As a younger man I managed to convince myself that a writer needed to amass as many experiences as possible. And what better way to accomplish that goal than to travel. That may appear to be circuitous logic to justify a traveling jones, but looking back on events, it seems to have worked out well. Of course, it helped to explain why I was junking grad school to backpack through Europe and ultimately wind up on a kibbutz in Israel for several months.

That same logic has been applied throughout my life to later expeditions; the California trek, the two months living in Yosemite, the blur of L.A. The island trek that led me to the Keys for almost 15 years, another weekend, another hurricane, and the lasting experiences and friends that inspired the Big Tide Chronicles.

For all my travels, I have found an unexpected energy, a serendipitous restoration of the soul, a renewed joy in living a simple and uncomplicated life, here in the Wiregrass. Thomas Wolfe told us that “you can’t go home again.” I’ve come to believe that may not be true for all.