It’s been a few days since the Telluride Bluegrass Festival in Colorado ended. And I’m still riding the high on that experience, all while I sit here and do my laundry in West Waynesville, the air-conditioning of the establishment a reprieve from the intense heat and humidity this week. 

Heavy rains on the afternoon of June 18 led to a substantial rockslide on the Tennessee side of the state line that caused a closure of I-40 that officials believe will last until about July 4. 

I’m sitting alone in the cockpit of the boat anchored at Cape Lookout National Seashore off the coast of North Carolina in the early morning, and I’m about to write a column about tourism. Sipping my coffee, though, I’m distracted as a cool May breeze rattles the halyards. 

The wildest thing about being a longtime writer is that you end up compartmentalizing most of your life through your assignments, interviews, deadlines, and so forth.

The Western Carolina University Office of Alumni Engagement is stepping up to the plate and taking a swing at a new summer event designed to bring together members of the Catamount family at baseball stadiums across North and South Carolina. 

Nearing the midnight hour, I found myself sipping on a cold Coors Light can in the depths of the Tradewinds Lounge in downtown St. Augustine, Florida. This was last Tuesday, but the classic rock tribute onstage that evening was rockin’ out as if it was Saturday night. 

It was one of those moments that I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

A moment just to myself, where when the moment was unfolding in real time, you feel an immediate and deep gratitude for, this intrinsic connection to the universe. 

“The simple act of walking and taking in what I saw and puzzling over what I encountered as I went. The rhythm and simplicity of it.”              

— Neil King Jr. 

As I was cracking the third of four eggs into the bowl to then scramble the yolks, the chorus of John Prine’s seminal 1971 number “Spanish Pipedream” echoed throughout the room. I decided then and there that to make breakfast with Mr. Prine playing in the background is the only way to start your day. 

Early Tuesday morning. Sitting in the dentist chair, I stared blankly out onto the parking lot, only to then notice the bustling traffic on nearby U.S. 276. It was at that moment when the nice dental hygienist asked if a date and time in mid-September 2025 would be ideal for my next teeth cleaning.