Good morning on a breezy, sun-drenched day. It’s been hot lately, and we’ve had the opportunity to experience summer on the Outer Cape. It feels hopeful to sit outside at this early hour, sun in my face.

Not a bright morning goes by here on the cottage’s deck when I don’t think of Mary Oliver’s Why I Wake Early. It begins with

Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who make the morning…

And ends with…

Watch, now, how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.

Mary made the most of a life that began with unspeakable abuse and neglect, a lack of love, and proof that not everyone is meant to be a parent. I’m reminded that her special airs on PBS this summer, after first debuting here in Provincetown. It will surely touch on how that cold, cruel childhood infused her…

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Good morning. Thank you for being here.

This is a special post for the three of us, although Samwise and Emily couldn’t give a hoot. Besides, they’re too excited by the coyote and fox scents crisscrossing the property to pay much attention to anything else.

They’ve had a rousing sniff around, looking like cartoon hounds, noses to the earth, butts to the sky, hoovering up whatever clues they can lift from plant and stone. Now, as I sit on this rustic little deck, waiting for the sun to climb out of bed and join us, they are like sphinxes, stretched out and watchful, next to me.

This is our 1,112 Substack letter in the six-and-a-half years since I made the jump from the Following Atticus Facebook page. The first 11 were completely free, but on the 12th, on June 6, 2000, I became serious. Readers could continue to receive one or two free posts each month or pay to receive upwards of a dozen. I was humbled and honored when hundreds of you chose to support my storytelling by paying for more of it. That number has climbed into the thousands over these 6 years, with an additional 10,000 free subscribers.

Some of you have been here since Day One. Amazing! We received our latest paid subscriber last night. Thank you, Margot, and welcome.

Over the course of time, it’s natural for some readers to leave, but I smile at the sky-high renewal rate. It means more than I can fully express.

I adore this dance. How grand it is to have you as a partner.

Whether you are a paying subscriber or a free one, you have chosen to be here. That’s an extraordinary gift for any writer.

Thank you for showing up for these two once-unwanted four-legged souls, born without much of a future in Texas. And thank you from a fellow who was not supposed to get out of Maine Med after a stroke, kidney and heart failure, sepsis, and all the other maladies listed on my Pupu Platter of Death, never mind be here a decade later.

It’s been a joy sharing portions of our lives in the White Mountains, hikes, personalities, five cross-country road trips, the maturing of Samwise and Emily, and our eventual surprising but inspiring move to scenic Truro, the next-to-last town on the outer reaches of Cape Cod, where we are embraced by the sweeping Cape Cod National Seashore.

You never know where life will take you, but by saying ‘yes’ to the ride, anything is possible.

This is a big week for us for another reason. We leave for 100 days of travel a week from this morning, once again driving across the United States. There are places and faces to visit, some for the first time, while others are old friends. Along the way, Samwise, Emily, and I are dropping in on human and canine friends we’ve made during previous trips. We’re also going to visit a few readers for the first time. Getting to know readers through letters, hearing bits and pieces of each other’s lives, has created friendships born of words and sentiments, and the time has come to meet.

I’ll tell you more about these wonderful souls as we sit, walk, or share a meal with them. Kanab, our longest stay of the summer, will put us within reach of Zion, the Grand Canyon, Bryce Canyon, and Grand Escalante. But just as big a draw will be having Gordon and Donna Huntsman, and their beloved Annie near. We first met the trio years ago on the K-Hill Trail on a dawn walk. Then came another meeting. They invited us for dinner, and we accepted—four years later! They introduced us to Allison and John Bacialli and their enthusiastic pack of dogs. Not only will it feel like coming home to me, but Samwise and Emily have some exciting days of frolicking and hiking ahead.

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There is also Richard Chisholm, that singular Kanab mailman who takes more pride in his job than any postal worker I’ve ever met. When I ordered packages during a February-long stay, and they did not arrive, Richard hunted them down. As it turns out, we were 2,655 miles from our Jackson, NH, hobbit hole, being assisted by a stranger, and his brother lived a hundred yards from our home on Mirror Lake Road!

We’ll reconnect with Robert John, Melanie Alvernaz, and soulful Sky. We first met Robert on the beach at Carmel, California. We liked each other immediately, and the following day, he gave me a jade pendant to wear around my neck to protect my healing body. That was seven years ago. It will be sweet to reunite with my brother. The setting will be different this year, though. As surprised as I was by our own upcoming move, which jumped out at us from seemingly nowhere, Robert and Melanie had news for me at the same time. They were giving up their longtime home in Carmel, where living affordably had become untenable. They were moving up to the Oregon Coast. As fate would have it, they landed in Port Orford, a sleepy place along the Pacific, with a dramatic coastline. We’ve stayed in Port Orford twice during previous coddiwomples. Our third visit will be more special than the others.

As far as the readers we’re planning to see, I’ll tell you about them, with their permission, after these communions take place.

It’s a funny thing about travel. I’m a solitary who is not the least bit shy. As Edna Saint Vincent Millay, who vacationed just a mile or so from here in Higgins Hollow, said about herself, I, too, am a gregarious loner. While we have our local souls who mean something to us, we are nearly always alone. And yet when we travel, I’m more social and interactive. It’s good for me. I like hearing stories from strangers, who often feel like friends after 15 minutes of sharing what they might not share with their family members.

Meeting fellow pilgrims on the road heartens me. It reminds me of the best parts of our country, and goodness knows we can all use heavy doses of that these days when we are being force-fed a constant diet of cruelty and lies. I avoid conspiracy theorists, racists, homophobes, and misogynists like the Ebola virus. Unlike Pete Hegseth, one of the most egregious members of our current kakistocracy, I believe with all my heart that diversity is what makes America great.

Any chef, even an amateur like me, will tell you that it’s the mixture that makes the meal. Gut doctors now realize the full importance of the microbiome and that feeding on at least 30 different plant foods a week is key to optimal health.

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Living here among Caribbeans, townies (many of Portuguese descent), and a huge assortment of the LGBTQ+ community, I’m thriving and giddy. It’s a daily feast!

For those who have been taught by a certain cable network that people of color and transgender individuals are at the root of this world’s problems, I’m a proud advocate and here to bear witness to just the opposite. How boring we straight, white folks can be. A little spice goes a long way. My world is expanded.

I’m thrilled that we’re returning in September for another off-season, but this time it will be nine months instead of seven.

There’s some housekeeping to take care of before we leave. There’s packing up to put things in storage and to fit things into the HMS Beagle for a 20,000-mile odyssey. And there are some stories to tell about our time here before we launch our latest coddiwomple. Included in those stories is why our long-planned first day on the road was suddenly changed and stretched to two. We’re stopping in Chestnut Hill, outside of Boston, when we leave here Saturday morning, before heading south and, eventually, west.

I want to revisit how ghosts have played a part in our lives here, and how it seems like it was always intended for us to be in Truro. I put together a video and gallery of one of our local cemeteries at sunrise. The history is tangible, and that graveyard is another reason we are here. Then there’s the story of Michael and Nala, new friends, and Sam and Emi’s first local dog friend. And then there’s the monthly “What are you reading?” post.

These are all going out to paying subscribers this week.

Free subscribers, you’ll hear from us a couple more times in June. When we travel, the number of free monthly posts increases from two to three or so.

A reminder: while on the road, paying subscribers can expect to receive as many as 20 posts each month, with four of them being Postcards from the Open Road, a collection of videos and photos with very few words.

Onward, by all means!

Tom (Samwise & Emily)

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Postscript

Thank you to everyone who has been donating subscriptions to teachers and National Park Service employees. I’ll continue emailing our 2026 Summer Coddiwomple Itinerary (Opening 2 Weeks) to anyone donating a subscription or gifting on up until we leave next Saturday.

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As we prepare to leave our new home, it feels strange to write, “our new home.”

I often catch myself when I begin to say, “back home,” while talking about Jackson.

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Good morning.

The photo was captured mid-wrestling match between two energized pups. It was taken in a Manchester, NH, hotel room. The date: November 17, 2017.

I did not have a television then, nor streaming services, and I wanted to watch the Patriots’ Sunday night game and go to Whole Foods. So we drove the two and a half hours down from Jackson for a quick ‘luxury’ trip.

It is significant because it was Emily’s first stay in a hotel room. She had only arrived from Houston three weeks before.

Samwise, on the other hand, had been on the Will’s Red Coat book tour with me and then on a 20,000-mile 63-day cross-country road trip just months prior to that night. He was used to sleeping in different places.

We did not travel that next year, but took our first Atlantic-to-Pacific coddiwomple as a pack of 3 in the spring and summer of 2019. This trip partly traced the first and covered 73 days.

Emily met her first bison, and she did remarkably well. I was surprised that my carbonated and highly e…

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Good morning from Truro, where the days change quickly in spring. We’re having the pleasure of watching the yard bloom and leaf, and the snowscape of this winter’s blizzard feels more like fiction than fact. 

I almost never sit at my writing table these days. It seems we’re nearly always outside. 

The weather changes everything. Even our walks. We no longer make it to the beach due to the plovers and the ensuing dog ban. And trails through the dense woods around the kettle ponds are mosquito feasting grounds. We stick to a few trails where we don’t have to worry about any of those issues. 

After a winter with too little walking, we’re upping our mileage in preparation for the West. As I wrote to those who donated a subscription yesterday, we’ll be spending an abundance of our travel days in the heat of the So…

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Good morning from the Outer Cape, where we live in a cottage setting you might not imagine.

A pen friend from afar pictured us living in something like Henry Beston’s shack, described in his The Outermost House. As romantic as that thought was, this cottage is nothing so primitive or close to the sea. It’s not even in the dunes. Thankfully, I say, since after more than 60 years, Henry’s place was destroyed by the blizzard of ’78. I shudder in thinking about our long, dark, and wicked winter with its own blizzard. We may have been trapped inside, but we were safe and secure.

We are about a mile and a half from the closest beach, or…

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I’ve figured out why this small knot of trails in North Truro, before crossing into Provincetown, has captured me so. To borrow from my favorite Tom Robbins’ title, it’s Another Roadside Attraction.

Goodness knows, as veterans of many a Great American Road Trip, we are suckers for this kind of roadside refresher. It is the kind of surprise we dream of discovering when we’re on a long drive from, say, Joplin, Missouri, to Dodge City, Kansas. Or any other long drive. (Obviously, with different scenery than on the Outer Cape.)

When we see a pull-off and need a break, and a chance to stretch our legs and move, we pull over. Some of these rest areas hold hidden treasures. Sometimes it’s farmland beyond the back gate with a path to amble. At others, it may be conservation land with some trails. These treasures are not always ‘announced,’ and we stumble onto them by chance.

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Provincetown seems impossible to capture.

One story, one set of photos, a season’s worth, a year’s worth, cannot do the place justice.

It is winter-harsh, and spring-, summer-, and fall-heaven. It is where the pilgrims first landed in the Mayflower, and before them, this remarkable sandy hook was home to the Wampanoag ("People of the First Light") and their allies, the Nauset. It is the devastating Portland Gale of 1898, the Portuguese fishermen who settled here, our country’s first art colony, and the birth of American theater. It is townie; it is newcomer. It is gentrification. It is acceptance, a place to come as you are. Independent shops, galleries, and restaurants are everywhere. Other than the Black Dog and Ben & Jerry’s, there are no chains.

It is straight and gay and every other color of the diversity flag. It is Eugene O’Neill, Susan Glaspell, Norman Rockwell, John and Katy Dos Passos, Tennessee Williams, Norman Mailer, Mary Oliver, and James Baldwin.

Provincetown is where Charles Webster Hawthorne opened the Cape Cod School of Art in 1899, establishing the tradition of plein-air impressionist painting here. Jackson Pollock, Lee Krasner, Franz Kline, Roger Motherwell, Edward and Jo Hopper, and Mark Rothko all spent time here. Art galleries continue to line Commercial Street.

Anthony Bourdain first entered a kitchen in Provincetown.

Provincetown is history, art, culture. It is the very edge of the United States, where Thoreau stood and pondered, putting the country behind his back. It is the Cape Cod National Seashore, lighthouses, coyotes, foxes, sharks, whales, and seals.

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A trip changes the moment you leave home. Plan all you want, set an itinerary, a schedule, a to-do list. But nothing is set in stone. Tolkien wrote: “It’s a dangerous business, [Frodo,] going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.”

The unknown is the only constant.

Nevertheless, I create a wish list and hope to make it through to the end. Inevitably, though, circumstances change. Weather, health, the environment—they conspire to make the future hazy, at best.

This is what makes a road trip priceless: it is nothing less than an adventure.

Huck and Jim floating down the Mississippi, Bilbo Baggins going off with Gandalf and the elves to the Lonely Mountain, and Dorothy Gale, tossed to Oz by a tornado. We are all these and more when we choose to or have to step out of our comfort zone and travel to the unknown.

A map is easy enough to read. You put an ‘x’ here, and another there, and it all seems simple enou…

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A few items for our trip were delivered this week, reminding me of how soon we’ll be on the road. I’m most excited about a new, smaller Ninja blender/processor. Smoothies, dips, desserts, and sauces will be made in hotel rooms and rentals around this stunning American landscape. (I’m already using it; it is FABULOUS! But I have two minor complaints: it’s loud(!) and the blender jar is plastic, not glass.)

As a heart and kidney failure survivor and a stroke survivor, not to mention the long list of other maladies, I have to be careful about where we eat. Save for a few exceptions, we don’t eat out while following Dr. Esselstyn’s Prevent and Reverse Heart Disease program. The sodium alone would be a death sentence for me. I limit nuts and other high-fat natural foods (like avocados and coconut), use no oil, limit sodium, and try to keep my fat calories around 10%. I’m careful about processed foods and choose only minimally processed ones.

Here are some of my favorites. They make hotel room cooking healthy. Nearly every place has a microwave, and I also bring my 6-quart Instant Pot. Since moving to the smaller cottage along the Cape Cod National Seashore, I’ve found these Anyday containers to be invaluable in a less-equipped kitchen. I’ll bring a small and a large container with us. They are perfect for morning oatmeal, steaming veggies, cooking grains, and can be used for storage. They go from the freezer to the microwave or the oven. (You can see their options here.)

While instant rice is super convenient, I also stock up on Lentifuls, which are available at grocery stores nationwide. Beans are now known not only to be a high-protein source but also to be among the prime longevity foods in the longest-living populations around the globe. Lentifuls are instant, and can be made in a microwave or with the help of one of those tiny motel room tea and coffee makers. (You can read more about them here.)

I’ll take two coolers. A smaller one will sit on the front passenger seat floor, with the larger (but still not too big) Titan sitting in the back. The Titan is not on the level of YETI’s, but it holds ice up to 3 days and costs hundreds less.

At home, I use ground turmeric (always with black pepper to enhance its potency), black cumin seeds, and amla powder in my recipes. That’s not always easy to do on the road, so I take them in pill and tablet form when we are off to see the country. These address artery issues and are essential for my well-being. (I also take tart cherry extract pills for my gout, a result of weakened kidneys.)

Food is more important to me because it’s what has kept me alive. But that does not mean I go without pleasure. Spices and sweeteners help. I travel with pure maple syrup, the Date Lady’s Date Syrup, and her BBQ Sauce. I limit my spices due to space, but the most important are black pepper, smoked cumin, garlic and onion powder, fennel seeds, Italian seasoning, and ground mustard seed. (The ground mustard magnifies the impacts of sulfurophane in greens and cruciferous foods like broccoli, cauliflower, and Brussels sprouts. Only a dash is needed.)

Sweet potatoes are my friends! I use them with beans and chilis, as a simple side with veggies, and for dessert puddings. Or I simply steam or bake them, then cover them with berries, ground flaxseed, and a drizzle of maple syrup for a treat.

We have been spoiled by the Atlantic Spice Company here in Truro, one of the very few businesses to stay open year-round, and their fine selection of spices and teas. I’ll bring an assortment of their teas with us, along with my loose-leaf tea ball. I brew enough iced tea in a stainless-steel, insulated quart container for long rides.

The first days will be hectic. From a ten-hour drive on day one to constant 400-mile days that first week means a lot of late-day weariness. Eating has to be convenient. Having microwavable foods at the ready is imperative.

While driving, I can snack on a plain Wendy’s baked potato (our friend Doug always sends along a gift certificate for these alone!) and Starbucks’ blueberry oatmeal. But that’s mostly it as we drive. Even dedicated vegan restaurants can have too much sodium and fat for my survival. So, it’s important we come prepared.

If worst comes to worst, I remember something that Jane and Ann Esselstyn wrote in one of their first recipe collections: stop at a bagel shop, order a whole-grain or whole-wheat bagel (if they have it), and load it with veggies (especially greens) and mustard. I avoid most hummus used in bagel shops because they use oil.)

Oatmeal (I travel with it) with berries and ground flaxseeds in the morning, and half a container of balsamic-flavored beets immediately after. (These are one of Dr. Esselstyn’s ‘greens’ for swelling your arteries with nitric oxide. The entire list is here. I attempt six servings of these foods a day, even when driving.)

This is a brief overview for now. I hope it helps in understanding how I prepare and eat to live. I’ve made it ten years past my supposed expiration date, thanks to healthier food. After all these trips, I believe I’ve perfected the art of traveling with a broken, susceptible body.

I’ll keep you updated on meals as we head out on June 14, with some pre-baked sweet potatoes in the cooler for those first days!

Onward, by all means, dear reader.

Postscript

Our final pre-coddiwomple fundraising subscription sale ends today at midnight. Save 20% off annual subscriptions (including gift subscriptions). Founding Memberships are marked at $200, and will return to $250 tomorrow.

All paying subscribers will receive about 20 posts per month while we travel, while free subscribers will receive 3.

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Founding members who have updated their mailing addresses are receiving greeting cards and framed photos (80% have been sent), and will also receive a postcard or two from the road. All cards and letters will find their way to you with one of these new USPS stamps. I find they are perfectly themed for our coddiwomple. One is inspired by childhood summers on Cape Cod and the Islands. Another celebrates the 100th birthday of Route 66 (see you at the end of day 3, 66!). And then there are our beloved bison, who we will see twice on our way out West, a half a dozen times when we are out there. They are always a highlight of our travels.

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Our lives will change in four weeks. By this time, on June 14, we’ll be beyond New York City and Philadelphia. (Yes, I moved up our departure to a Sunday with no rush-hour traffic.) Our first night has been changed and now takes us off I-95 just after New York. We’ll skirt Philly, and bypass Baltimore and Washington, D.C., while cutting through Delaware. It will be the longest day we’ll face the entire summer, covering 562 miles, with 10 hours of often-white-knuckle driving. Both in the White Mountains and on the Outer Cape during the off-season, we had not had to contend with traffic.

As for that exhaustive first day, for those who know the Northeast Corridor, it will be worth it!

It is always a relief to escape NYC and its crowded neighbors. That huge gulp of driving will make day 2 much easier: two stops on the way to our West Virginia hotel with only 360 miles, and 6 driving hours.

Day 3 begins at sunrise in a national park, and ends hanging with bison at sunset 475 miles away. But the driving will be easy and care-free, with plenty of roadside attractions along the way as we slice through rural America.

Day 4 also begins at sunrise, and with the same bison herd, before we ease our way westward in a straight shot to meet up with Route 66. It’s the grand roadway’s 100th birthday, and we mean to help her celebrate. Driving time and distance: 6 hours and 401 miles.

Now we are getting ‘there.’

Long mileage days are some of our favorites, once out of the Northeast, and especially when bisecting the United States. We find numerous reasons to stop, stretch our legs, and play.

Conversations with strangers in rest areas and bathrooms (yes, bathrooms, too) add to the color of our time on the road. (I had to switch license plates a few days ago. While giving up my New Hampshire tags, I was tempted to pay extra for the Cape Cod-themed Massachusetts plates. They would have been conversation starters. Unfortunately, the specialized plates might not have arrived before we left.

At this point in our trip, I’ll fulfill one of my sneaky desires by driving straight across Kansas in the early summer, seeing the state at its best. Day 5 will have us visiting another bison herd, with a total of 400 more miles and 6.5 hours of driving.

After a night in a most unlikely place, we’ll enter the American West, where our itinerary relaxes and slows. There will be one last 6-hour day to get there, but our next two stays will be three and four nights. We’re staying in a historic hotel, and then in a rental cottage.

Once in the West, things will become less hurried and more relaxing.

What you should expect going forward…

When we hit the road, everything in our lives changes, including our Substack letters. Instead of a dozen monthly emails, paying subscribers will receive up to 20. When scenery and personalities allow, there will be weekly postcards from the open road. These consist of videos and several photos, with little prose.

I enjoy writing about the folks we meet, and you’ll read more about them than you do now. When we leave home, we exit our Hobbit hole, and we can be downright sociable! (Within reason.)

Founding Members will receive postcards, as long as you’ve sent in your updated mailing address for 2026. You’ll also receive the occasional extra email letter.

There will be monthly random drawings for framed photos for all paying subscribers. (All you need to do to enter is ‘like’ a post.) These will come from our time on the road, and the framed photos will arrive at the winners’ doorsteps just days after the image was captured.

I’ll also do my best to focus on how I maintain a whole-food, plant-based diet. low-sodium and no-oil diet on the road.

Food on the road for heart, kidney, and stroke survivors needs planning. I like to think I’ve perfected this. You’ll see the ‘kitchen’ I’ve brought, and our pantry.

After each stay, I’ll include information about our dog-friendly lodging and places where the three of us hiked or walked.

As for hiking, we have a new water system for the trails, since it will be summer and we’ll hop from desert to desert to desert for two months.

I’m more optimistic than I was 6 months ago. Even our shorter rambles in Truro and Provincetown provide a surprising amount of elevation gain. I was concerned with Samwise’s age, but he is doing well. This unlocks some trails I thought we’d have to skip. It may even have us returning to the Marin Headlands, where a favorite hike covers 5 miles and 1,000 feet of elevation.

Our easiest walk in Truro is only 1.40 miles long but offers 180 feet of elevation gain. That’s superb training. Our favorite trek is 2.8 miles, with close to 400 feet of elevation in the first mile. As long as we are smart with our active hours, there won’t be as many limits as expected, and we’ll have more trail time!

Free subscribers will receive three free Substack letters instead of two. One will be in the form of Postcards from the Open Road.

Expect this schedule until October 1.

Subscriber Levels

There are three options to read our stories.

Free subscribers receive two Substack letters per month.

Paying subscribers pay either $8/month or $70/year. This includes upwards of a dozen letters each month. (Twenty when we travel.)

Founding Members pay $250 annually and receive a framed photo of their choice, occasional extra Substack posts, and will receive actual postcard(s) during trips.

Founding Members Notice

Three-quarters of the framed photos have been shipped to Founding Members. Those who have not received theirs yet will have it delivered before we leave. There remains a handful who have not chosen a photo yet. This is your last chance to place your order. Click here for your options. Greeting cards are making their way to each of you, as well, if you have not received them yet. They will continue to go out while we are on the road. Even if you don’t want a photo, please reaffirm your mailing address if you haven’t already. It assures you’ll receive a postcard and either a greeting card or a letter.

Coming Attractions

The Man on the Bicycle, a failed Italian Wedding Soup recipe, a successful minestrone, a list of local hikes we enjoy (and you may as well), our trip to meet Samwise & Emily’s new vet, and more!

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These mornings when the sun is bright and in my eyes, here on the cottage’s deck, are some of the finest I’ve ever known. It’s such a simple thing, to sit outside and breathe air, cool and fresh, on a day that will soon turn warm. It’s easy to take it for granted. After all, what’s to it?

But there is something to it. Life sneaks up on us, and busyness swamps us. We have to attend to this and that and then another that.

But life as a writer offers a different schedule. We make our own hours, as stressful as they can be, and as sometimes broke as we find ourselves, we still cherish freedom. Still, I was a writer in Newburyport and Jackson, and our mornings were never so sweet. Mainly, it’s the setting. We can sit outside here, at a table, in an open space. There are no black flies. Here, I sit with the rousing sound of crows and jays, who at times quarrel with each other. Emily and Samwise sit near, watching every leaf twitch, bird hop, and bunny stilln…

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I’m not a fan of exclamation points, so you know this is serious.

It has been brought to my attention that over the past several months, someone calling himself Tom Ryan is reaching out through Substack, looking for private conversations. Here’s how you will know it’s not me:

If I reach out asking you for anything, other than your mailing address, it’s not me. And I only ask Founding Members and the rare contest winner for their addresses.

I am an extremely private person who barely checks his email, and I would never offer to chat with you or exchange private messages. If I do reach out, it is always by email.

Otherwise, consider it a con. Their end game, no matter how nice they are, is to get your money. I WILL NEVER ask you for money.

All billing is handled through Substack and Stripe. Or another third party if I sell calendars from Lulu. But that’s it.

I hope this helps.

Please be careful.

Onward, by all means,

Tom (Samwise & Emily)

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Good morning and Happy Mother’s Day.

It’s a cool and gray beginning here, and I find myself unusually energetic. I’ve just scribbled out a letter to some Kanab friends, expressing my excitement in seeing them ‘shortly.’ I disclosed what our first two days on the road will look like as we begin our westward trek to them, five weeks from this morning.

At first, we’ll head south along 95 after a dawn start. We’re spending the night in Fairfax City, Virginia, for no special reason other than it offers a hotel just beyond Washington, D.C. We’ll sleep well that first night, like drunken sailors, due to exhaustion and a 500-mile driving day down through the gut of frenzied cities.

The second morning has us crossing the Potomac River twice. The first, shortly after leaving our hotel, will have us driving across from George Washington’s Mount Vernon. And this is where we’ll finally be enveloped by the hopeful tranquility of a …

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The video was filmed from what is essentially the bottom right-hand corner of the included map. Use that as a frame of reference. During the last part, I zoomed in on the bay, hoping to strike gold by seeing a whale.

Please consider this gentle and hopeful lift a gift as we head into the weekend. Longtime subscribers understand that these postcard videos and images are a weekly treat when we are traveling. There have not been as many from the Outer Cape since the scenery, while breathtaking, is repetitive.

The American West, and the road to and from, will supply us with numerous colorful places and faces to offer you photo and video posts with minimal words. They are a rewarding change of pace and offer me a different creative outlet.

Today is also one of those rare two-for occurrences. Paid subscribers received a letter in their email this morning. All readers, including free subscribers, are receiving this one.

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Onward, y’all, to the weekend.

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Paid subscribers, your next letter will be in two or three days. Free subscribers, you’ll hear from us in a couple of weeks, when we are closer to our June 14 road trip.

This morning’s letter to paid subscribers was inspired by Atticus, Samwise, and Emily. It’s here. (Don’t you love the Emi to bison eye contact?)

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I have never enjoyed the early morning sun in my eyes more than I do as of late. It’s one of the joys of the cottage in spring. With the windows open at night, it’s fresh and cool. I drift off to sleep more easily and earlier, and wake up when the sky is pale, before the sun has pushed herself above the watery horizon.

An hour later, as the red and lime green blossoms are backwashed by the sunlight, I’m reminded of those Richard Wilbur lines: “Outside the open window/The morning air is all awash with angels.”

The last few days have been flush with trip planning, which is nothing more than dayd…

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The seasonal rebirth continues, and I don’t believe we’ve ever enjoyed a more sensual New England spring. It’s not like we’ve had more than a handful of warmer-than-usual days. It’s the consistency. We’re in the high 50s and low 60s every day, with nights cool enough, but not too cold, to leave the window above our bed open. I take my morning tea (or iced water) on the small table on the deck outside the cottage.

From there, I cast my eyes into the sunshine and survey the property. It is graced with a variety of trees and shrubs. The owners take the utmost pride in the upkeep. The trees are budding, and the mixture of scents is like a witch’s brew, making an old man believe in the possibilities of youth.

Emi chooses to stretch out on a blanket at my feet. Samwise is sphinxlike just feet away, but on the earth.

The days tick by; each seemingly better than the last. A portion of me wishes we could stay to see how nature responds to the summer here. But then reality snaps into place, and…

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Ten years ago last Friday, I was wheeled out of Maine Med after 5 weeks, most of that in intensive care. Atticus was there to greet me.

Before leaving Portland, we were driven to Whole Foods, but it was the weekend and it was crowded, and even with the aid of a cart, I only made it halfway through the store. My body was weak, my balance lacking, and my head was spinning.

I’d made it home, but it did not feel like a victory. I was a broken man. I slept downstairs because it would be six weeks before I could climb the stairs to my bed.

Waking up that first morning, I decided to make a go of it. Blueberry pancakes.

I preheated the griddle, gathered the ingredients, began to mix them, reached for the blueberries and I dropped them. They rolled everywhere. Although I took it slow, when I bent to pick them up, I blacked out.

Who knows how long I was out for, but I woke up with Atticus cradled against my neck and blueberry stains on my back.

The hardest part was not passing out. It was trying to …

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Good morning from Truro, where the temperature is close to 60, the sky is cloudy, and a few sprinkles lay ahead of us. All in all, it’s a fine early May day.

I’ve been reading and writing this morning, bemoaning that we are shifting our coddiwomple away from Mississippi, where I’d hoped to spend or day around Eudora Welty’s haunting grounds and grave. Nipping, tucking, downright cutting hoped for travel plans is akin to trimming your favorite greenery. It creates room to breathe, space for other possibilities.

Our trips have always been about getting out West, and that’s what we’ll concentrate on instead. Unfortunately, that means bypassing fellow solitary Eudora. Ah, but the new route offers other new experiences,

I came upon this passage in my notes this morning. It’s from Fenton Johnson’s At the Center of All Beauty: Solitude and the Creative Life.

Welty had a later, very specific love: Ken Millar, a mystery writer who published as Ross MacDonald. Theirs is among the greatest of epistolary loves.

In 1966, Welty, a fan of thrillers, sent Millar a note praising his fiction and enclosing—in her first communication—

The Mountaintop Prayer
Restore all for me in beauty,
Make beautiful all that is before me,
Make beautiful all that is behind me,
Make beautiful my words.
It is done in beauty.
It is done in beauty.
It is done in beauty.
It is done in beauty.

She was fearless in her epistolary intimacy. She and Millar maintained an active correspondence for many years, through traumas on both sides.

They did not meet in person until 1971, when, unbeknownst to each other, they both stayed at New York’s Algonquin Hotel. After their chance encounter in the lobby, they walked midtown Manhattan together, as much in love as any two people might be.

Millar flew back to his home in California the next day, leaving a note for Welty at the Algonquin desk that concluded, “Meanwhile there are letters.”

Epistolary intimacy.

I get it. My most interesting and memorable love was built this way.

She was a famous actress and I a smitten fan. Friends, including a newer one I did not know much about, threw a dinner party. The actress and her husband were invited, but no one told me.

I’ll let you imagine my face when she gracefully entered that Plum Island house and sat down next to me.

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Once Emily failed to get the role of Cousin It in the Provincetown Players’ production of The Adams Family, we decided it was time to finally visit our new groomer.

We are happy to report that Nancy Flanagan of Wellfleet is exactly what we have been looking for in a groomer. She is kind-hearted, a true character who feels more comfortable around animals than people, and has several rescue dogs and a menagerie of farm animals: pigs, llamas, and horses.

Nancy came highly recommended by Scott Ferrari and David Hallett, our friends back in Jackson. Before they bought the Bavarian Chocolate Haus in North Conway, they had a place in Eastham, near Nauset Light Beach.

It’s good to have an important member of our Sam and Emi support team in place.

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