This earns my curiosity, so I slouch into the seat of my kayak, trying to minimize my silhouette. I dip my paddle into the current, gently back-stroking, trying to slow my downstream drift. In the center of the river, the doe stands, the muddy water laps at her belly. She’s alert to something. What is she looking for?
Read MoreIf the house had ever been painted it had been decades ago, and a handwritten index card duct-taped to the door read, "Owner armed and dangerous. Nothing inside worth dying for," and another read, "If you have a cold, the flu, or any other plague, go visit a Yankees fan and leave me alone"; but we knew our knocks would be greeted by the gnarled, aged, yet handsome face of its only tenant, Wade Martin.
Read MoreEarly one chilly morning after I dropped the kids off at school, I hungrily parked the 14-year-old Land Cruiser in Ruthie’s Diner’s graveled parking lot, alongside several other muddy vehicles. I was treating myself to a quiet indulgence of two eggs, bacon, toasted sourdough bread, home fries and coffee. My mouth was watering in anticipation. Heavenly aromas greeted me at the Diner’s front door.
Read MoreI see you’re not from ‘round here,
But I’ll grant you fair discourse,
If you’ll lend, to me an ear,
For a story standing coarse
Pittsburgh Steve lay under the RT 366 bridge where it spanned the San Gabriel River. His back was flat on the cool earth and he gazed up at the underbelly of the bridge. The night air was alive with sounds. the rushing water of the San Gabriel and the sounds of insects soothed him. Pittsburgh Steve had a small fire crackling beside him. A catfish was simmering in a pot on the fire...
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