“Two hours,” I said to myself, reaching up to turn off my respirator. “Not bad.”
I turned to look out the open garage door of my workshop. Afternoon light streamed in, and I decided that it was time to get another chore out of the way. I dug out a couple rolls of flagging tape and set them on the bench closest to the door, then I went inside my cabin to change into sturdy boots.
“Come on, Russy,” I said, opening his run. “Let’s walk the land.”
He barked an acknowledgement, whole body shaking with excitement.
I chuckled, ducked back into the workshop to grab the flagging tape, patted my pocket to make sure my phone was on me, then we started up the slope.
Russy ran ahead of me, nose to the ground and ears on a swivel as he investigated what the wildlife was up to. Every few seconds he’d turn back to make sure I was still following.
My eyes were sharp as I walked, noting the details of each tree I passed. Did I see damage? Was the canopy thick with leaves, or were there bare branches?
I’d call out my forest consultant toward the end of summer, but I liked to do my own evaluation early in the season. It let me identify any problems that might have cropped up over the winter and gave me an idea of the trees I wanted to address with them later.
Despite it being June, it was still cool enough for there to be small piles of dirty snow hidden in the shadows. The ground wasn’t muddy, but was soft enough for the soil to stick to my boots—and to Russy.
I reached a small clearing and paused. I turned back to look over my cabin and the lake beyond that. The water glittered between lines cut by speed boats and skiers, and the resort’s floating playground moved slightly with the waves.
Russy pressed his nose against my hand, and I turned to look at him. “You’re right.”
On paper, eighteen acres wasn’t a lot of land. And maybe it would have felt true to size if it were flat, or even gentle hills. However, forested and up the side of a mountain, it became more of a light hike than a walk.
I had wrapped flagging tape around several trees that didn’t look healthy before finally reaching the top edge of the property. There, I stopped at another clearing—mostly flat due to the bedrock beneath it.
I brushed dirt off a boulder that I’d sat on innumerable times, took a seat, and once again gazed out over my land and the lake.
Despite being only a short hike from home, this was one of my favorite places in the world. A blackened ring of ancient bricks formed a fire-pit that Grandpa and I had sat at during cool summer nights as we “camped out” in the forest when I was a child—a tradition we maintained even into my adulthood, until they gave me the property and moved to a retirement community in Arizona. Rusted eyebolts jutted from the ground—protected by rocks—for easy tent-raising.
I smiled. In a couple weeks I’d bring Michelle and Marco up for their own camping experience. The resort did fireworks for a few days around the Fourth, and the view was perfect. We could cook over the fire, make s’mores, enjoy the sights, and it would be just as magical for them as it had been for me.
Just as importantly, it would give Jessie and Yazmín a child-free night.
I looked around and made a mental checklist of things to do to prepare. My old tent needed inspecting, and the camping dishes required a good wash. I’d probably have to bring some things up a day or two in advance so that I didn’t have to lug anything heavy while supervising the kids.
Russy finally got tired of sniffing around, and he sat at my feet. I absentmindedly scratched his head while I closed my eyes and relished the peace around me.
A breeze off the lake stirred up a fresh scent while birds chirped in the trees. Sunlight beat down on my skin, but the heat of it was tempered by the coolness of the forest.
My home, my sanctuary, and my dog. All on a small lakeside property in the mountains.
There really wasn’t much more that a man could ask for.
Chapter 6 - Craig
“Who the hell cleaned under the register?” shouted the mill’s owner, Emmett.
“Uhhh,” I managed, turning from where I was about to grab the broom. “Did I do it wrong?”
Emmett burst into laughter, wrinkles crinkling near his eyes. “No, son. Just never thought I’d see somebody clean it out on their own.”
“He did it to keep himself from making goo-goo eyes at Randy,” Harrison called from where he was downstocking some boards.
“Randy?” Emmett asked. “Spud’s owner?”
“That’s the one.”
“Oh, fuck you!” I shouted at Harrison.
