica camp. 

yes, that’s right. harmonica camp.

we went to the shack up inn on a recommendation. stayed in the biscuit shack for one night. it poured. the gunny shack for one night. it steamed. fullilove shack for two nights. sunshine. stayed in nova in the cotton field for two nights. rain (go figure). the electric blue shack for one night. (mostly at the juke joint, can't remember the weather.) but the person who was in electric blue met someone at camp and offered it to us for the last night. word up. you know who you are. 

y'all are like a sticky booger. the owner said. 
and proceeded to invite us to the gospel group on Sunday. he also joined us for dinner.
the clientele has changed, he told us, it used to be more like you guys, now I have to tell people not to throw beer cans off the front porch. it’s just different.  

lame.

our week in clarksdale deserves far more than a post here, maybe even a significantly longer work i need to flesh out in time. but. . .  more like us. . . ?

we were nicknamed legs for wearing shorts all the time (frequently with boots thanks to the mississippi mud). we sat on the front porch of a shack with some of the best harp players in the world. we drank whiskey out of plastic cups while I humbly absorbed my initial harp lesson. we took sunset walks through the still-working Hopson cotton plantation pinetop perkins and muddy waters used to farm. we stickered up our van and hung our hammock behind the shack. we supported the musicians. we know the history of robert johnson. i read salinger while jonny read napoleon. the dogs lounged carelessly as people mingled about. we are a couple from NYC traveling in nova to learn and experience. we live where we are. nowhere and everywhere. 

we met some of our favorites in clarksdale. fond memories of sweet company. dancing. blues. support. and soul.

we stumbled upon a like-minded group. whether more like us, or us more like them. brilliant. 

snapshots are in snapshots. 

getdrunkbeardownandplaythatharp

and

dothenovadance

and

hugyourdog