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byrdstrolls · 6 months ago

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Mysteries Are Like Onions Part One

Somewhere, deep in the western plains, dotted with sparse farms and gas stations, cottonwood and tumbleweed, a young boy steps off a train. He is dressed like a respectable six sweep old in his sunday best, though it was friday. He wears a brown overall dress with a short light red button up. A pair of dark red fingerless gloves and bows in his hair signify his blood color. On his back is one of those tall camping backpacks, nearly the size of the entire kid, yet it had to be lightweight enough, because he navigated the dusty old station with balance and ease, though perhaps a bit of slowness. Clasped in his hands is a yellow lined notepad, the kind where the papers tear off, that he has a pen leaned into at the ready. In his mouth is a tiny gold sunflower necklace he gnaws on absentmindedly, thinking. Anyone who knew him would know it rarely left that place in his mouth.

Strangely, he is alone.

Down the way, an older tealblood woman in a long dress and cardigan paces up and down the station's platform. Anxiety radiates off of her even from ten or so feet away, but the child, with a glance around, quickly deduces she is the only other troll at the station. He walks over, red shoes clacking on the grain of the old wood, and, as gently as he can, attempts to interrupt her nervous march.

“‘xcuse me miss,” He says. “You have a moment?”

“Hmm?” She answers, blinking. “Oh-” She says, glancing at the teenager as if seeing him for the first time.

“Sure” She says, her gaze softening.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a map of this area, wouldya? I’m tryin’ to make my way to the umm. Express train station but I might’ve gone the wrong way.”

The woman pats her pockets, finding them empty.

“Well- not with me” She says, apologetically. “But it’s not far to my hive. Do you have somebody waitin’ on you?” She continues, hoping the answer is yes. It’s dangerous to travel alone, especially with a caste that low and especially for a troll that young.

“No m’am” He says, and her heart sinks ever so slightly. “Lead the way.”

And so the two of them began to walk back towards the direction of the town.

“I’m Laryan” She offers.

“Nice to meet ya Miss Laryan” Says the teenager, as polite as ever.

“What’s your name?” She asks. “What’re you doin’ out here?”

“Barely” He answers, electing to only respond to one of the questions. “I’m Barely Shyeck.”

“That's… an interesting name” She responds.

“I’m a detective” He says, as if this somehow justifies something.

“Is that so?” She replies.

“All detectives” he says, “Have silly names”

“Can’t say I’ve met enough detectives to know.”

“Sher-lock. Pie-rot. The silly name” He says. “Came free with my notepad.”

She snorts, unable to help from laughing at this assertion, and judging by the grin around his necklace on Barely’s face, he had intended it that way.

“This is me,” She says, pointing to a cozy little one story hive, and unlocking the door.

“Nice place” Barely says, looking around.

“Oh- don’t pay attention to anything, it’s so dirty” She sighs, shuffling through piles of papers on a crowded dining room table. Eventually, she pulls out a rail map, sweeping out a place on the table and unfolding it out. Barely inches closer, looking over her shoulder.

“You and I are right here” She says, circling the town of Baskertop. “Over by the Fleetrail, (but that’s not a passenger train) and the Eastbound. You can take the Eastbound train” she says, hand going further down the map, “Up to Shercattle, and take that up to Creekturn, and the Express to the city is right there”

He nods along, his brow furrowing, tracing the journey she’s laid out for him several times with a finger.

“Could I have this?” he asks. “I’ll work to pay you back.”

“How so?” She asks.

“I’m a detective” He again asserts, clearly having a lot of pride in referring to himself as such. “Give me a mystery and I’ll solve it- and I’ll not ask for a fee if you let me stay the day and have the map.”

She had already become endeared to the strange little young man to the point she might have offered him those things freely. But the little rust seems to take himself so seriously it was hard not to play along.

“Alright,” She says. “I misplaced my wallet this evening- If you can find it, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Barely pauses for a second. “Miss Laryan,” he says. “I’d gladly do that for you, but you’re sellin’ me a lil short” he huffs. “I really can handle a mystery more mysterious than that.”

“If I can think of another one,” She says. “I’ll let you know. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Yes miss, thank you” He says, giving one last look at his map before setting down his notepad.

“Why were you at the train station, Miss Laryan? Were you waitin’ on someone?”

She laughs, in the floaty, self deprecatory way some trolls do, putting a kettle on the stove.

“Not exactly. I was tryin’ to build up the nerve to make a visit to Shercattle myself. But it doesn’t matter- misplaced my wallet. I couldn’t find my train ticket, I’m sure it was in it.”

“Why were you goin’ there?” He asks.

“To visit a friend of a friend- if he could be called that, and ask him a favor.” Laryan sighs, tapping her finger on the counter.

“My moirail” She says. “Is a cowboy out on the plains. A bunch of his cattle, and the other cowpokes too, have been going missin’. All of them are at their wits ends about the whole thing.”

“Really?” Barely says, perking up, scribbling down on his notepad. Drawn to these kinds of puzzles like a moth to a flame. It’s like trying to fish salt out of water, to separate a detective from their nosiness.

“All of them” She frowns, exhaling. “Are out there blaming the other cowpokes, or a thief. Think someone takin’ more than their share.”

“Makes sense,” Barely nods. “But what’s that got to do with Shercattle?”

“Well,” Laryan shrugs. “I figured if somebody was stealing the moobeasts, they’d probably have to be selling em, or the meat, somewhere, right? And the cowboys know most people in Baskertop. It’s a small town. They’d know if somebody was buyin’ em here. Shercattle, though, it’s a little further out- mostly dairy farms. They’d have just as much of a reason to buy cattle as we do.”

“So you were gonna go there, and ask your friend of a friend if he’s seen anything?” The rustblood extrapolates, thinking, that perhaps, Miss Laryan was a whole lot smarter than she trusted herself to be. The kettle on the stove goes off, it’s screech like a final ding to the end of his sentence.

She takes the thing off the stove, going to pour the tea.

“Yes,” She confirms. “This friend- well, you didn't hear this from me-" She qualifies, before beginning something like gossiping. "He's a, well- I don’t want to say a fling- of my moirail- Vekeso- Well, maybe he would be if they stopped pussyfootin’ about. I knew him through Vek. He’s a dairy farmer. I probably forgot my wallet someplace, because, well, I was so nervous, I think there’s been some kind of fallin’ out between the two of them these past months. I don’t know if he’s still fond of me, knowin’ how tied up I am with Vekeso. Sugar?” She asks.

“Yes please!” Says the teenager, swinging his feet under the table. “Honey, if you have it. Are you sure you don’t want me to solve all that mystery instead?” He offers.

“Trolls can turn nasty about these kinds of things when there’s money involved” She sighs, setting down his teacup. “I’d rather you stay out of it, for my peace of mind.” She continues, sitting down with him. “Don’t you wanna ask me questions about my wallet?”

The young man picks up the tea, blowing on it, a tiny huffy little frown on his face, as if he still considered this beneath him.

“Where’d you last have it?” He concedes, starting with the basics.

“Well,” She says, pausing to sip her tea. “I usually keep it in my coat pocket. I wear this coat everywhere, you see. I’ve never lost it before.”

“Is there anyplace you hang up your coat? Did you buy anything this evening or last morning?”

“There’s a rack at work and at my hive” She says, touching her cheek with her finger as she thinks. “I don’t think I bought anythin’- but, oh!” She squeaks suddenly, paling.

“What is it Miss?” Barely inquires, a look of concern flashing across his face, he turns the necklace in his teeth.

“I shan’t say.” She frowns, her shoulders sinking.

The young rust stares for a moment, and then reaches across and takes the woman's hand, giving it a gentle pat.

“My loyalty is to my client, Miss. That’s you. I won’t tell anybody.”

She frowns, glancing to the side, but the boy really does seem so earnest.

“Don’t tell a soul” She says, biting her lip. “But… I’m a clerk at Baskertop’s Municipal office. My eyes aren’t as fast as they used to be. Sometimes- I’ll get a little behind.” Laryan sighs. “On the paperwork. And- it’s not supposed to leave the archives. But, some days, I’ll take something and fold it up and stash it away- so I can work on it before opening next evening, and not fall behind.” She groans. “I can see it now. I was probably foldin’ up something frantically, puttin’ it in the wallet, rushing around to close up on time- and I probably left it right there on my desk” She says, with a guilty, sad little smile.

He nods. “See?” He says. “Too easy.”

“I work again later tonight, I can check when I clock in then.” She muses. “Thanks anyways, Mr. Detective.” She says fondly. “Want me to show you to the guest room?”

“No thank you, Miss Laryan.” he says. “I might wanna go around town for a spell.” Barely says, standing up to rinse his empty mug.

“I told you,” She frowns. “Don’t go pokin’ around that moobeast thief nonsense.”

“I won’t” he says, with a smile. “I promise” He says, heading out the door to go start pokin’ around that moobeast thief nonsense.

He starts, as any reasonable troll would, a ranches, moseying about for cowpokes down the road. It’s not long before he finds one. Barely’s eyes light up, and he walks over to a tall beanpole of a jade sitting up on a wood fence.

“‘xcuse me sir,” Barely says. “You wouldn’t happen to know a Vekeso, wouldya?”

“Who’s askin’?” The man mutters, lifting the brim of his hat.

“I’m Barely Shyeck” He says, offering his hand. “Detective”

“Detectin’ what?” The stranger huffs, staring down at the hand but not taking it. “Am I in trouble?”

“Oh, no, I’m just tryin’ to find some missing moobeasts, mister…?”

The jade stares down at the still offered hand for a moment, before finally conceding to take and shake it. He releases it, leaning back.

“Mister Vekeso to you.” He says.

Barely grins, glad to have found him so quickly.

“Mister Vekeso” He says, “Could you show me the fields where the cattle are?”

“You fine with horses, kid?” Vekeso says. “Dunno what you’ll find that the rest of us haven’t.”

“I’ve been riding horses since I was four, mister.” Barely says, climbing over the fence to where Vekeso kept his stallion. Suddenly, the Jadeblood pauses.

“The other cowpokes didn’t send you, did they?” He asks.

“Miss Laryan did, in a way.” He answers.

“Of course” Vekeso sighs, plopping down on the horse, and offering a kid a hand up. But he does seem to relax upon hearing that his moirail was the source of Barely’s investigation. “She’s always meddlin’ in cowpoke business,” He mutters, but in the fond kind of way in which a troll teases someone they’re close to.

“She means well, Mister.” He replies, leaning into him as the horse begins to trot in earnest.

The plains were beautiful this time of night, a great rolling ribbon of greens, pinks and blues that stretched out into a star filled sky. The plants were tall and thriving in the moonlight. It’s quiet, and a little serene, but the detective's eyes are not on the view, but on the ground.

“You graze your herd here often?” Say’s the boy.

“What’s it to you?” says the jade, as forthcoming on information as ever.

“It just doesn’t look very grazed, is all” He answers, gesturing at the lush vegetation.

Vekeso is quiet for a long moment before he decides to answer this question.

“We used to go further north.” He says. “But since the Fleetrail went in half a sweep ago, all the construction, there just isn’t enough land anymore. I’d have been outta a job if the Mayor hadn’t rented us the Redgrass Ranch he’s been sittin’ on.”

“I see,” Barely says. “The cows sure must be happy about it.”

Vekeso snorts. “Yeah, I bet” He says, a tiny half smile appearing on the jade’s face for a moment, before being swallowed, and disappearing into a look of barely withheld bitterness. Barely waits for him to say more, but he doesn’t.

“Do you like the new lands?” The child prompts, finally.

“That’s neither here nor there.” Vekeso murmurs under his breath.

“Any information, really” Says Barely. “Might help with the case.”

“This’s got nothin’ to do with the cattle” He says, still prickly.

“Motives” Barely retorts. “For trolls bein’ upset, might have a lot to do with the cattle.”

“I thought I wasn’t in trouble.” Vekeso replies.

“You’re not.” The teenager reassures.

“Well, I’m the only one who’s upset,” Vekeso complains. “And I didn’t steal any damn cattle about it. I’m too grown for that. The mayor was nice and all to rent us these grounds.” He huffs. “But he’s still fleet, so there’s all sorts of stupid regulations on it. How long you can stay, who you sell cattle too, who you gotta answer to. The other cowpokes don’t care, because we’re making more money than we ever have, sellin’ out to factories who want that free range sticker ta put on their packages” Vekeso says, pulling the horses reins, bringing the two of them to a halt, in a little area on the edge of the woods that overlooked the herd.

“Me I’m not fond of anybody lookin’ over my shoulder.” He exhales, sliding off the horse, and crossing his arms.

“And there’s the disappearances” Barely adds.

“Yeah, and there's those.” The cowboy sighs. “Not fond’a those either. But I wouldn’t be stealin’ my own damn moobeasts.” He adds.

Barely hops off after him, stumbling a little as he lands on the ground. “I understand, Mister Vekeso, really. I don’t think it's you. But that helps, anyway.” He attempts to reassure him, again. The child smooths out his dress, and begins to take a closer look around the property. Turning in circles once or twice with his notepad, biting into that necklace.

“Mister Vekeso” He says, suddenly. “Do these woods go down the whole property?”

“Pretty much” He answers. “They follow along the river.”

A contemplative expression rests on the rustbloods face, and he turns and begins walking into the trees.

“Hello?” Vekeso says, watching with mild confusion, gesturing at the herd. “The cattle are over here, “detective”?” he says, gesturing at the field.

“Don’t airquote me, “cowboy”” Barely bites back. “What kinda animals do you usually get out here, Mister?”

“Nothin’ bigger than a fox or deer, kid. I mean, nothin’ that’s gonna wanna eat a moobeast.” He says. “What’re you on about?”

“How far north does the Fleetrail go?” Barely asks, bustling around the forest floor as if looking for something.

“What?” Says Vekeso with a sigh, before finally following Barely into the woods, not wanting to lose sight of him.

“You said the new segment was built earlier this sweep” The detective clarifies, wandering around glances under bushes. “Does it go back far?”

“It’s a train,” Vekeso says, struggling to keep up with the child. “Of course it goes back far.”

“They probably developed,” Barely says, climbing around some rocks. “A lot more land than just your old ranges, didn’t they?” He continues, his voice muffled by distance.

“Probably” Vek says, frowning.

“Well, what kinds of animals live further up north?” Barely says, continuing his strange search. “Their habitats woulda been destroyed. I reckon they’d be upset, and starving, and wandering around further out than they’d ever been havin’ nowhere to go.”

“I see where you’re goin’ with this” Vekeso says, finally catching up. “But what’d be big enough to take a whole cow?”

“In my travels” Barely says. “I’ve seen howlbeasts, nearly as big as elk, up north.”

The cowboy stares, dumbfounded. “They’d be a long way from home” He answers.

“Couldn’t hurt to look, could it?” Says the rust.

Vekeso walks over to him. “What’re we lookin’ for?”

“Tracks, scat, big hole or cave in the earth that might be a lay or den.” The child says. Vekeso stares for a moment, before exhaling, rolling up his sleeves and going to help the detective with his search.

The two of them cover a lot of ground, in about an hour. With every step he takes further into the property Vekeso starts to feel a little bit more anxious about the whole thing. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the kid to be right. It’d make him feel mighty silly, if he and the other rangers had all been pointin’ fingers everywhere about a problem caused by some displaced wild animals. Just when he opens his mouth to tell the kid maybe they better give up and head back, Barely calls from across the way.

“I found one, Mister!” He exclaims.

“A what…?” Says Vekeso, heading over trepidatiously.

“An old den!” The kid says, peeking out of a large hole in between to big pieces of rocks, holding a tuft of hair triumphantly.

Vekeso walks over, and takes the coarse chunk of fur from his hands.

“I’ll be damned.” He huffs.

“It was wolves.” Barely asserts.

“Well” Vekeso frowns. “I guess I’ll be removin’ yer air quotes, Detective Barely.” He says.

The child beams. “Thank you Mister Vekeso.” He says. “Couldya take me back to town?”

It was hard to ride the satisfaction of having solved the case for long. Vekeso didn’t even seem too happy about it, and all the lengthy way back to town, Barely was haunted by the feeling it had been too easy. As easy as a misplaced wallet, wrapped up in a single day. Maybe he shouldn’t wish a harder life on himself, but he longed to stretch his legs and mind further than this. He couldn’t help but think there was a shadow of an even bigger mystery enclosed around this place. He couldn’t see its form, couldn’t determine its nature just yet. Too many loose questions and pathways, ends that hadn’t quite been tied.

Vekeso ran off, presumably to talk to the other cowpokes, to talk strategy. That’s something Barely didn’t like, either. He had given him an answer, but not a solution. The land taken by the Fleetrail wasn’t coming back anytime soon. They might just have to kill the wolves, which was it’s own headache, for both moral and logistical reasons.

At least, Barely resolved, he could head down to the municipal office, and hopefully share with Miss Laryan the joy of finding her misplaced wallet.

But it was not so. As Barely approached the office, a tiny frown curved around his necklace as he began to notice the place was swarming with officers. He glanced between them, attempting to determine the intricacies of their rank, before walking over to the youngest, who was putting crime scene tape over the doors.

“‘xcuse me sir” He says, “What happened here?”

“There was a robbery.” The man sighs. “Someone broke in last day.”

“I don’t mean to be trouble officer, but what’d they take?”

“Government papers. A couple old county estate exchange receipts. Stop nosing around.” The officer says, more sternly.

“I can’t help it, Sir,” Barely answers. “I’m a detective.”

The man pauses for a moment, and then flat out laughs at him.

“Go play somewhere else” He says.

“Can I look inside?” Barely pleads.

“Of course not” The officer huffs.

“Can you describe it to me?” He asks.

“Will that make you leave?” The man says. “It’s a fucking mess, kid. They tore the damn place apart, real desperate for that crusty old paperwork. Piss off.”

Barely’s brows furrow, and he finally takes the hint, walking away. He tries to view the scene from different angles, as best as he could from a distance. He wanders back and forth, before, with a slight frown, pulling out his notepad to write down that none of the doors or windows seem damaged. Besides, he assumes, the sorry state of the office and archives, it was difficult to tell someone had broken in at all. The robber must have been let in, or had a key. He contemplates this for a long moment. Before spotting Miss Laryan down the way, and speedwalking down the road ask fast as his little legs could carry him.

“Miss Laryan” he says, “could I pull you aside for a moment?”

“Barely, I have work” She chides, as the child drags her off into a nearby alleyway. “What’s going on down there?”

“I need you to stay calm, and answer some questions for me” Barely says, with as much assertiveness as he can muster.

“Who else works at the municipal office? Who has a key?”

“Why-” She frowns, “the security? I’m the only clerk, you see. It’s why I gotta work so hard”

Barely’s heart sinks.

“What was the paper,” he says. “That you snuck into your wallet last night?”

“Oh, it was so late” She frowns, struggling to remember. “It was… messiahs- I think… maybe some old land sale?”

“Are you sure you left your wallet on the desk?” He says.

“I mean- not really” She backtracks. “But it wouldn’t hurt to check, right?” She says, flustered by the child's seriousness. “Why do you ask?”

“You can’t go to work,” Barely says.

“What? Why?” Laryan says, biting her nails.

“There’s been a robbery” The rust frowns. “And if the fleet sheriffs got any kind of head on their shoulders, you’re a prime suspect.”

Miss Laryan pales. “But- I didn’t! I was- I take paperwork home all the time! There just- weren’t enough hours in the night- what’re they saying? What should I say?” The woman panics, starting to hyperventilate.

“M’am,- m’am it’s okay, just breathe-” Barely tries to assure her to little avail.

“I can’t go to jail!” The teal squeaks, and then, suddenly, falls to the ground, as if stressed to the point of honest to g-d fainting.

Barely’s eyes widen, and he stares around helplessly. “Miss,” he pleads, on deaf ears, staring at her collapsed form, frozen. A little time passes, as he struggles to figure out what to do.

Eventually, a shopkeeper walks by, turning and peaking into the alleyway with concern. Barely makes a half effort to step in front and block the view of the unconscious woman, but he’s too small and too slow for it to do any real good.

“Ah,” The stranger says, not even seeming to notice this attempt “She having one of those again?”

“‘Xcuse me?” Barely says, shyly.

“Don’t worry about it son,” the man says, rolling up his sleeves. “You didn’t do nothin’ wrong. Laryan gets this spells every time she gets nervous. Must be havin’ a hell of a night.” He sighs. “Help me carry her back to the mart, and get a cold towel, she’ll be up in no time” he says, grabbing her by the shoulders.

“Of course” Barely says, shaken up but glad to be of help, the rust hurries to grab Miss Laryan’s legs, following the man in front of him’s lead into a convenience store, it’s neon sign spelling out the word DUNNERMART. They brought her over to a bench, and set her down. The young man catches his breath, shaking out his arms.

“What’s your name, kid?” The shopkeep asks.

“I’m Barely, Mister.” He answers.

“I’m Dunner” The man grins. “You want a milkshake?”

Barely pauses, as if, caught up in the excitement of it all, he hadn’t realized he didn’t have much to drink or eat today.

“I don’t have any money” He says.

“First one’s on the hive” Dunner says, turning around to make one in the machine.

“Thank you, Mister” Barely says, gnawing furiously on his necklace, leaning on the balls of his feet. He wasn’t used to such graciousness, especially from a highblood. The man hands him the drink. Barely pauses, wondering if it would be safe to question him.

“What’s going on down the road?” The detective says, baiting him by feigning ignorance.

“Someone broke into the government office,” Dunner shrugs.

“Any idea who?”

“Beats me- I wasn’t here all yesterday. Didn’t see anybody suspicious. I hear the cowpokes are fightin’ over somethin’ or other.” He shrugs.

The kid glanced downwards. None of this information was new to him.

“You know anything about a land sale in town?” He asks.

“Nope,” He answers. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothin’” Barely says, sipping his milkshake. “Just curious.”

“Stay safe, kid,” Dunner says. “Shouldn’t be messin’ around about things so serious at your age. Be careful” he continues. “Where you put your trust.”

Does he imagine it, or do the shopkeeps eye’s flicker over to the unconscious Laryan for a moment?

“Of course, I’ll be careful Mister Dunner” Barely says, a guarded expression crossing him.

The shopkeep heads to the back of the shop, presumably to go work on something or other, and he’s replaced by a bored looking cashier. Barely continues to sip his drink at a snail's pace frowning. He’s nearly an inch from finishing it before Miss Laryan’s eye’s flicker open. The rust’s gaze goes to the cashier glued to her phone, and then back to his friend.

“Stay calm, Miss,” he whispers. And she freezes. “I think you’re innocent- those officials shouldn’ta been workin’ you to the bone in the firs’ place.”

“What should I do?” She mutters back in hushed tones. “I can’t return the papers, I still can’t find em” She chokes.

“I think you and I should go up to Shercattle, and visit your friend of a friend.” Barely says.

“Barely,” She pleads. “I told you to not go pokin’ around about the cattle.”

“Not about that” He retorts. “I just think it might be smart for you to skip town a couple a nights” He says.

The woman pales. “Okay” She squeaks.

“Someone else,” He says. “Was lookin’ real hard for those papers, and I don’t think they found em. You don’t tear apart an office like that if the papers are right on the desk peakin outta a wallet.” The rust continues, thinking out loud.

“You think so?” Miss Laryan whispers.

“Yes, Miss, I do.” Barely whispers, determined. “I wanna know who wanted em that bad and why.” He asserts, offering a hand to the woman.

“So how about on that long train ride, you tell me-” He says, pulling the woman to her feet, picking up his notepad. “In as much detail as you can- every single thing that happened from when you closed last morning til you met me at the station this evening” He says, his sunflower necklace making slow circles in his mouth as he and Miss Laryan walked outside, as the detective concedes that just maybe, just maybe,

youtube

This wallet thing might be a mystery of the scale he was interested in after all.

#barely writing #<---kind of a funny tag out of context #my writing #drabbles #fantroll #fantroll rp #homestuck #homestuck oc #homestuck rp #hiveswap #friendsim #pesterquest #Youtube

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batwingsandblackcats · 1 year ago

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Once & Formerly Haunted: tunes for a bookshop au

Though y'all would maybe be interested in some tunes curated by @sageobo31 and I for our lil bookshop story. We hope ya like it!

Tracklist:

00. a little bookshop | Tapestries and Tomes - Julian Schloming Figures on the wall / Flicker through the hall / Gathering 'cross the curtains / One and all / Tapestries and tomes / lamps upon the stone / radiate into the great unknown

P. I | summer left us beckoning (walk that empty northern hemisphere wide)

01. Imogen arrives on Wildemount | The Amber Road - Critical Role, Omar Fadel 02. Tri-Spires from a distance | Approaching Zadash - Hunter Rogerson 03. the first chill | October - Eric Whitacre, North Texas Wind Symphony 04. wandering Zadash | This Empty Northern Hemisphere - Gregory Alan Isakov Smoke it flies from whisky mouths / Vagabonds walk this suitcase town / Summer left us beckoning / The cottonwoods are all worn out / Night comes fixing on the day / And the universe reigned again / While the wheels roll it all glows a flickering light

P. II | once & formerly haunted

Ch. 1: copper kettle confessions

05. too many people, too many thoughts | Halling efter Per Loof - Frida Johansson, Henrik Oja 06. Once & Formerly Haunted | The Old Favourite - The Gloaming 07. a cup of tea | Tea with the Pansophical - Critical Role, Sterling Maffe

Ch. 2: pastries for a friend

08. wandering thoughts | Dreaming of Relief - Chris and Thomas I hope what you find will calm your mind / I hope you will always find the time you need 09. "Someone expectin' ya?" | Solace - Tow're 10. a new friend | The Hare - The Gloaming

Ch. 3: darling it's cold outside

11. Laudna’s home | Heads of the Valleys Road - Jess Morgan

Ch. 4: to keep you warm

12. shopping in Zadash | Finch In The Pantry - The Arcadian Wild 13. a proposal | The Forest of Frost on The Windshield - Matt Pond PA

Ch. 5: a new home

14. settling in | Roots - The Arcadian Wild Throw me all the seeds you sow / I'll take 'em in and make them grow in your light / Just give it time / So put down your roots / And I'll plant this fallow field of mine with you 15. nightmares | After a Storm - Western Skies Motel

Ch. 6: scars and stories

16. peppers and eggs | In The Kitchen - Hawktail

Ch. 7: cider, shots, and bad decisions

17. stories from Gelvaan | The Universe - Gregory Alan Isakov The universe, she's wounded / She's got bruises on her feet / I sit down like I always did / And tried to calm her down / I send her my warmth and my silence / And all she sends me back is rain, rain / The universe, she's wounded / She's still got infinity ahead of her

Ch. 8: a faire companion

18. Laudna's melody | Bell's Harmonic - Alan Gogoll 19. the hazel festival | The Old Road to Garry - The Gloaming

to be continued...

#TIBSAU #The Imodna Bookshop AU #Imodna #Playlists #playlist #critical role #critical role fanfic

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amberjewelextras · 6 months ago

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A WEEKEND IN CRAWFORDSVILLE, IN

This weekend I got to exist inside my dream life for a bit.

I stayed at a friend’s almost 200yo family home in Crawfordsville, IN.

Before I even arrived, I was having a perfect “Jewel” day. I slept in, watched modern family, ate a grilled cheese, and went antique shopping in an itty bitty town! While antiquing, I found the most darling rocking chair and a few other things that I couldn’t live without. 🤭

Once we finally got to the house, I was immediately in love! Fuzzy cottonwood fell from the sky, and I swear all the birds began to sing! It looked like something out of a disney movie.

After chit chatting with my friend’s family, they graciously allowed me to borrow some creek shoes (hiking boots), and my friend and I set off through the backyard to the river.

I thought I knew the Wabash river, but I had never experienced it before like I did this weekend. I couldn’t take my phone with me as we ventured into the actual river, so you are going to just have to trust me when I say where we went to swim was beyond beautiful!

Fighting the current wore us both out. So after a quick porch debrief and a shower (where I accidentally re-broke an old shower door oof), we rested and ate dinner (homemade cherry and veggie pot pie 🥧🤤).

We ended the night with deep talks over a bonfire and watching Mulan - one of my favorite movies.

The next day, I got to spend more time learning about the house and meeting the farm animals!! They have a rooster, lots of chickens, and goats. The goats were especially friendly and came up to me like they knew me forever 😅. (See photos above for proof.)

I came back home dreaming and manifesting that one day I would have my own old house in the woods with more than enough room for loved ones and cute animals!! Now, I just have to get rich 🤨 and find a place to settle down. LOL!

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arvadthecursed · 1 year ago

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Miranda "Randy" O'Connell • 22 • she/her

Strength 3; Perception 5; Endurance 3; Charisma 10; Intelligence 8; Agility 4; Luck 7

I conceived of Miranda as a companion to a character in some future Fallout game. She's bi and would be romanceable :) but she's also very much so her own person.

Major major CW for her backstory, it involves the Legion and sexual abuse, slavery, suicidal ideation, etc.

She's supposed to have a large bull shaped brand on her left cheek, from her time as a Legion slave.

Picrew

Miranda was born near the Colorado River in 2268. She had a relatively normal life, living with her parents at younger brother -- until the Legion arrived in 2280, killing her parents and kidnapping her and her brother.

Miranda was taken to Cottonwood Cove, separated from her brother. The young girl was placed with the other female slaves to be sold. There, she met a woman named Carla, who comforted the little girl in spite of their shared horrible situation. In the short time she knew Carla, Miranda grew close to her, until the older woman's untimely demise.

In the chaos that ensued after Carla's shooting, Miranda was snatched up by an older Legionnaire, and made into his slave. Miranda spent many years with the man, though she is unable to remember his name in the present day (2290). Unable to do anything but serve, Miranda's spirit was broken.

The Legion began to fall apart three years later, and Miranda's owner took her across the Colorado River. In the distance, she would sometimes see roaming traders, raiders, and settlers. For the first time since she was enslaved, Miranda thought about freedom, and how she craved it more than anything else.

When she was 16 years old, Miranda and her owner were staying at a small shack. She found a rusty knife out in the yard, and she realized that the knife was her only way out. She could stay with her owner, trapped, abused, afraid, and alone; or she could take her fate into her own hands. Miranda hid the knife under her pillow.

One night, her owner came home in a drunker stupor and demanded she service him. Seeing her chance, Miranda agreed -- so she could get close enough to earn her freedom. Getting onto the bed, Miranda feigned admiration. Then, she grabbed the knife from under her pillow and stabbed her owner to death.

Adrenaline rushing through her veins, Miranda fled into the night, not knowing where she was going or how she was going to survive. It didn't matter to her. If she died -- so be it. She would, at the very least, die free.

She finally collapsed outside of a small town, where a kindly super mutant named Jim took her to the local doctor and saved her life.

Miranda elected to stay with Jim, affectionately calling him "Pops" after a year of being relatively mute. The young woman managed to grow a small garden, and sometimes sells her flowers in Jim's general store.

Miranda has slowly opened up to her fellow townspeople, though it took more than two years for her to utter more than a few words to anyone who wasn't Jim.

Despite her horrific past, Miranda has remained kind-hearted and warm, truly believing in the goodness of others. She is quietly intelligent and has a strange, soft charisma that compels others. With a gentle word, Miranda can soothe or convince others of a cause. If one were to have Miranda at their side, they could pursue their goals through speech and conviction alone.

Her physical strength diminished greatly, and she is not particularly strong or fast, and she's not the best with a gun, usually missing her targets. Despite her lackluster physical performance, Miranda knows the plants of the Wasteland, making her useful with medicine and survival skills.

Still, several years on from her torment, Miranda carries a weight. She feels disconnected and lonely, and like her life means very little in the grand scheme of things; if she disappeared, she thinks, nothing would change.

My general idea was that she would be recruited by whomever, and she'd join the person ostensibly to "see the world." Miranda's true motivation, however, was that she was horribly depressed but "too afraid" to commit suicide, and she did not want to hurt Jim by killing herself. She secretly hoped that she would die in the Wasteland, taking care of her own problems while not being a burden upon the man who saved her life. Miranda also has complicated feelings regarding this, as she feels her suicidal thoughts are selfish, since Jim and the doctor tried so desperately to save her.

Gradually, she would come to see that her life does still have value, and there is goodness in her, too; she can take her goodness and make the world a better place. Miranda eventually comes to see that there is hope for her yet, and her story isn't over.

One of the goals is to find her brother, who she hasn't seen in a decade. Her brother was 8 at the time of their kidnapping, and was taken into the Legion and raised as a soldier. After the Legion's fracture, he fled east with a small group of his fellows. Eventually, Miranda finds him, and through her compassion and understanding, her brother turns his back on the Legion and swears to do better. He goes to Miranda's town and she arranges for him to become a security guard for the doctor who saved her. While it will take a long time to fully undo the Legion brainwashing, both Miranda and her brother are hopeful for a better future

Her last quest would be going to the Colorado River and planting one of her rose bush transplants there, to symbolize hope. While many of her fellow slaves perished, there was a hope and a fire in them that couldn't be destroyed by anyone, Legion or not.

Anyway that's Miranda, I put. Way too much thought into this and I love her so so much. I might try and write something for her here soon ...

#fallout oc #oc: miranda #fallout

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theragamuffininitiative · 1 year ago

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Yeehawgust Day Three (but late)

Prompt: Wanted Poster

[bad brain days this week but a good day today and anyways here is a much delayed addition to this lil challenge, featuring evidence of how much I hate third person omniscient while still uncertain what other perspective to use for this story]

A Man Called Garrison, but that's not his real name

"Traces, Old and New"

At midday, they crested a small rise in the prairie, where before them the land fell away into a series of low hills and smooth valleys winding down to a coursing river which branched off into silver streams. These each then wound away toward the southern horizon or disappeared into narrow, rocky gullies. Trees were more regular here and a mass of tall cottonwoods and spreading oaks partially hid a small town. The town stood quiet in that afternoon haze, its occupants resting from the heat or far off on distant fields and ranges and likely taking a meal in the shade of trees or outcroppings of rock while their cattle grazed on the long prairie grasses.

Garrison turned the head of his big sorrel toward the town and they rode down into it, each thinking to himself how glad he was for a break in the monotony of endless rides across endless grasses toward an unknown, indistinguishable destination.

Hardly a soul stirred in the town, and Garrison headed directly to the small post office that stood adjacent to one of the town’s three stores. The town was called Lead Hill, and was the only stop for post for miles. Anywhere a post office stood, Garrison would go to check and see if there was any mail for him, or any news to be had that might help direct his path. He had established the method of this long ago and it worked out more often than not.

“Afternoon,” he said to the postman.

“How do,” the man replied with a gruff voice but not unfriendly tone. He cleared his throat and came forward to meet Garrison. “What can I do for you, stranger?”

“I’d like to see if any mail has come for me.”

The man’s eyebrows went up and he laughed. “I’ve never seen you here before, what might your name be, son?”

“It would be addressed to Garrison.”

At this, the man’s expression changed from amused surprise to a deeper perplexity. “Well now,” he said, and went shuffling off to a shelf along the back wall which housed a number of boxes labeled in a system likely only known to himself and completely unfamiliar to Garrison. “I was figuring I would throw these out, or send them back with the post when it came through next, but I held off on account of being somewhat familiar with that name and being a mite curiouser than a man perhaps ought to be in my work.” He produced two envelopes, folded and battered, but sealed, and handed them to Garrison. “You’re him, then.” This last was a statement of observation, and not a question, but Garrison felt obliged to answer anyway.

“I am, and I’m obliged to you for hanging onto these for me.”

The postman nodded, watching Garrison with a searching expression.

Garrison walked to a corner where a wooden bench was placed and seated himself to open the letters, which he sat reading for some minutes, his lips moving slightly on occasion as his eyes passed over the words.

After some further consideration, the postman spoke again. “You’ll be interested to see this too, I figure.” Garrison looked up from his letters and saw the man pull a fresh poster from a small stack of similar papers. This he handed to Garrison.

It was a wanted poster, with the description of an outlaw accused of cattle rustling and horse theft, and a posted reward for information that led to his capture or death. The man’s name was Peter Pettibone and Garrison read the description two more times, committing it to memory and sorting it in his mind with other memories like a card player searching for a winning hand. “Thank you,” he said simply to the postman, who nodded, and watched as Garrison gathered the poster and his two letters, and left.

Outside, Jack had gone to resupply their saddlebags and given the horses a quiet drink, but not so deep a drought as to worry their stomachs when the ride continued.

“What’s that?” he called as Garrison came back to him. “More love letters?” His grin was wide and insolent, though his eyes never quite lost their guileless sparkle. “How do you get them to come ahead of you, anyhow?”

“A matter of determination and chance, mostly,” Garrison said. He didn’t comment on whether they were love letters. “They’re sent to the last place I said I was headed to, and then sent on to the next stop on the postal route after a time.” He showed one envelope to Jack, displaying the directions to forward scrawled in a thick, looping hand.

Garrison opened his saddlebag to slip the letters and wanted poster inside, and a breeze lifted the flap and a single paper that had become dislodged along the trail now caught that little wind and flipped out, spinning to the ground where Jack caught it under his boot and then leaned down to retrieve it.

He paused with his hand on the paper, his heart thumping hard in his chest. He was looking down on a crude drawing of a man with dark hair and a scraggly beard. The drawing, Jack had never seen before, but the man, he well knew.

This was Phillip Rankin, the cruel man who had made Jack’s life among the Johnsville Boys nothing but misery until the day Garrison rode in and calmly demanded Rankin’s alibi for his part in the murder of Garrison’s father. Rankin had struck Jack twice that day in his anger and his fear of Garrison and, both times, Garrison had stepped to Jack’s aid. Later, it was Jack’s shouted warning to Garrison that resulted in Rankin meeting his death rather than the other way around. It was these moments, this cruel man, that had irrevocably entwined Jack’s life with that of the outlaw hunter. He was happy with Garrison as his friend, yet he still shuddered to see that familiar face looking up at him through the eyes and hands of some unknown artist, the subject now a ghost.

Garrison took the paper from Jack and considered it. “It’s not much of a likeness, but I almost knew he was one of them the first time I saw this. When he threw you from that porch, I was sure. The same kind of man who would bully a kid just because he could is the same sort of coward who would hang a marshal after first shooting him and burning his town.”

Like he was on other occasions when Garrison spoke of the events that spurred him on his long, relentless quest, Jack felt the urge to offer some sort of apology. After all, he may not have ridden with Rankin when he and others unknown to Jack had sacked an entire town, but he had ridden with Rankin on other occasions after, and Jack wasn’t sure the line between the two was so clear.

Silently, Garrison handed Jack the other paper he had brought with him from his visit to the Lead Hill post office.

“What’s this?” Jack asked. He looked the wanted poster over and his eyes grew big. “Is he one of them?”

“I don’t know,” Garrison admitted. “Like with Rankin, I suspect I won’t until I look him in the face. But for that to happen, we have to catch him first. Ready?”

Excitement for the chase, for a lead, for a new direction, filled Jack with new energy and the same was strong in Garrison who went so long between traces as to almost, but not quite, lose hope of fulfilling the promises he had made before God and man to bring the outlaw mob to justice. That hope was kindled now like a new flame in Garrison and he mounted his horse in a quick movement that denied the tiredness of a man who had spent days in that saddle.

Jack mounted his own horse after him. Another wind blew in up from the river valley and Jack had to slap a hand down on top of his hat to keep it from blowing off his head. But he was grinning with eagerness when he echoed back to Garrison, “Ready.”

#yeehawgust 2023 #my writing #my western novel that still doesn't have a proper name #the difficulty of writing a 'sequel' to a public domain work is how much big backstory is in the original #all of which i love and much of which i will probably not revisit eventually #so this is me partially indulging in that a little #one of the next prompts will be more exciting i hope #all i'm writing so far is Very Quiet Filler #-massive shrug- it be that way

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aestheticvoyage2023 · 2 years ago

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Day 83: Friday March 24, 2023 - “Detours and Scenic Routes”

A few hours after finishing a totally unnecessary, peaceful and enjoyable out and back to Coeur D’Alene, for the simple fact of connecting some scribbles on a map and running new track under Idaho sunset, I was back in the drivers seat, in the cold, snow, and ice (I literally fell on my ass in the parking lot to start the day, before having to scrape my windows of the ice and snow that had fallen over night) of a 5am 2 lane highway to start working my way back to Boise. Only thing I have to do today, is “go home” - and I relished the idea that the way would be unwritten - all new scenes and stories, towns and roads, to find.

Hit Lewiston, Idaho about the time it started to get light, and the tempreature rose to 32 degrees as I crossed the Snake River. Settled into a podcast, enjoyed the view of the snow covered pines on both sides of the road, losing track of the miles when I came up on a police car blocking the highway. He explained I was being detoured, said something about following Cottonwood Creek, and how the highway would be closed for a couple of hours due to an accident. I would find out later that about a half hour before there had been a fatal accident. I turned around and started working on a 3 hour adventure of my own to find my way through bad service, no map or knowledge of the roads, and a rental car that lacked the proper equipment and clearance to take on what I was going to throw at it getting through Nez Perce territory.

Wasn’t quite the shenanigans that Lewis & Clark would’ve had coming through here, and I was inspired to find that I had unknowingly dropped my self onto their trail as I drove along the Clearwater River and Idaho 12 through towns like Peck and Orofino, looking to figure out my way back to the 95 and down to Boise. My navigation kept wanting to route me up and over old stage coach dirt roads that showed promise early, but found snow and ice covered only a few miles up. At one point I slowly backed my rental backwards for 3 miles down the winding road, figuring that was safer than attempting to turn it around. One thing I learned in Bellingham, snow and ice, grades and ditches dont all mix well. And the last thing I needed was to get myself stranded out here with no service where literally no one, including myself, knows where I am, and Luke isn’t in this time zone to come rescue me. Itd be a story, Id really rather not have to tell.

Eventually I got routed up onto the right road that got me up out of the river canyon and onto the prairie above Stites. I followed the long dirt paths of open field, open sky, for several miles, just enjoying the view and the opportunity to soak in this landscape I would have otherwise missed without the detour. The clouds started to break and I got a little bit of blue sky. I turned up the radio, put the window down to that 38 degree breeze and texted Audrie that I had finally made it out of the woods. I came out over White Bird Canyon, and was met with such an eye popping view of the rolling hills that I had to stop the car and take a picture. Its part of the Nez Perce National Historic Park, and a marker identified the battle that took place here between the US Army and Chief Joseph’s Indians. The Indians won and I was happy for that. As I often do when I find these places on the road, I’ll stop and learn and read what I can. Looking it up, and making a mental note of why the land here is significant. Felt sad that not far up the road we were celebrating the arrival of the White man in Lewis & Clark and how the Nez Perce had helped them; I can not imagine they’d approve of how it evolved to June 1877.

From there I would send periodic updates as I meandered (literally) my way through little small towns that slowed the parade down to 25 mph every 20-30 minutes; Grangeville, New Meadows, McCall, Cascade, Donnelly. Putting down some new track through places that seemed to have 15 feet of snow on their roofs. It will be a long wet spring here, eventually. From Smith’s Ferry to Horseshoe Bend I wound through constant curves of one lane single file traffic, and places advertising for river rafting on the Payette River and other adventures. This is the backcountry playground of Boisians, for sure. Beautiful country and I felt blessed, despite the traffic, to take it in and see it for myself. Someday I’ll run into someone from Banks Idaho, and I’ll know exactly what I’ll tell about the day I first drove through here. And eventually the highway would go from 2 to 4 lanes, then 6 before dropping me back down suddenly right into Boise where I would turn in my steed and start the air travel portion of my trek home where nothing would be near as memorable or noteworthy as my excursion through the snowy hills of Idaho. Id stop for a few minutes and retrace my route, literally figuring out where the hell Id been, updating my scribble map after some good hard earned beautiful miles in God’s country.

Song: Tyler Childers - Shake The Frost

Quote:

There's this flash I get often, a fever dream or a vision of sorts Most times late at night And I haven't found out why, but I know exactly why I'm on this road and I hear gravel underneath me, and I feel it too And I don't know where I am, but I know exactly where I am It's dark, It's really dark And the car is warm, but somehow I can feel how cold the night is I don't know where the road leads, but I know exactly where it ends You see, I keep driving And all I see for the longest while is my headlights, for an eternity it seems And everything is desolate and empty and nothing and hopeless I'm lost, but I know where I'm going I'm safe, I'm warm, I'm driving And I see this small light A dim one, growing brighter and bigger and closer and stronger And the closer I get, the more I see I make out a house with light strewn across it, a porch, and cars Some frosted windshields that haven't been touched for hours I hear a song, and it's faint, I can't make out the name but I know every word I feel my feet first And it's cold, and they're crunching, and it's the sound of driveways And the wind takes my breath with it And then I walk up to this door, and I knock even though I feel like I don't have to And I don't know where I am, but I know exactly where I am And this crack of light widens on this porch underneath me as this door opens And this brown haired girl with the brightest smile I don't know who she is, but I know her so well And behind her, the warmest home I'd ever seen It's orange and comfortable, there's fire and it's bulb lit She says "Where have you been? I've been waiting for you all night, we've missed you" She says to the kindest smirk I'd seen in so long Then she tapers off the sentence with the, with peaceful sound that a lady makes She grabs me on the forearms, pulls softly into the dining room And there's people, and they're happy, and they're content for one I don't know who they are, but I know exactly who they are And we're all standing, and I'm laughing at a joke I'll never hear again I don't know where I am, but I know exactly where I am And then she tucks her head between my collar as a friend Between my collar and my jaw, and there's no weight at all And I don't know where I am, but there's no weight at all It's laughter and grins and no tomorrow to win And I don't know where I am, but I know exactly where I am I don't know where I am, but I know exactly where I am

~Zach Bryan, This Road I Know

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spudcity · 2 years ago

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Dream: The Night of December 23rd

for Jane

—ALL HUGE LIKE GIANT FLIGHTLESS KIWIS TWICE THE

SIZE OF OSTRICHES,

they turned and walked away from us

and you were there Jane and you were twenty-two

but this was the nineteen-forties,

in Wichita, near the edge of town, in a field

surrounded by a copse of cottonwoods. It was

getting dark and the trees around the bridge

almost glowed like a scene by Palmer.

The two Giant Birds—Aepyorni—from Madagascar,

extincted A.D. one thousand, turned and walked

from us across the bridge. Even in the semi-darkness

the softness of their brown feathers made

curls pliant as a young mother’s hair. There

was a sweet submission in the power of their enormous

legs (giant drumsticks). Their tiny heads

(in proportion to their bodies) were bent

utterly submerged in their business and sweeping

side to side as a salmon does—or as a wolf does—

but with a Pleistocene, self-involved gentleness

beyond our ken. My heart rose in my chest

(as the metaphysical poets say “with

purple wings of joy.”) to see them back

in life again. We both looked, holding hands,

�� and I felt your wide-eyed drinking-in

of things.

Then I turned and viewed across the darkening

field and there was a huge flightless hunting fowl

(the kind that ate mammals in the Pliocene).

He stood on one leg in the setting sun by the sparkling

stream that cut across the meadow to the bridge.

He had a hammer head and curled beak, and after my

initial surge of fear to see the field was dotted,

populated, by his brethren, each standing in the setting

sun, I saw their stately nobility

and again

the self-involvement.

We followed the Aepyorni

across the old wooden bridge made of huge

timbers. The bridge was dark from the shadows

of the poplars and the evergreens there.

The stream was dimpled with flashing moonlight

—and I think it had a little song.

Then

I found that on the bridge we were among

a herd of black Wildebeests—Black Gnus.

One was two feet away—turned toward me—

looking me eye-into-eye. There was primal

wildness in the upstanding coarse (not

sleek as it really is in Africa) fur on

the knobby, powerful-like-buffalo shoulders.

(Remember this is a dream.) I passed by him

both afraid and unafraid of wildness as I had passed

through the herd of zebras at the top of Ngorongoro Crater

in front of the lodge, where from the cliff we could see

a herd of elephants like ants, and the soda lake

looked pink because of flamingos there.

There is an essence in fear overcome

and I overcame fright in passing those zebras

and this black Wildebeest.

Then we passed

over the heavy bridge and down a little trail

on the far side of the meadow, walking back

in the direction we had been.

Soon we came

to a cottage of white clapboards

behind a big white clapboard house and knocked

on the door; it was answered by a young man

with long hair who was from the Incredible String Band.

He took us inside and he played an instrument

like a guitar and he danced as he played it.

The lyre-guitar was covered with square plastic

buttons in rows of given sizes and shapes.

The instrument would make any sound, play

any blues, make any creature sound, play

any melody…I wanted it

badly—it was a joy. My chest rose.

I figured I’d have to, and would be glad to,

give twenty or thirty thousand for it…

Then the dream broke

and I was standing somewhere with Joanna

to the side of a crowd of people by a wall

of masonry and I reached into my mouth

and took from my jaw (all the other

persons vanished and I was the center of everything)

a piece which was eight teeth

fused together. I stared at them

wondering how they could all be one piece.

They were white…It was some new fossil.

Down on the bone there were indentations like rivulets

like the flowing patterns of little rivers.

– Michael McClure

#poetry #michael mcclure #remember this is a dream #as the metaphysical poets say

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westadventure24 · 3 months ago

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Day 9 - America The Beautiful

We woke to a crisp, quiet Montana morning, stopping to really BE in the moment before starting what has become our new daily routine.

As we drove across the state, we realized no matter how many miles you drove, the landscape was seemed to be plains with small mountains off in the distance. We would occasionally cross the ever winding Yellowstone River. After about 5 hours, we finally reached our destination of Medora, ND. This quaint, little, old western town is steeped in history and sits 1 mile outside the entrance to Teddy Roosevelt National Park. It is easy to see the locals love their town and take pride in their artisan works, keeping it clean, and welcoming visitors. We had yet another lovely lunch in the Farmhouse Cafe, which is for sale by the way, just in case you wasn’t to move after seeing this post. 😊

This stop has been extraordinary and likely one of my top two stops. I am a bit of an animal enthusiast and this park is a place for me. Within a few minutes of being within the boundary of the park, we saw a healthy and sleek coyote, who may have been in search of a small snack or just passing through this little prairie dog town.

We decided to find our camp spot in Cottonwood Campground within the park before continuing on to the unexpected events that we had no idea would lie ahead. Our own little slice of heaven had a trail that led directly down to the river. Not a permanent trail, but one that was just wide enough for two legs to pass between the prairie grasses blowing ever so slightly in the fall breeze. Clearly, it was a trail used by both creature and man.

After taking a quick walk down to the river bed, which much like home, was much drier than usual and clearly in need of a soft, soaking rain, we hopped back in the car to start our driving loop tour of the park. I couldn’t believe my eyes when we saw horses, wild and free, grazing by the roadside. These gentle giants didn’t seemed disturbed at all by our presence or the small crowds that had gathered to stare in wonderment.

We continued our search for elk, only to find several prairie dog towns and more wild horse herds. So beautiful!

We opted to go on a small 1 mile dirt, off chute road, where I had read moose had been spotted. I was determined to see the moose that I learned will forever allude me on this trip. I even left the car to go up an animal trail to look over the ridge to what I expected to be a marshy meadow, but was instead a cliff like valley. So, I made my way back to the van noting the scent of urine and wild creature knowing it had to have been close by. As we went slightly further down the curved road and, I mean maybe a few hundred yards, we found ourselves in a bit of a pickle with none other than a herd of bison. It looked something like the opening of Law & Order, where the cast is all walking down the street in a side by side, straight line. (Short video attached). The herd just kept moving towards us on the road and Todd kept backing up the RV, unsure if one of these incredible beasts would charge the rental. The whole scene was incredible! In my opinion, it was all going very well until Lily decided they were too close and let out a loud bark, something she almost never does! Well that sent us into immediate shushing and the closest bison into a run! What a heart racing experience!

Knowing it was getting late, Dad was getting tired and realizing another long drive would be ahead tomorrow to get to Minnesota, we headed back to camp. Saw this one lonely fellow on our way back. He had clearly been injured and stitched back up, so hopefully he would find a new pack to join soon. Todd was very excited to get back to camp at dusk so he could see if any wildlife had decided to visit the river. How right he was! These 3 lovelies spent quite a bit of time mulling about on the opposite side of river from camp. Perfect end to another perfect day!

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capertonfertilityinstitute · 5 months ago

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Caperton Fertility Institute

Albuquerque, the largest city in New Mexico, is a dynamic mix of history, culture, and modern amenities. Often referred to as ABQ, Burque, or the Duke City, it was established in 1706 as a Spanish colonial outpost, named after Francisco Fernández de la Cueva, the Duke of Alburquerque.

The city’s history is deeply influenced by Native American cultures, particularly the Tanoan and Keresan peoples who resided along the Rio Grande long before European settlers arrived. Albuquerque’s landscape is marked with petroglyphs, ancient rock carvings that speak to its early inhabitants. The Pueblo of Isleta and Sandia Pueblo are notable for preserving their rich cultural heritage.

Geographically, Albuquerque is located in the Albuquerque Basin, bordered by the Sandia Mountains to the east and the West Mesa to the west, with the Rio Grande flowing through its heart. The city enjoys a high desert climate, with hot summers, mild winters, and low humidity, making it ideal for outdoor activities.

Culturally, Albuquerque is known for its diversity and vibrant arts scene. It hosts the annual Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta, the world’s largest hot air balloon festival. The city’s cuisine is a delightful mix of traditional New Mexican and global flavors. Historical landmarks such as the San Felipe de Neri Church and the Petroglyph National Monument offer insights into the city’s rich past.

Albuquerque is a hub for technology, media, and fine arts, with the University of New Mexico playing a pivotal role in its academic and cultural life. The local economy is supported by healthcare, research, and tourism sectors.

Today, Albuquerque is a bustling metropolis with a diverse population and a cityscape that seamlessly blends historic and modern elements. The city is divided into distinct quadrants, each with its unique character—from the historic Old Town with its adobe buildings to the modern downtown area with skyscrapers.

Outdoor enthusiasts will find plenty to do in Albuquerque. The Sandia Peak Tramway offers stunning views of the city and surrounding landscapes, while the Rio Grande provides opportunities for water sports and scenic walks along its bosque, a cottonwood forest lining the riverbanks.

The city’s infrastructure supports a variety of transportation options, including highways, the Albuquerque International Sunport, and an extensive public transit system. It is also known for its bike-friendly paths and pedestrian-friendly neighborhoods.

Albuquerque is a city that honors its rich heritage while embracing the future. Its unique blend of cultural traditions, historical significance, and modern amenities makes it a fascinating place to explore and live. Whether visiting for the breathtaking balloon festival, exploring its historic sites, or enjoying its vibrant arts scene, Albuquerque has something for everyone.

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At Caperton Fertility Institute, we are dedicated to supporting singles and couples on their journey to parenthood with compassion and expertise. Our team of fertility doctors, embryologists, nurses, and staff is committed to guiding every patient through personalized fertility treatments. Utilizing state-of-the-art assisted reproductive technology (ART), our clinics offer a wide range of options, including in vitro fertilization (IVF), procedures for male factor infertility (TESE and MESA), ICSI, fertility preservation, and egg and sperm donation. We also facilitate gestational carrier and surrogacy programs. Our goal is to empower patients with the confidence and courage to embrace parenthood enthusiastically. Understanding the importance of focusing on treatment, we provide comprehensive medical travel and concierge services. We eagerly await the opportunity to meet you and embark on your journey towards creating your family miracle.

Contact: Caperton Fertility Institute 6500 Jefferson St NE #250, Albuquerque, NM 87109, United States 5C34+QM Albuquerque, New Mexico (505) 702–8020 https://capertonfertility.com

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