Adam G. at Large Up North

It was great seeing my old pal Adam again. Together we grew up, moved to the same town after high school and hiked a few hundred miles of the Appalachian Trail, since which I haven’t seen much of him. Him being a de-facto Luddite, I don’t have to worry about praising him online and having him ever see it. That would be strangely unbecoming in our friendship. After I decided to stay another day he said he was glad and then things were strange. He righted this with, “Rog you’re such an asshole, why won’t you leave?”

We had a fine time contemplating the bliss of a world completely under concrete and complaining about the arrogance of the wildflowers surrounding the camper to grow in such abundance, brightness and variety and as the night wore on, cursing the loons on Gitchi Gummi for their spine tingling elegies. Such grotesque liberties must only be possible with those known since before knowing one’s own self.

In the summer Mr. G. does Masonry. In winter he makes snow and runs the gondola at the local ski hill. His dad, older brother and uncle all transplanted from the Twin Cities to the North Shore as well. Papa G. mushes dogs, his bro is a carpenter and uncle manages a hotel. They are a wild bunch in pretty wild place.