#but i did grow up in missouri on a lake!

[watcherscrown]

*Edit:

Ok I think I've identified your turtle! The picture is a bit blurry but if I'm right they're an m. rivulata, or a Balkan Pond Turtle!

(image via X)

They do live in freshwater so I'm not sure what it was doing at the beach, aside from sunbathing, though they have been spotted in brackish water in the past (X) <- a pdf file if u click that it will download jsyk

The other species it could be is the closely related M. caspica (caspian turtle)

I am never going to complain about Greek Duolingo again

I mean, I am. But still.

So, as some of you know, my family has been coming to this tiny Greek seaside village for several years. Just over a week ago I came out here with my mum, under the impression that early September, after the height of the summer heat, would be a good time to have a holiday. ANYWAY Storm Daniel had other ideas about that. Locally things are improving (I'm actually really pissed off about the disaster-porn tone of most English-language media coverage, but that's another post). The power is back on, there's running water most of the time, and though the latter is not drinkable, a truck from the government came and handled out free bottled water yesterday. But we are currently kind of stuck. Can't do tourist things. Can't go home. There aren't any local flights out until Saturday and the road to Thessaloniki is still closed.

So this evening, feeling kind of aimless and depressed, I go down to the nearest beach with a couple of binbags and start cleaning up in an effort to at least do something positive. I always try to do this at least once out here and obviously, after the storm, there's a lot more plastic and rubbish than usual.

At some point I find this large, round bit of metal - some kind of machinery part, I think -- that's too big for the bag, so I take it to the bins on its own, leaving the rubbish bag on the beach. And when I come back for it, something among the stones beside it moves.

Specifically, it pulls its head sharply inside its shell

So, meanwhile I've been trying to learn some Greek with the help of Duolingo.

I currently have a 33-day streak and... I have questions. Shouldn't I be able to use the past or future tenses by now? Shouldn't I be able to say "x is like y"? I can't do those things. But one thing I absolutely can say all day long is έχω μια χελώνα : I have a turtle.

This is far from the limit of Duolingo Greek's turtle-related content. "An obsession with turtles" is my mother's characterisation. I can inform you that the turtle is not a bird, and, improbably, that the turtle is drinking milk. I can introduce you to a turtle in company with a horse and an elephant. As far as Duolingo is concerned, it really is turtles all the way down.

Now this, you may be able to see, is not a turtle. It has claws rather than flippers. It is a tortoise. I know there are wild tortoises in Greece: my aunt once rescued a pair of them shagging in the middle of the road -- but that was up in the mountains. I've even seen one myself, but it was also on a road and very dead.

I am 95% certain they don't belong on beaches. There's nothing for it to eat, except, unfortunately, a lot of plastic. Even if it gets off the beach it will immediately find itself on a road where it could get hit by a car. I'm pretty sure it must have been washed down by the floodwater and has been just sitting there, dazed, ever since.

Now obviously the first thing I want to do on encountering this unusual animal is to go and tell my mummy, so I do. The tortoise immediately brightens her day. She agrees that the tortoise is not happy on the beach and needs to be taken somewhere safe. it gets surprisingly wriggly when picked up so we put it in a carrier bag with some grapes and cucumber and go looking for somewhere to rehome it.

We find a path leading up between the houses towards a likely-looking field, but before we get very far a dog in a yard goes berserk and a man's head pops over a fence and demands to know what we're doing. He does this in English, as evidently we're just that obviously tourists.

"I found a tortoise on the beach!" I explain. "We want to find somewhere to put it."

"A what," he asks.

"It's like a, you know," I begin and then to my astonishment I find myself saying... "μια χελώνα"

"Oh! A turtle!" he says.

"But from the land. δεν είναι χελώνα", [it is not a turtle,] I say, as I am worried he will tell me to put it back near the sea where I found it. As it turns out it actually IS a χελώνα, Greek does not distinguish between turtles and tortoises, but I don't know that; I can't even name the days of the week or identify any colours other than pink yet, give me a break.

The man's entire demeanour changes and thaws. He does not worry about my turtle-that-is-not-a-turtle conundrum. He knows where οι χελώνες come from and where η χελώνα μας belongs. He leads us through a gate into a courtyard area.

"[somethingsomething] μια χελώνα," he explains to the assembled onlookers, of whom there are, suddenly, a surprising number.

"ΜΙΑ ΧΕΛΩΝΑ!!!" crows the throng of delighted small children, who are, suddenly, everywhere.

"μια χελώνα!" I agree, accepting that at least for current purposes, that is what it is.

"Μπορούμε να δούμε τη χελώνα σας; [can we see your turtle?]" asks an adorable little girl, shyly, and I understand??

The children fucking love looking at the χελώνα and showing it to them is kind of magical?

I finally put the tortoise down on the grass of this wild area off to the side of the courtyard, and marvel aloud that it is weird that I barely know any Greek except how to say μια χελώνα.

"I think she will soon run off," a kind lady called Aspasia assures me, seeing I remain slightly anxious about its fate. "I don't know why I'm saying 'she'. I suppose because χελώνα is feminine in Greek."

"Yes! I know that!" I exclaim, thrilled.

"Well done!" she says. And also she asks if we are OK for drinking water after the storm and if we need any help with anything and is just generally incredibly lovely and now we know more of the neighbours!

So "μια χελώνα" has just become, by a long way, my most-used and most understood and all-around most conversationally successful phrase in Greek. So I guess I have to admit I was wrong to doubt Duolingo's wisdom: it is correct to be obsessed with turtles. And I concede that prior to learning how to count to ten or to distinguish right from left, the simple ability to yell the word TURTLE over and over again is, it turns out, a crucial element of the responsible traveller's social skills.

(I am pretty fluent in Italian and turtles haven't come up in conversation even once?)

[infamousbrad]

No on Missouri amendments 2 and 5

There are two initiatives on Missouri's November 2024 statewide ballot that would expand the reach of casino gambling:

Amendment two would legalize and tax sports betting statewide, including over the Internet. And ...

Amendment five would license a "riverboat casino" on the Lake of the Ozarks.

I will be voting against both measures, and if you're a Missouri voter, I'd like to ask you to vote against them as well. Because the deep-rooted mathematical design of casino gambling is that it's a Poor Tax because The House Always Wins, and too few of us learn that growing up.

After the first time you win, you "know that it's possible to win." So once you inevitably catch up with the law of large numbers, once it reverts to the mean, you can't walk away until you come up at least even in a game that is designed to make it impossible to come up even over time.

But you can't walk away from all those losses, all those sunk costs, without admitting you were suckered, and nobody wants to think of themselves as easily deceived, everybody thinks that they're hard to lie to. And besides you "know" that it's possible to win, you did once!

And if you're really lucky you figure this out before you bankrupt yourself and your whole family, get caught stealing (and promising yourself you'll pay it back "once I win"), before you kill your family and yourself.

If this is what it means to be human (and it is) then why do I call it a poor tax? Because anyone upper middle class or rich has a long enough runway that they might have a chance of learning to walk away before they lose everything, but poor people don't have that luxury. The closer they get to losing everything, the more addicted they get, because they can't stop until they get that money back. And it's literally impossible to get that money back. But they have to try.

I got nothing against a friendly wager between friends in small-dollar amounts where the determination to stay friends means that gambling debts are easily forgivable. Gambling against a huge shareholder-owned (and therefore by definition conscience-less) corporation is a scheme to take away everything you have and then nudge you to kill yourself once there's no more to take from you.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Well, it's been a whirlwind few days! Thursday I went on the weekly phenology walk at Audubon Trails Nature Center in Rolla, MO. It's the last one of the year, and we were seeing if there were still any wildflowers in bloom in spite of the freeze a few nights before. We did find a scant few Asteraceae with open flowers, but for the most part everything was done for the year. It was a really good experience getting to wander the trails with someone who knows the local flora really well; I'm still playing catch-up on learning (and remembering) native prairie plants in this area, and since they happen every Thursday morning during the growing season, I'm going to make sure and attend whenever I'm in town.

Thursday afternoon I officially taught my first in-person class in Rolla with my basic mushroom foraging intro at the Rolla Public Library. I checked out SO MANY BOOKS from that library as a kid, and so it was basically coming full circle to be able to teach there. I had an awesome audience that packed the room, got some great questions, and really appreciated the support that library staff gave me throughout the entire process. I'm already brainstorming what I want to teach when I head back to this area next spring.

Friday I got to spend immersed in planty goodness at the Missouri Botanical Symposium. I had actually registered last year but ended up not feeling good at the last moment so I had to miss out. Totally worth the entire trip this year, though! There were some really great talks (I especially enjoyed the one on the interplay of geology and plant life in Missouri karst fens), and I even made some good connections and new friends! I am SUCH an introvert that it can be tough for me to go around introducing myself in a room where I don't know anyone, but luckily a friendly extrovert latched onto me and helped me meet some really cool people. (Also, pro tip: having art supplies out and in use makes for a great conversation starter, and if you bring enough for others to use you can have a little science illustration party at your table!)

Saturday I peeled myself out of bed early yet again for a very good reason--I got to lead a lichen hike at Audubon Trails! It sort of felt like cramming for a test because while the basic biology of lichens is the same everywhere, I'm not as familiar with local species here as I am back home in the PNW. So I visited the site a few times on this visit to look for cool lichens and try to get them down to at least a genus level, if not species. Again, really great turnout for the hike--people were having a great time, lots of excellent questions and discoveries along the way. And there were two kids from the Rolla Outdoor Collaborative School on site who were not only THE best guides to the trails there, but they found and showed off some cool stuff (including lichens, AND fuzzy oak galls!) The next generation of naturalists is already well on their way to helping others connect with the great outdoors, which does my heart good.

I gotta start driving back west tomorrow; I have classes in Portland next weekend. So today is being lazy, doing laundry, and helping my folks with a few more things around the house. It's been another great visit here, though, and I'm already making plans for next year. I'm going to try to schedule a couple of classes along the way for my spring trip; since I'll likely be taking I-70 since 80 is sketchy even in April, I'm probably looking at Salt Lake City and Denver for venues. I'm open to suggestions if anyone knows of a bookstore, library, nature center, or similar who might like to host a wandering naturalist infodumping about ecology for a couple of hours!

[theramblinghockeydude]

What is your passion in life?

What are you passionate about in life? What really gets you going and makes you happy, no matter what? Here are 3 things I have been passionate about in life and why.

Rock hunting. I know that sounds odd, how can one be passionate about...rocks. That is a good question, and maybe I can't fully answer that, but I just know that from a young age, I have loved rock hunting. I think what started me down that road as a young boy was the fascination with how many different types of rocks there are and what caused them to be so different. The thrill of going out and finding something that is just so cool looking was great as a young boy and let me tell you, that feeling never left as an adult. When rock hunting as a young boy most of my cool finds are either some variety of quartz or a nice piece of granite. I had no clue most of the time what the rock actually was back in those days, I just knew that it looked cool. When I got older and was able to venture out further and to different places, I was able to see more of what was out there. The trip in 2010 to SD was great, some of the agates I found were super cool. When my sister and I pulled into the first area we decided to try there was nothing but rocks as far as the eye could see. I mean, I could have spent the entire day at that area and still not covered everything I would have liked to. Another cool time I remember was when my sister had just got done taking some pictures at the horse corral area of Little Missouri State Park, beautiful wooden patio overlooking the badlands. We were driving back on a gravel road and I asked her to stop at this weathered away hillside to see what was there. Ended up finding some cool shale with a green mineral growing out of it. I wasn't sure what the mineral was, but it sure did look cool. This reminds me of driving back from the SD Badlands and stopping at a weathered away hillside to do some hunting and find some fantastic rocks there. One was a pretty decent sized agate that my friend thought looked like a dinosaur head. I always wanted to cut that rock open to see what it looked lik inside. The other part of rock hunting that I loved was the peace it brought me. Getting out on a beautiful day and just being alone with my thoughts was always nice. There was no stress, no anxiety, none of that existed in the rock hunting world, I could simply exist and be in the moment.

Photography was another passion of mine for many years. Again, it was all about getting out and finding something new and exciting to capture. A beautiful sunrise or sunset. Storm clouds rolling in. What kind of wildlife are you going to see. I remember the first time I came across a Ruddy Duck with it's baby blue colored beak, I thought that was so cool. The first male Wood Duck I saw in Oak Park with it's amazing colors. Male pheasants, although extremely beautiful, were a pain in my ass as they were very hard to photograph and took a ton of patience to get a good clean shot of. The first time I saw a moose and was able to get shot of it, I still remember that evening like it was yesterday. I was out and about in the Carpio area taking photo's of a storm. I had gotten some really good shots including some with a nice rainbow, and I came around this corner by a farm house and in the tree line I saw a big animal. At first I thought it might be a horse, but further investigation told me I had just found my first moose. I couldn't stop the car and roll down my window to get a shot quick enough. I had to calm myself a bit so as not to scare it away. One of my other favorite moments was taking in the scenic loop at Lake Darling and seeing something orange in the trees. I stopped and backed up, zoomed into the trees and saw an Oriole. Again, so excited, couldn't get the shot fast enough. My first time capturing lightning...gosh that was so cool. I was old fashioned in my approach to lightning, I enjoyed just sitting and taking shot after shot in hopes of capturing something cool. That first night I sat on my balcony and just kept shooting in hopes of getting a good lightning shot, and I was did indeed. I felt like Tom Hanks in Cast Away when he finally made fire.

Definitely a couple of passions in my life that I miss being able to do.

A passion that I found a bit too late in life was meteorology. Had I known earlier I definitely would have went to college for it. This one snuck up on me. I was scared of storms as a young man and hated them for much of early life because a Sunday storm meant no races at Nodak and that pissed me off. I don't know, sometime after I graduated college I just became fascinated by storms. I remember when I really felt it was night there was a storm that was brewing West of me and so I jumped in the car and headed West. I ended up chasing that storm was, gosh, I would say close to 100 miles. It was so thrilling and the clouds were so cool and the lightning and everything involved, just so much excitement, awe and wonder. I never did get a photo of a tornado, which bums out to this day, but I did see a few in my time. I remember being at my grandparents home and there was a tornado West of town out by Wal-Mart so I got in the car and drove out that way. I remember cresting a hill and getting my first view of the tornado, man, that was so cool. It had perfect structure to it. I drove out a bit further and parked in a lot a bit East of where the tornado had been and was lucky enough to see a few more funnel clouds form that day from the spot. I never stopped having a healthy fear and respect for storms, but for some reason I was able to push that aside to get out and see them first hand as much as possible. Oh yeah, the time I was watching from my balcony as the clouds above were just nasty looking and mean, and then off in the distance I saw a big dust cloud that came rolling by, probably no more than 200 feet in front of my balcony. That was pretty sweet. I would have loved to have studied storms for a living.

This brings me to my my greatest passion...hockey. UND hockey specifically. That is where it all started and that is where my hockey heart will always lie. I mean, the NHL is great, and Vegas is great and I love watching the games, and them winning the Cup last year was so very cool, especially since I was able to fully enjoy it, but UND hockey has always been and will always be my greatest passion. The season started tonight with an exhibition game against Manitoba, and, gosh, it was a great game. 10-0 final. Shots were something like 59-6. Granted, Manitoba is not a great team, but you still have to go out and make the plays in those games and the boys did that in spades. Jackson Blake, good lord, that guy is talented. Carolina Hurricanes fans, he might be a good one for you in a couple of years. Jayden Perron looked really good, especially for a freshmen in his first college game, again, looking at you Hurricanes fans. They came out fast and quick and never let up off the gas, which was nice to see as they have had a tendency in the past to start slow, and then ease up in those games, leading to some bad habits. I am trying to temper my excitement though as, again, just an exhibition game and the coming weeks will give us a much clearer vision of what this team is as we face some tough competition coming up. #3 Minnesota and then #1 Boston on their home ice. By the time conference play rolls around this team will be battle tested and we should know a lot more of where they truly are, but for tonight, I am going to be excited.

The message being, we all need passions in our life, things that make us truly happy and allow us to escape life for a while and just enjoy being alive. No stress. No anxiety. Just simply being in the moment and happy.

[davidpastrsnack]

three times brady stayed quiet, one time he didn’t - brady tkachuk

a/n: i have such a soft spot for brady and this is the result. some really soft friends to lovers, but i also left the possibility for a smuttier part 2 if you guys are interested. i hope you enjoy (especially my fellow brady girls) and please let me know what you think!

word count: 5618

one 

After just barely getting through your final assignments of the last grueling week of school, it was finally time for the best part of the year: summer with the Tkachuks. Your dad grew up with Keith outside of Boston, the two maintaining a close relationship despite the distance that kept them apart for so long. For as long as you could remember, you and your siblings had spent the majority of the summer months with them, either on the lakes of Missouri or the oceans of Cape Cod. 

The busy hum of voices and speakers was all you heard, your tired body dragging through the airport, iced coffee in hand hoping it would give you even just another ounce of energy. You finally reached your gate, sitting down on the cool leather seat to wait for your boarding call. 

Your siblings were already in St. Louis, having finished school before you, and you were the last one to arrive before the commencing weekend of the summer. You knew you were in for a wild ride if the Snapchat stories of your older brother and Matthew getting up to no good were any indication.  

Just as you adjusted your headphones and felt your eyelids flutter shut, your phone buzzed, pulling you from your daze. 

Brady: I got held up here for another day, but should be there tomorrow

Brady: Don’t miss me too much 

You rolled your eyes at the screen, laughing as you saw his words and your brain automatically translated them into his voice. You considered all of the Tkachuks to be like family,  but Brady was different, he always had been. Since day one he was constantly looking out for you, even more so than Matthew and your brother. He always had an eye on you, that eye becoming more and more threatening to everyone else as he grew into his now 6’4”, 200lbs frame. 

Don’t worry, I’ll have Matthew to keep me company :)

You smiled as you typed out your response, throwing back exactly what he had dished out. You couldn’t deny that your relationship had become more flirtatious over the recent years, but you always assumed it was just the teasing nature of the Tkachuk household. If he was going to chirp you, you were going to chirp right back. But the banter had always flowed seamlessly, both of you knowing the other so well. You weren’t always clear on the motivation behind some of his comments, but it didn’t hurt to have a little fun with him. 

You finally boarded the plane, your flight not taking long before you were stepping out in the thick Missouri air. To say you were exhausted was an understatement, your eyes barely staying open as you searched for the black Audi you knew would be arriving any minutes. Just a few moments later you saw the luxury sedan turn the corner, a brown mop of curls sitting behind the wheel. 

“There she is,” Matthew yelled, pulling you in for a hug after stepping out of the front seat. 

“Hi Matthew,” you hummed, “Thanks for getting me.”

“Of course, Y/N, anything for my future sister-in-law,” he teased, that cocky smirk on full display while he grabbed your suitcase. 

You didn’t even acknowledge his comment, moving right along to get in the car and ask him how his season was. You were far from a stranger to his jokes, but you were not in the mood today and he seemed to pick up on it. So he gave it up for the ride, instead catching up on how you were doing otherwise since he had last seen you. All jokes aside, Matthew truly cared for you like family, especially considering he was dead serious about you eventually being his sister-in-law. 

After stopping for food on the way, you finally arrived at the house, Matthew pulling into the lit driveway as you took off your seatbelt. Chantal was waiting by the front door, immediately giving you a tight hug when you walked in. She was basically your second mother, always taking care of you as if you were one of her own. 

“Y/N! How are you, sweetie?” she exclaimed, urging you to follow her into the kitchen. 

“I’m good,” you responded while sitting down at the counter next to Matthew. 

“She’s exhausted mom,” Matthew deadpanned before you could continue. 

You rolled your eyes at his words, a smile growing on your lips as you quickly fell back into the comfort of this home. 

“I’m okay, really,” you assured Chantal. 

“Oh honey, come on,” she grabbed your backpack and gestured for you to follow her upstairs. “All of the guestrooms are full right now with Matthew’s friends but they’re leaving tonight. Just go ahead into Brady’s room, I’m sure he told you he’s still in Ottawa until tomorrow.”

You nodded, “Yeah, he did.”

She led you down the hall, as if you didn’t know exactly where you were going, and opened the door to his room. The same hockey memorabilia was scattered across the walls and the closet was slightly open, the clothes he left here during the season poking out. 

“Just relax in here, sweetie. The sheets are clean and there are towels in the bathroom. I’ll check in with you in a little bit, okay?”

“Thank you so much,” you smiled, pulling her in for another hug before she headed back downstairs.  

No matter how much time you had spent in this room, something about being in there without Brady felt wrong. But the exhaustion of the travel day and the past week didn’t let you think about it too much, instead telling you to go take a shower and change into fresh clothes. You didn’t mean for it to happen, but the second you laid across the bed you were down for the count. 

-----

When Brady opened his door after arriving home the next morning, his jaw nearly hit the floor. Chantal told him that you were in there, but there was no preparing himself for the sight in front of him. You were still fast asleep, but the covers were mostly thrown off your body. He smiled to himself as he remembered that you always get too hot while you sleep. The oversized t-shirt you were wearing was bunched at your waist, your tiny sleep shorts riding up your hips giving him the perfect view of your ass. Your head was nuzzled into his pillow, your hands resting in front of you as if you should be holding someone and your lips pouted as you slept. He had seen you asleep countless times before, but something about you being in his bed waiting for him like this was taking his breath away today. He thought about what it would be like if things were different. He could slide under the covers behind you, slip his rough hands around the soft skin of your waist, kiss your collarbone and neck as you giggled in his grasp, moving one of his hands lower and lower until-

“Fuck,” he mumbled, losing grip of his phone as he was distracted by his awe of you, the metal slipping out of his hand and falling against the hardwood floor. He scrambled to grab it without dropping his bags or waking you up. But it was too late, your sleeping frame stirred at the sudden noise, lifting your head to see what it was. 

“Brady?” you questioned, your voice laced with sleep and your eyes squinting as they adjusted to the morning light pouring through the windows. 

“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry I just- mom told me you were in here,” he spoke, afraid it looked like he had just been staring at you, which of course he had been. 

“Don’t be sorry Brades, it’s your room,” you laughed as you sat up, adjusting your shirt when you realized how exposed you were. 

He laughed too, trying to shake off whatever awkwardness had infected him this morning and not let his eyes trail down your frame. 

“Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to come give me a hug?” you grinned. 

Brady shook his head smiling as he made his way towards you, sitting on the edge of the mattress and pulling you in. His body relaxed as you wrapped yourself around him, your touch and scent overwhelming his senses. 

You could feel the tension leaving his shoulders as your hands traced the curls at the base of his neck, “You okay?” you whispered. 

He pulled back at your words, piercing blue eyes meeting yours. “I’m fine,” he paused, wondering if he should come clean about everything right now. But he decided it wasn’t worth freaking you out on day one of the summer, “I just missed you, that’s all.”

A soft smile crept on your lips, hearing him say that he missed you as much as you missed him warming your heart. 

“Come on, I’m hungry,” you said as you grabbed his hand, a playful scoff leaving his mouth as he trailed behind you towards the stairs, the energy between the two of you starting to return to normal. 

two

After everyone had finally arrived and settled in, it was time for the first house party of the season. The mere thought of this moment had given you the motivation to finish your exams, so it went without saying that you could not be more excited. Keith and Chantal were out of town for the weekend, putting Matthew in charge of making sure everyone stayed safe. You were finishing getting ready in one of the guest rooms, which you had almost moved into for the summer after the one night in Brady’s. You went for a simple outfit, a white top with jeans and sneakers before heading downstairs to join the growing crowd. 

You were surrounded by faces as soon as you made your way down, some familiar and some not. Your eyes scanned the room for your friends, knowing your close friend Emily had already arrived. You finally found her standing in one of the corners and you turned to go meet them. 

“Long time no see,” you beamed when you arrived at their circle, the girls jumping to hug you as they saw you for the first time since last August. It was great to catch up with everyone, but you quickly realized that you forgot to get a drink. 

“Em, I’m gonna go grab a drink,” you spoke to which she nodded. 

“I’ll come with,” she urged, reaching for your hand as you both walked towards the kitchen. 

“So you look hot tonight,” she grinned, speaking in your ear so you could hear over the music. “I bet he finally makes his move later.”

“Who?” you challenged, but she didn’t need to say another word for you to know who she was talking about. 

“Y/N, please just save it,” Emily rolled her eyes, “Look, he’s already drooling over you,” she gestured towards where Brady was sitting around a table with Matthew and some of their old friends from hockey. She was right, he was looking right at you, waving when you made eye contact. You gave a small wave back before quickly turning your body away from him to face Emily. 

“He always watches me at parties,” you reasoned. 

“Yeah, because he’s in love with you,” she scoffed, pouring two drinks into red solo cups. 

“Because he’s a good guy, Emily,” you rebutted before taking a far too large sip of whatever she made. 

Meanwhile, across the room, Brady was facing the same kind of comments from his friends. As soon as he saw you cross the room with Emily he couldn’t peel his eyes away. You were practically glowing, your smile wide as the stress from the school year finally seemed to disappear from your mind. 

“Really Tkachuk?” he heard from next to him, his head snapping away from you to look at the voice. 

“What?” he questioned, his challenge laced with attitude. 

“Y/N? Still?” his friend Jack responded. 

Brady just shook his head in annoyance. He didn’t have the energy for this conversation tonight. 

“As long as the sky is blue, Brady will be falling at the feet of Y/N,” Matthew chimed in, a smirk gracing his lips as he hid behind his solo cup. 

Brady maintained his silence, hoping they would get bored and move on, but not so fast. 

“So you aren’t hitting it?”

He thought he was mad before, but nothing compared to the pure anger Brady felt at this comment. It was Nick, a kid he had never liked through all the years they played together in St. Louis. He was fuming, Matthew swore he could see smoke coming out of his ears as he waited for his brother's response, getting ready to step in if necessary. 

“Are you fucking kidding me, Nick?” Brady started, turning his body towards him and sitting up straight. “Am I hitting it? You’re talking about my childhood best friend, show some fucking respect.”

Nick looked stunned, his eyes wide as Brady glared at him. “Dude, I-,”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, moving to stand up so he towered over him. “You wanna know why no girl will ever come within ten feet of you? It’s because of shit like this, Nick. You’re a complete asshole and you don’t deserve a thing from any woman,” he scolded. 

By this point, Brady had drawn the attention of many, nearly all of the guests staring at the commotion, including you. 

Your face dropped as you saw him yelling, concern written all over your face as your brows furrowed in his direction. He finally seemed to calm down, his eyes looking defeated as they locked with yours. With one more look at Nick, he shook his head in disgust before walking towards the back of the house, the door slamming shut behind him. 

The room was nearly silent, everyone looking at each other to see if they knew what just happened. 

“Everything’s fine guys,” Matthew urged, the party resuming at his words. Your eyes met his and before you could even make it over to ask what that was he was gesturing towards the door for you to follow Brady. 

You nodded, discarding your drink on the counter and rushing to him. You slowly opened the backdoor, searching for his blond curls. You quickly found him alone on the patio, sitting on the outdoor couch with his head thrown back against the cushion, and his eyes closed. 

“Brady?” you whispered.

His eyes shot open at your voice, “Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath. Even though he knew it was impossible, part of him was hoping you didn’t see that. 

You didn’t say anything but rather moved towards him, stepping over his legs so you could sit next to him. He stayed silent, just swinging his arm around your shoulders and tugging you into his frame. You sighed as your head rested against his chest, waiting for him to talk when he was ready. 

After almost ten minutes, Brady finally spoke, “Nick is an asshole,” he muttered. 

You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle at his words, lifting your head to look at him, but he was still staring straight ahead. He didn’t know if he could keep it together if his eyes met yours. 

“Brady,” you muttered, “What happened?”

“He just said something I didn’t like.”

“Come on, Brades,” you pleaded, hoping he would finally give in and tell you what happened. 

But instead, he shook his head, “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” he snapped, instantly regretting his reaction when he felt your body flinch at his tone. He sighed, letting out a breath it felt like he had been holding for hours, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just-”

“It’s okay,” you whispered. You had no idea what was going on with him, but regardless, it was clear that he needed you. You laid your head back down on his shoulder, smiling to yourself as you felt him press a kiss to the top of your hair. 

three 

It had felt like forever since you had been on a proper date, the college lifestyle not always being conducive to it. But now here you were, getting ready to go out to dinner with the guy next door, Tommy. The two of you had been friendly for years, getting to know him more and more with each summer you spent with the Tkachuks. You definitely were surprised when he asked you out, but you didn’t see the harm in taking him up on his offer. 

And to be completely honest, part of you was getting frustrated at your situation with Brady. It was a cycle that started over each summer. You entered June denying that there was even a hint of anything more than friendship, but by July you were sucked right back under his spell, until August came and you were ripped apart from each other yet again. Clearly nothing was different about this year, so it was time you tried to move on and enjoy your summer in, well, other ways. 

You slipped into a dress, casual but still cute, and tied your white sneakers. You walked over to your window to see both Matthew and Brady’s cars sitting in the driveway. Great, you thought. This would be much more painless if they weren’t home, but of course, the world was not on your side. You did one last hair and makeup check before grabbing your bag and heading down the stairs, feigning total confidence as you grew closer to the boys. 

They were laying across the couch playing video games, both of their eyes darting straight to you as you tried to sneak out the front door. 

“It’s rude not to say goodbye,” you heard Matthew yell from behind you. 

“Fuck,” you silently mouthed, turning to move into the living room where they sat. 

“Sorry, I didn’t see you guys there!” you lied through your teeth. 

Matthew’s face scrunched up at your excuse, knowing there was no possible way you didn’t see them. 

“Where are you going?” Brady asked, his voice much softer than his brothers, almost like he knew what he was about to hear. 

“Um, I’m going to dinner with Tommy,” you said, trailing off at the end as the awkwardness set in the room. 

No matter how much you tried to deny it, you saw the way Brady’s face fell at your words. The guilt suddenly hit you like a truck, but then again it wasn’t like he was doing anything to change the status of your relationship. 

“Tommy?” Matthew questioned, his brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Yeah,” you stalled, “I don’t know, he asked me and I said yes.”

“Interesting,” he muttered, looking at his younger brother who was pretending to be enthralled in the game. 

“Alright well, I’ll see you guys later,” you said, standing as you waited for Brady’s response, but it never came. 

Matthew sensed the obvious tension, doing whatever he could to break it, “Have fun Y/N, but not too much,” he teased. 

You rolled your eyes, finally moving to open the door, not at all minding that it slammed behind you. 

As soon as you were out the door, Matthew pulled the controller out of Brady’s hand. He couldn’t watch this anymore. 

“What the fuck, Matt?” he shouted, his emotions high after watching you leave. 

“No, I should be asking you that,” he threw back. “What the fuck are you two doing?”

Brady sighed, running his hands over his face before holding his heavy head in his palms. He didn’t know what he was doing. For so many years he was terrified of telling you how he felt. If you didn’t reciprocate his feelings, he didn’t know if your friendship could ever recover and he was not taking that risk. But this year it was all too much, you were perfect for each other and everyone around you knew it too. How could he blame you for trying to find someone else when he couldn’t even muster up the courage to tell you the truth?

“I don’t know, Matt,” he started, his words muffled by his hands, tears prickling the back of his eyes. 

Despite teasing him about you for so long, Matthew’s heart broke as he saw his brother in so much distress over this. 

“Just tell her. I promise you it will work out,” he encouraged, placing a comforting hand on Brady’s shoulder. “Anyone with eyes can tell that you two are made for each other. It’s gross, actually.”

Brady let out a laugh at Matthew’s chirp, finally picking his head up, “But now I have Tommy to worry about.”

Matthew scoffed, laughing as he spoke, “Yeah, because Y/N really seems like the type to throw away her entire relationship with you over one date with Tommy, of all people.”

-----

Your night was going well, but you just couldn’t shake the look on Brady’s face from your mind; he was hurt. 

Tommy was sweet, making you laugh throughout dinner, but you knew you had no intention of seeing him, like this, again. After leaving the restaurant, he suggested you got ice cream and walked around the city, to which you agreed. You felt bad for leading him on, but part of you was dreading arriving back to the house. You were sitting on a bench taking in the view of the city and talking about plans for the year when you felt him shift his body closer to yours. His intentions were clear, and your heart dropped at the realization that you were going to have to let him down much earlier than anticipated. 

Just as you were trying to find the right words to tell him, he placed his hand high on your thigh and he leaned in to kiss you. You immediately flinched, pulling your face far away from his.

“Tommy, I- I’m sorry,” you whispered. 

A dark chuckle came out of his mouth and you could feel the energy change, the air growing thick with tension. 

“Seriously?”

His much larger frame than yours suddenly became quite intimidating as he leaned over you, clearly not taking the rejection well. 

“I’m sorry,” you continued, “I just don’t think this is going to happen.”

“Unbelievable,” he shook his head at you, your body pushing back into the bench in an attempt to get as far away from him as possible. “This is about Tkachuk, isn’t it? I should have known you would only be interested in the fame and money,” he mumbled with another laugh. 

His words slapped you across the face, your eyes burning as you felt the tears try to push their way out. In all the years you had known him, you never had the slightest idea that Tommy had such a cruel side to him. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” you rebutted, “Get away from me, Tommy.”

“No problem, darling,” he smiled, standing up and walking away, leaving you stranded on the street downtown. 

Your head fell into your hands, the cold evening breeze riding under your dress. Your mind instantly started listing all the reasons why this was your fault, but deep down you knew it wasn’t. After sitting there in defeat for a few moments, you finally pulled out your phone, dialing the only number that ever mattered. 

It seemed like hours later when you finally saw the black SUV pull up on the street in front of you. Before you could even stand up, Brady was running out of the car towards you. Your emotions got the best of you once he was by your side, your body collapsing into his as the tears fell. 

“What the hell did he do?” he questioned while rocking you back and forth in his arms. 

You couldn’t find the words to answer. 

“Y/N, you’re freezing,” he spoke as he felt your cool skin against his, “Come on,” he urged, grasping your hand to guide you to the car. 

Once you were inside the warm car, he reached into the back seat to find a sweatshirt, handing you the soft material. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, scared your voice would betray you as you slipped the fabric over your head, the scent of his cologne comforting you right away. 

“I’m gonna kill him,” Brady hissed, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. 

“No, you’re not Brady,” you warned, “I had a good night until I didn’t. We just had different ideas of how it was going to end,” you scoffed, a sarcastic laugh slipping through your lips. 

Brady shook his head, pausing to glance over at you while he was stopped at a light. You were resting against the cool glass, his sweatshirt pooling around your hips, the fabric of your dress peeking from beneath it. The light finally turned, your face now illuminated in green and he only had one thought. 

He would never treat you like that. 

plus one

Despite his conversation with Matthew, Brady still had yet to say anything to you. You assured him time after time that you were okay after Tommy, but he didn’t want his confession to seem reactionary. You deserved more than that. 

The plan tonight was for everyone to go out to one of the hotspots in town, but you weren’t feeling it. Everything that happened the night before had you even more consumed with your thoughts about Brady, and you needed a night of just nothing. The voices from downstairs carried while the boys were getting ready to leave, their laughter making you smile as you walked into the kitchen. They were so wound up all year long and it was refreshing to see them truly relaxing. 

You drew their attention right away as you entered the room, their brows furrowed in confusion as they took in the sweats you were wearing. 

“Y/N!” one of them howled, “We’re going soon, hurry up!”

You laughed as you turned to face him, the voice belonging to Jack. 

“I’m not going Jack,” you explained, opening the fridge to look for something to satisfy your late-night craving. 

“But you have to come, you’re so fun,” he whined. 

“I promise I won’t be that fun tonight. Just go enjoy yourselves, I’ll be here waiting to make sure you all get back in the house alive,” you jested. 

“I’ll stay,” you heard from behind you. You didn’t even have to look to know who it was. 

You finally rotated your body, meeting his gaze right away. He looked good. His black jeans hugged his thighs perfect, the matching black t-shirt fitting around his biceps like a glove. He towered over your, those bright blue eyes piercing into yours. He was close enough for you to take in his cologne, the scent immediately clouding your senses. 

“I’m fine, Brady,” you reasoned, shaking yourself out of your daze, “Seriously, go.”

He didn’t speak right away, instead he gave you a knowing look. You gave him the same look right back, challenging him to go against you. 

“Matt,” he called, not breaking eye contact, “I’m gonna stay.”

You rolled your eyes at his stubbornness but you were just thankful that you had a reason to look away, praying that the heat you were feeling hadn’t made its way onto your cheeks. 

“Alright,” Matthew responded, not even bothering to question the two of you at this point. 

The boys flooded the front door, all yelling goodbye before they piled into the Ubers waiting outside. A heavy silence fell over the house, your body leaning against the kitchen counter as you waited for Brady to say something. 

“I’m just gonna change,” he spoke, gesturing to the staircase. “Put a movie on, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Just a few minutes later he returned, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. You were laying across the couch, the movie already playing as he sat down next to you. 

“Cold?” he asked, already knowing that you were by the way you wrapped your arms around your middle. 

“A little,” you mumbled, smiling as he covered the two of you in a blanket, squeezing your frame as he pulled it closer to his own. 

You stayed like that for a while, your body resting nearly completely on top of his, your leg swung over his lap and your head nuzzled into his chest. Any tension that was there before seemed to have disappeared, both of you returning to your normal states. 

But just seconds later, the screen flashed to a bedroom, the two main characters in the middle of what could be referred to only as a passionate, graphic sex scene. You immediately felt Brady tense beneath you, your cheeks flushing bright red at his response. It took everything within you not to react in any other way, but it felt like your entire body was on fire, begging to be touched. The sounds of the woman’s moans echoed off the walls, her face contorting in pleasure as the man continued. There was no denying that the image triggered a throbbing pressure between your legs, your brain fighting your body’s instinct to grind against his thigh. 

Brady’s stomach dropped when he processed what was happening, the woman undressing on the screen making his mind wander to doing the same thing with you. He wanted to touch you like that, he wanted to make you scream his name like that, make you fall apart like that because no one knew you as well as he did. But his imagination was far too vivid, and he internally cursed himself as he felt his pants become tighter and tighter. 

This has to be the longest sex scene in the history of all film, you thought to yourself as it continued, seemingly never-ending. Your hand was growing sore from its position under your head, so you gently shifted your body in hopes of getting more comfortable, but what you got was something else entirely. 

Your breath hitched when you felt it, unable to disguise your reaction. You were situated over his lap, your lower thigh brushing against his crotch and you could feel just how hard he had become beneath you. You froze, not knowing what to do or say, if anything at all. 

“Y/N,” he whispered, preparing to apologize, afraid he had made you so uncomfortable that he couldn’t recover. 

You knew he was beyond embarrassed, but something inside you had been ignited and you couldn’t ignore it any longer. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you swung your hips over his, moving to straddle him while you grabbed his face, pulling it to yours. He tensed again in pure shock, but it didn’t take long for him to relax against you, his hands circling your waist as he pushed you back down into his lap. Your lips moved together in perfect synchrony, a small whimper slipping out from your mouth as he bit your bottom lip between his teeth. He groaned into you at the sound, his hands sliding lower so he could grind you into his length, in desperate need of hearing you more. You had one hand tugging at the nape of his neck, the blond curls feeling like silk between your fingers, while the other slipped underneath his shirt, running your cool fingertips across his flexing abs. 

You were both so lost in the moment, ready to rip each other's clothes off at any second when Brady finally pulled back. 

“Wait,” he gasped, running his large hands across your thighs as he gathered his thoughts. 

Your breathing was labored, trying to catch your breath as you took in the sight below you. His lips were pink and swollen, his cheeks had a bright red tinge, and his blues eyes were staring at you in awe. 

“What?” you questioned, insecurity suddenly flooding your mind, your body separating from his as you leaned away. 

“No no no,” he cooed, urging you to come back close to him. You obliged, your eyes scanning his face in hopes of deciphering what he was thinking. 

“I just- if we’re going to do this,” he gestured between your bodies, “We have to do... this,” he whispered as he looked up at you, what he meant perfectly clear to you. “I want you, but I want all of you.” 

You smiled at his words, the anxiety washing off his face as he saw your reaction. 

“Brady, I have wanted this for longer than I can even remember,” you beamed, your hands cupping his cheeks, thumbing running over the soft skin. “I want all of you, too.”

“Yeah?” he grinned.

“Yeah,” you laughed. 

He pulled you back down to meet his lips, your teeth clashing as you both smiled into the kiss. 

“Well then,” he smirked, “If you don’t mind, I’m taking you upstairs.”

He wrapped his palms around your thighs, holding you as he stood up. You shrieked at the sudden movement, laughing as your legs circled his waist. He held you impossibly close to his body, terrified to let you go now that he had you.

“Please, Brady,” you whined against his skin, “Take me upstairs.” 

“Fuck,” he breathed out. 

That was all he needed to hear to rush up to his room, more than ready to show you exactly how much he had loved you since day one. 

part two here

[nitannichionne]

Chi to Cali, Chapter 12: On Board (Henry Cavill Fan Fic)

CAV POV

"Leaving Galesberg," the announcer said. "Next stop, Fort Madison."

I waited for eternity for her to answer. For a minute I thought she was going to say no. I was surprised she even pulled down the top bunk. Just as she sat I got up and made sure the door was locked, the curtain was secured and then drew the curtains on the outside window. I looked at her. She was nervous. And surprise, she was making me a little nervous. Had I read her wrong, here?

"Why don't you move next to the wall?" I saw that she wondered why. "Sorry, it's just if something happens I want to be able to move."

"To protect me?" She asked.

"Well, yes." I shrugged. I watched her expression soften.  "I doubt that will happen here, but erring to the side of caution."

"Me, too," she nodded. "St. Louis is a long stop, and it's kind of late at night. That would be the perfect time for them to hit the train or get on to try to find us--"

"If they figured out what train we took at all," I finished her thought. "But we'll be off by then."

She smiled. "So...you're safe now."

"We're safe." I corrected. "And we've still got miles to go." My eyes fell to her breasts. Even through the tank and hoodie, I could see her nipples. I noticed them in the cab, and chastised myself for checking them every now and again. But they were there, unchanging and nagging my curiosity.... "Are you cold?"

She rolled her eyes. "No..." She glanced down at them herself. "Contrary to what you see, no. I'm...just like that."

I crawled onto the bed and she turned on her side. She set her head on my chest and sighed, her hand resting on my other pec as if to feel my heartbeat. My arm went around her, underneath and encircling her, my other hand covering her hand on my chest. I kissed it and set it back where it was.

She snuggled closer, as if using her head to form that perfect resting place. Her eyes were closed. We both took a breath, and I hoped she liked my aftershave and such. I inhaled milk and honey, even in her hair. She nuzzled my neck gently, and I could have sworn she was smelling me. She was about the senses, all of them, I realized. I kissed her forehead, then her temple. I brushed my lips over her eyebrow, nuzzled her cheek. I gently nudged her head up, and I brushed her lips. We both had a quick intake of breath before we finally connected.

I pulled her closer to me, and part of her body was on top of mine as I brought her leg over me, nibbling and kissing her lips as she did the same. This was nice and slow, and I got the feeling it needed to be. We'd known each other for almost two days, and I instinctively knew she wasn't a party girl or the type I could nod my thanks to in the morning with each of us smiling at new bed post notches and memories. No, she was real and tender and...

I felt her body align with mine, arching to me with a sweet high pitched half moan, half sigh.

Vulnerable.

Even as I tasted honey on her lips, which was a pleasant surprise, and as I rubbed my cheek against hers to find her ear and jawline to nibble on(which made her gasp), I wondered if this was right. It felt good and right, and truthfully, I liked her. She was a "ride or die," as I remember some of the guys on my favorite football team liked to say about people. But that meant she deserved "ride or die" people. Was I a "ride or die?"

I arched my neck instinctively as she began nibbling on my ear and down to my neck. Oh, think, Henry. Your thoughts are going out the window, man... I turned to her and began grinding my hips slowly as she licked and lightly bit that soft skin between my ear and jawline. I raked her back and her hips moved right into mine, a really nice fit even in clothes, as she began to move right with me. I  pushed down the strap on her tank top and started kissing my way down. I wanted no clothes, I realized as soon as I felt how soft she was, felt the heat coming off her. I wanted that heat all around me, I thought as my mouth kissed the valley between her breasts and found one to taste, then the other when she began to arch. The tips softened under the heat of my mouth, and she whimpered softly as if they ached. They probably did. I wanted the scent of milk and honey and...almonds...all around me...and her body seemed to beg to be kissed over and over...

I brought my hand between her legs and she gasped as I caressed her. Her head fell back and her hands caught my forearm. She didn't pull away, nor did she push my hand. Her fingertips dug into me, and now, I felt what I suspected: heat...after a time, I reached into her waistband and pushed two fingers inside her making her gasp then moan, moving in time with me. Her hand trailed to the growing bulge in my hands, her fingers forming a "v" as she stroked me. I wanted her to touch me, skin to skin, wanting more. As I felt her, watched her with her eyes closed and biting her bottom lip, my imagination's floodgate opened. At this point I knew a few things: One, she was passionate. Two, she wanted me. Three, I definitely wanted her. Four: I wanted time-hours with her in bed on something better-so Kansas City, it would be. "It's alright, love, let go...it's alright, breathe." I whispered. I sensed a climax coming and kissed her, feeling her moans vibrate in my mouth as her arm went round me and her fingertips dug into and raked my back. Worth the wait, any wait, I told myself.

"That was Galesberg," the announcer said. "Next stop, Fort Madison."

I slowly pulled my hand away from her trembling form, and kissed her tenderly until she finally sighed and relaxed. When I pulled away, I saw her eyes slightly open, her long lashes  almost  completely hooding her eyes altogether. I kissed her nose.  "We should wait."

"Yeah." She said so softly I barely heard it.

"Hungry?" I asked softly, but I was looking at her lips. I wanted to kiss her again, but I suddenly wanted a whole meal rather than a taste.

"Okay," she agreed with a small nod, her eyes lowering shyly. She looked up at me, and I felt that wave of want I was trying to control until we were under better circumstances.

"I'll clean up." I said, searching her eyes for something, anything. She was hard to read. That made me uneasy. Maybe it wouldn't be Kansas City. Maybe it would be Los Angeles. Maybe...I mustered a smile and kissed her forehead, her cheek. Why I couldn't just say I liked her I didn't know. Maybe she was feeling vulnerable, I thought as I went into the lavatory.

She went in after I came out. I sat on the bed, looking at the world go by. I got a text telling me that we should get off in LaPlata, Missouri. When she came out, I offered my hand and she took it. I surprised her by pulling her across me and between my legs. She giggled as we got settled this way, and I hugged her from behind as she put her head on my shoulder so we could share the view.  

"Change of plans," I told her. She looked up. "LaPlata, Missouri?"

"Oh, okay." She sighed, staring out the window. "I like trains best."

"Why?"

"Because you aren't here or there.  You're in limbo, you know, and for a time there's no hats to wear, no racing, you just get to breathe...be yourself."

I sat there for a moment, and I took a deep breath. We were running from someone. We were running to someone. Rand was going to kill me for ditching him at the airport. His one word texts to me were evidence of that. We were on our way to somewhere we needed to be. And yet, I was completely relaxed. No image to uphold, not even photographers or fans, and the lady with me, whom I fought for and defended, who answered my call, was a true ally, wanted me to relax and just be me. My arms tightened around her as we watched Heartland USA go by, meadows and forests, farms and lakes, bright skies turning to predusk. I was in the now and I liked it. "Yeah."

[thegoodgayshit]

Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Twenty-Four: We Help Out Willow’s Big Brother

Luz’s legs were burning.

She was pretty sure she’d never had to walk this far in her entire life. She’d been hiking a couple of times with her Tia Rosa when she was younger, but she definitely hadn’t enjoyed it. And it definitely hadn’t been more than an hour.

The walk down the highway hadn’t been that bad. They’d stayed off to the side of the road, and even been picked up by a nice mom in a minivan at one point. They’d told her that Gus’ dad had a fishing house along Turquoise Lake, and she’d dropped them off right at the edge of the highway. That had probably cut them about an hour of walking, but it was still slow and brutal.

Eventually, the highway had ended and a dirt road took its place. That’s when they started to move uphill. Luz could handle the straight line, but she was wearing vans and wasn’t at all interested in uphill climbing in flat shoes.

After about an hour and a half of moving along this uphill climb, Luz doubled over, clutching her stomach.

“Can we take a quick break? I’m dying here.”

Willow was more than happy to agree with Luz, dropping into a squat right next to her. “Sure, I’m beat.”

“I don’t know guys,” Amity said with a frown. Somehow, throughout the entire hike, she didn’t look even the slightest bit tired. She was sweating a little along her brow but otherwise looked unfazed. “We shouldn’t stop here. We’re exposed.”

“Don’t you guys think it’s a little strange we haven’t run into a single monster?” Gus added. He also looked a little worse for wear, he had shed his button-up and was now just in a t-shirt and jeans. But he was worrying his lower lip, looking around like they would be ambushed at any second. “I mean, we’re four demigods walking in a group, closing in on Mount Pelion. We couldn’t be bigger targets if we tried.”

“Don’t jinx us,” Willow deadpanned, taking a huge swig of water from one of the bottles they’d bought in Leadville. “I really don’t have the energy to fight a monster right now. We’ve been hiking for two and a half hours.”

“If we’re going to take a break, I think we should at least do it in the trees and out of sight,” Amity suggested, and Luz nodded, straightening back up.

“That’s fine with me, any break is a good break.”

They walked off the dirt road and down a little trail until they ended up a creek. Finding a good spot to sit along some rocks, Willow handed everybody a protein bar. Luz collapsed pretty ungracefully along a rock and closed her eyes.

“This is brutal,” she groaned, “and it’s only going to get more intense the higher up we get.”

“It depends actually,” Amity added with a shrug. “We might have to make our way around the mountain in a spiral. Lots of trails don’t go straight up.”

“How do you know all that?” Willow asks, and Amity tucks her arms around her knees.

“I live in the area, remember? My siblings and I go on hikes all the time during the school year.”

“So do you know the trail up Mt. Elbert?” Gus asks, and Amity shakes her head.

“No, we’re not allowed to go near Mount Pelion. I’ve done Mt. Evans a couple of times though.”

“Well that explains how you’re like, not even out of breath at all,” Luz says with a teasing smile. “You’ve got some superhuman hiking strength.”

Amity blushes, rubbing the back of her neck. “It just takes practice. Eventually, you stop noticing the burn in your calves.”

“Ugh, I wish,” Gus groans. “Mine feel like I’ve just run a marathon.

“Do you think we’re going to make it up the mountain before dark?” Willow asks, and Amity immediately shakes her head.

“We shouldn’t, even if we are in a hurry. The higher we get, the more brutal the winds are going to be. It’s just after noon, so we should hike a little longer before we take a break and look for camp.”

“Ok, then let’s get moving,” Luz said, and when she stood up, every muscle in her legs protested. “The sooner we get there the sooner we can stop.”

They started to make their way back to the dirt road, walking in pairs. Amity was leading the charge with Gus next to her, and Luz and Willow hung back, their feet dragging a little more than they would have cared to admit.

They were almost back at the dirt trail when Amity suddenly stopped cold, and Luz wasn’t really paying attention, so she just slammed into her back. Amity stumbled, but Luz reached forward and caught her arm, pulling her back.

“Sorry,” Luz mumbled, but Amity just held up her hand. It was so unlike Amity that Luz quieted immediately, as did Willow and Gus, who were now looking around the clearing with nervous eyes.

“Did you hear that?” Amity whispered, stiffening up.

Luz was quiet, listening to her surroundings as her friends did the same. At first, there was nothing. Just the rush of the creek and the swaying of the trees. But then…

RHEEEEEEEEE!

Luz was so startled by the cry, she jumped right back into Willow, who held her shoulders and kept her steady. Gus and Amity called out their shields, holding a protective barrier in front of them, but it wasn’t needed. The cry had come from somewhere deeper in the trees, and following that right away was another cry, this one human.

A very angry human, cussing so badly her Mami would have washed their mouth out with soap.

Then, another cry from whatever had made that noise.

“Someone’s in trouble!” Willow exclaimed, and all four demigods summoned their weapons. Aletheia spun into a sword, and Luz caught it, and charged through the forest with her friends, her previous exhaustion forgotten.

“What kind of monster is that?” Luz cried out as they sprinted through the trees. There was no doubt it was something from their world. No bear or wolf made a noise like that.

“I have a couple of ideas!” Gus offered, doing his best to keep up and not trip on the rocky ground. “None of them good!”

“Sounds about right,” Luz groaned, before deciding to just focus on running.

Amity eventually skidded to a complete stop right as they broke through a clearing in the trees, and Luz stopped a lot more dramatically next to her, her dominant foot slipping and resulting in Aletheia being held up against her face protectively. When Luz looked past Amity’s shoulder at what was making the sound, she gawked.

In the middle of the clearing, there was a gorgeous white and blue farmhouse, with a huge porch. Luz could make out a clothesline hanging from the top of the porch, and a couple of wicker sitting chairs. There was a variety of hanging plants in the garden, and a huge wreath over the door. And the clearing? It was huge.

In fact, the clearing wasn’t a clearing at all. It was more like a twenty-acre farmers' field, just sitting off the dirt road in mountain country. Luscious green vegetables were growing in the fields, along with potatoes, corn, beans, an orchid of apples, and there was even a gods forsaken red barn smack in the center of it with a couple of animals milling about. The enough was enough to shock Luz since she was pretty sure the soil quality up here couldn’t be great. They looked like they could be in Missouri, not Colorado.

But the biggest shock wasn’t the farm. It was the farmer standing just away from the front porch. The farmer’s huge hands were clasping a boar by the tusks, stopping it from charging. He grunted with effort, gritting his teeth and digging his boots in the dirt, his muscles rippling under a green flannel button up.

Luz had never seen a boar before, but she was pretty sure they were supposed to be that big. It was easily the size of a sedan, with massive beady eyes, and it was doing everything in its power to push against the farmer. It’s feet stamped into the ground furiously as it pushed, and Luz saw the farmer tense as he was pushed back an inch in the dirt, and all the shock drained from her body.

“We have to help him!”

Luz charged forward, her friends at her heels. She approached the boar with a furious yell, and with a quick swing, she managed to take the boar by surprise and cut one of the tusks off sending it spinning into the dirt. The boar was now moving off-balance, diverting away from the farmer and charging in another direction. The farmer stumbled and dropped to one knee.

Gus and Amity charged at the boar with their weapons and shields, keeping it away from the crops. Willow had already leaned down to help up the farmer.

“Are you alright?”

He took her hand and stood, brushing his hands down his dirty jeans. “Thanks, kid,” he said to Willow, his voice gruff and heavy with a deep southern drawl. “I’ll be just fine. But we better go help your friends, cuz’ they ain't’ gonna be fine for long.”

Luz spun around, and her eyes widened in horror. The boar had turned on Gus now and had knocked his shield out of his hand with it’s one good tusk and sent it spinning into the dirt. He stabbed forward with his spear, managing to turn the boar away from him, but now it had focused on Amity, rearing back to charge.

“Amity!”

Luz ran forward, but there was no way she could outrun the boar. Amity didn’t seem to need her help though, because as it charged she sidestepped, managing to graze the side of it with her sword. It wasn’t nearly enough to send it running, but it did squeal and give Luz, Willow, and the farmer enough time to make it to the other two demigods.

They readied their weapons, the five of them standing together and watching the boar murderously. Seeming to realize it was outnumbered, the boar huffed in anger, before turning tail and fleeing, exiting through the trees and out of sight.

Luz exhaled, turning to her friends in terror.

“What was that thing?”

“The Crommyonian Sow,” Gus said, his voice very small as he retracted his spear and picked up his sword. “The mother to the Calydonian Boar. It terrorized the village Crommyon and was later killed by Theseus.”

“Theseus?” Luz asked, her voice quickly rising in anger. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

“It’s not, Luz,” Amity said, and Luz’s gaze flickered up to look at her. Her eyes were wide, but not because of the run-in with the boar. “Your dream!”

Luz paled, and Willow and Gus turned to look at her in confusion.

“What dream?” Willow asked, and Luz recalled the dream she’d had of the mountain, from the fight between Theseus and Achilles, Belos’ order, and the Death Mist. When she’d finished, they both had gone pale as well.

“His exact words were ‘stop them before they find us’?” Gus repeated, fidgeting uncomfortably. “That can’t be good.”

“The Sow started showin’ up today, but it’s come back roun’ here three times lookin’ for trouble,” the farmer said, and Luz jumped, forgetting he was standing there. When Luz and her friends turned to look at him, he stuck his hands in his jean pockets, giving them a white smile.

Luz wasn’t sure how old he was, maybe somewhere in his early thirties? He had curly dark hair and a scruffy beard that made him look like a lot of the dads that dropped their kids off at Luz’s school in the morning. He had a deep tan, and his eyes were a dark green, that twinkled in a way that Luz pegged right away as not human.

Though she should have figured that out already based on the way he held back a boar with his bare hands.                                                                                

“I’m Demophon,” he said with a little smile. “Why don’t you kids come inside for some lemonade.”

Demophon’s house was really homely. It was an old farm style, with a lot of wooden furniture, and the décor was mainly light greens and blues. In the living room next to a couple of couches was a huge brick fireplace, sitting barren and unused. They sat down at the kitchen table that overlooked the farm fields, and Demophon returned from the kitchen with two pitchers of lemonade and plates of snacks: cookies, fresh veggies and fruit, and sandwiches.

They probably should have been more cautious, considering they didn’t really know anything about Demophon, but they were so hungry they couldn’t care less. Luz’s stomach grumbled in delight as she dug into a little tuna sandwich, washing it down so quickly with lemonade she barely tasted it.

“Thank you so much for the food, Mr. Demophon,” Amity said between bites, and he just shook his head.

“Demophon is fine, Amity. It’s my pleasure to help you kids on your quest.”

The four of them perked up, now looking at him with surprise. The farmer chuckled, but Luz noticed a slight lift in her shoulders. She did the same thing when she was worried about something.

“Yes, I know all about your quest. My mother sent me a message earlier this month lettin’ me know you migh’ be stopping by… and that you were on your way to free Lady Hestia.” For a moment, his nerves disappeared as he turned to Willow, his green eyes twinkling in pleasure. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, little sister.”

Willow dropped her sandwich on the plate, looking up at him in shock. Luz felt her mouth drop open and saw Amity and Gus tense next to her. Willow, eventually, was able to reply.

“You’re my brother?”

Demophon hummed, taking a seat next to them. He crossed his huge calloused hands together on the table and smiled. “Well, in a sense. Demeter is more of my adopted mother. But over the many centuries I’ve been alive, I have come to grow fond of her.”

“You’re Triptolemus’ brother,” Gus said, his voice lowering in realization. Demophon chuckled.

“Trip is my older brother yes. Though he rarely visits. He has many other duties to attend to.”

“But how… how are you alive?” Gus said in awe, and Luz realized that Willow and Amity were leaning in, desperate to hear his story. Luz really needed to brush up on her Greek mythology. Maybe she’d take it as her elective when she went back to school.

“What do you mean how is he alive?” Luz asked, blinking. “He’s a god, obviously.”

“No, Luz Noceda,” Demophon said with a shake of his head. He settled his warm green eyes on Luz with a smile. “I am no god. But I am immortal.”

Luz’s brow furrowed. “How is that different?”

“Demeter is the goddess of the harvest, but also fertility,” Demophon explained, nodding his head to Willow. “My birth parents were favored by my mother, just as Willow’s fathers were. In exchange for their adoration, Demeter sought to make me a god in their honor. She is the mother of the Olympians and worked with Hestia to have me stoked on their fires and made immortal. But halfway through the process, my birth mother found me on the fire and screamed, rippin’ me off the flames. The process was never finished, but it was too late to turn back. I was made immortal, but due to my… imperfection… I was never accepted into the Greek pantheon. So, mother let me have this farm here near Mount Pelion, and that’s where I’ve stayed.”

“Why weren’t you accepted?” Amity asked in shock when he finished. She was looking Demophon up and down. “You look godly to me. You held back that sow with your bare hands, and you certainly haven’t aged over the centuries.”

“There is more to being a god than just strength and immortality,” Demophon answered, his voice turning wistful as he talked. “You need drive: godly essence that comes from owning and having. You need to stand for something and have mortals who respect and favor you. Mortals don’t see me as a person who can grant them good fortune and prosperity, and I have no claim over any aspect of humanity.”

“Because the legends said you died in the fire when your mother found you,” Willow said, her mouth open wide with shock and realization. Demophon shrugged.

“Mortals rarely get the full story, and so they fill in the gaps with what they want to see. Complex situations confuse em’. I think you know what I mean, little sister.”

Willow flushed, and Luz realized that maybe Demophon had a point. Willow was teased for being “half a half-blood”, but she was one of the strongest demigods Luz knew. The more Luz looked at Demophon, the more sympathy she felt for him. It must be incredibly lonely, living for this long and never being accepted into the mortal world or the godly one.

“I’m sorry we brought the monster to your farm,” Luz said slowly, and Demophon looked over at her with the tiniest hints of a smile.

“Now, now of that, Luz. I’m no fool, and unless you’re the man that sent that beast, I have no quarrel with you. But you kids ain’t safe heading up the mountain until that monster’s been taken care of.”

Demophon stood up and went into the kitchen, but came back relatively quickly. He had a cloth package in his hands, which he handed to Willow.

“These are some of my mother’s apples. She has me grow them here in case harvest on Olympus is poor. It never is, so I always have plenty. When you need a boost, take a bite. Hopefully, it helps you on your quest.”

Willow held the package so gently in her hands, it was like she was afraid they would disappear. She looked up at Demophon in awe.

“These apples… they haven’t been trusted to mortals in centuries. Why would you give us something like this?”

Demophon’s face suddenly went dark.

“I want Belos gone just as much as the Olympians do. Hestia is the reason I’m here, able to tend to my farm and my livestock. She’s always been kind to me… kind to all who cross her path and say hello.”

He looked over at the huge fireplace in his living room, which was completely dark. His eyes were fixated on it, like the sight of it alone physically pained him.

“My fire hasn’t lit since she was taken,” he said, his voice breaking slightly on those last few words. “Without her, all the love and light and happiness that we know will fade from existence. Somebody needs to stop him, and get her back. If I were not bound to this farm, I would go up the mountain myself. I will do anything I can to help you.”

Demophon sat back down at the table and went back to cradling his calloused hands in his lap. Luz was suddenly struck with a pang of homesickness. Demophon did the same thing with his hands her Mami did when she was worrying herself sick about something. He was just as scared about the success of the quest as they were.

“You seem to admire Hestia a lot,” Luz said quietly, so quietly she wasn’t sure anybody would hear her. But Demophon looked up, and so did her friends, turning to look at Luz. She glanced at Amity, for only half a second, and realized that she was watching Luz with a careful expression.

Had she overstepped?

Demophon met Luz’s gaze, and that’s when Luz saw it. It was the same look Amity gave her when she was grappling with a decision. To tell or not to tell.

“I’ve had so few people I could truly call a friend while I’ve worked this farm,” he eventually said, glancing over at the fire. “I could always rely on Hestia to show whenever I lit that fire and passed on my offerings. There are so few certainties in a life as long as mine. If you were in my place, would you be happy with that changing in the blink of an eye?”

“No,” Luz said immediately. She couldn’t imagine just sitting at her Mami’s apartment while her friends were in danger. She’d do anything to protect Willow and Gus. She’d do anything to protect Amity.

She’d move the entire mountain by herself if she had to.

She opened her mouth to reply, to assure Demophon that they would do everything they could to save her, but she didn’t get the opportunity to. Because Amity spoke next, swallowing hard before shaking her head.

“I’ll get her back,” Amity said, leaning in to look Demophon in the eye.

It was so surprising Luz couldn’t help but turn and look at Amity out of the corner of her eye. Amity’s expression was startling. Her face looked exactly like how Luz was feeling.

“I’ll break her out of the cage and make Belos pay no matter what happens. I swear it on the River Styx.”

Outside, thunder rumbled. The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Willow and Gus were looking at Amity with a mixture of shock and horror on their faces. Luz didn’t really know what was happening, but judging by the equally as awed look Demophon was giving her, whatever she’d done was pretty serious.

“You don’t know what you’re promising me, kid,” Demophon tried, but Amity shook her head, leaning in again with such a ferocity Luz couldn’t look away no matter how hard she tried.

“I do know,” she insisted, reaching forward and gently resting her hand over his. “I know that nobody deserves to have someone taken from them. Being around the people you love makes life worth living.”

Willow cracked a small smile, nodding her head and leaning forward to rest her hand on top of Amity’s.

“She’s right. I’ll help too.”

“Me too!” Gus added, reaching forward to put his own hand on top of Willows.

Luz broke into a grin, nodding and adding her own hand to the now growing pile. “Obviously I’m in too. We’ll free Hestia, even if Theseus throws a hundred more stupid pig-boars at us.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t,” Amity deadpanned, and Luz laughed, hard enough that everyone at the table cracked into smiles. Even Demophon, who was looking so grateful Luz thought he might start crying.

“Thank you, kids,” he said, wiping at his face. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

“We do know. That’s why we want to help,” Luz insisted, her whole body vibrating with adrenaline at what they were about to do. “Now let’s go make some pork chops.”

[falst]

Realization, Chapter 4

“God. Why are these forests so sticky?” Maine muttered.

It was June again. Missouri had been missing for a full year. 

Maine was worried beyond all hell. She prayed to every religion on the planet that Missouri was still alive.

Maine pushed a branch out of her way. There had to be better ways to look for Missouri than just looking around every lake with forests in Northern Missouri that U.P said Miz might be. But it was they had been doing for the past few months, and Maine could tell she was getting closer.

She sighed and continued walking.

In the corner of her eye, Maine saw a small bluebird land on a branch near her. It opened its beak and began to chirp.

“Hey! We’ve got ‘nother one of those colour people! Are they becoming a new subspecies of humans or something?” 

Maine felt a jolt of hope run through her body. Color people… did that mean Missouri was near? She turned to the bird.

“Excuse me, there are other people who look like me? Do you know who they are?” She asked. The bird shifted.

“Why yes! I do know who he is! A fine lad going by the name of Missouri! He gave me the name of Blue!” It was at this moment Maine realized the bird, Blue, had a British accent. 

She didn’t care. This bird… Blue, he knew who Missouri was and hopefully where he was.

“You know him? C-can you take me to him? I’m his sister and-”

“OH! You’re Mai! Well, of course, I can take you to Missouri! I was just on my way to visit him myself!” Blue spread his wings and took off. Maine followed.

After a minute or two of running, they came across a cabin. 

Blue landed on Maine’s shoulder.

“Lass! You should knock! I usually just peck at those invisible sheets of something or other but I assume that wouldn’t be sufficient for someone of your size.” Blue chirped. Very quickly.

Maine sighed and put two hands up to the door, then began to knock a rhythm she and her twin had come up with so many years ago. She hoped that Missouri still recognized it.

Maine’s heart lifted when she heard someone who sounded like her brother say “Mai?”. There were footsteps, and then the door opened.

Missouri was there. He was standing inside the cabin.

His hair was definitely longer than he usually let it grow, but other than that he looked fine.

Tears began to form in Maine’s eyes and she immediately hugged her brother. 

“H-hi Mai-” Missouri begun. He was cut off by Maine yelling.

“HOLY SHIT MISSOURI! I’M SO GLAD YOU’RE ALIVE I-” She took a deep breath, sighed, and pulled away from the hug.

“What happened?” She asked.

Missouri visibly tensed, and his eyes darted around the area.

He sighed.

“Come in and take a seat. I’ll... try to explain everything” 

So the last thing Missouri was expecting to see today was Maine. He was planning on going back to St. Louis and writing her a letter soon… but it appeared he would have to tell her everything in person. 

The two sat down at a small table that was tucked in the corner of the cabin.

Missouri could feel a mix of worry, relief, happiness and a small bit of anger radiate from his sister. 

“So,” Maine began. “what the hell happened?”

God, how was he going to tell her? There was just so much to unpack here and he just didn’t know where to start.

Blue landed on Missouri’s shoulder and let out a flurry of chirps, and Maine looked absolutely elated afterwards.

“Holy shit, you have a crush?” She asked. Missouri felt his face warm up, and he could tell he was blushing.

“I- a bit- I mean it's a part of the reason I came here- actually most of the reason I came here-” He responded quickly, stuttering slightly.

“Okay okay okay, back up. What happened?” 

Missouri’s blood went cold. He had to tell Maine everything, there was no avoiding it now. 

But what if Maine didn’t accept this part of him? What if… what if she began to hate him for it? The thought terrified him. Maine was really the only person in Missouri’s family who actually cared about him, and he couldn’t lose her.

But… she still forgave him after everything in the Civil War. Surely, nothing was worse than that, right? 

Missouri took a deep breath then sighed. 

He was going to tell Maine everything. He HAD to. It was least he could do after going missing for a year.

“So basically, I have this friend, and one day I started feeling…” Missouri paused. “I started noticing a feeling of love around him- and at first I thought it was just my power power doing its thing, and with the whole world war situation and just everyone being stressed I decided to do that thing where I just sit alone in a dark room for a few hours trying to focus on my own emotions, ya know?” 

Maine nodded.

“And those feelings for that friend, his name is Matteo by the way, those feelings didn’t go away, and they were actually stronger.” Maine blinked and let out a small “oh”.

“And this time I just straight up ignored the feelings until Matteo asked if I had a girl on my mind and that's when I realized I-” Missouri paused for a second. “I want Matteo as more than a friend.” Those last words came out quietly.

Maine let out another “oh”.

“After that I panicked and left to go here and I’ve just been trying to work things out.”

Maine looked at Missouri, and he could feel that she was a little shocked, but she wasn’t angry.

“Mai, I think I like men, and only men.” Missouri finished with lightly slamming his face onto the table in front of him.

Maine finally spoke up.

“That actually makes a lot of sense.” 

Missouri eased slightly and lifted his head a bit.

“You’re not mad?” He asked. Maine chuckled softly.

“Of course I’m not mad! Micheal, you’re my brother! I’ll always love you, no matter who you love.” Maine’s voice was soft and caring.

Missouri sighed.

“Thank you.”

[squidproquoclarice]

Another bit of catch up! Yeehawgust Day 3: Pony Express

May 1860: Saratoga Springs, New York Hosea focused on the roses, neatly clipping a bit here and there around the fragrant snow-white blossoms, but even as he did so, he listened to the voices on the other side of the hedge.  The sort that came up from New York City to the Grand Union Hotel for the racetrack and the spa were the sort who talked with the confidence of being the masters of the world, the reins of money and power well within their grasp.  Had he been inclined--well, he could have made quite a sum selling naughty tidbits here and there carelessly uttered by rich men and women among themselves, not noticing a sixteen-year-old hotel boy.

It didn’t hurt that they almost never noticed small trinkets gone, or a few dollars from billfolds carelessly left out.  A boy had to eat, especially a boy whose mother had died last year of pneumonia.  Hosea had managed to pay the gravedigger’s fees, barely, but some of the price of the simple stone gravestone was still outstanding.   He would have messaged his father, had he known where to contact him, but...William Schuyler Warren was down in the city, and Hosea had only seen him three times in his life.  But he’d blown into the small cabin to the southeast in Great Barrington that Janet Matthews shared with their son, bringing gifts, a trim, charming silver-haired rogue of a man.  Hosea could see the casually wielded force of personality, the charisma that had bowled over a maid in his summer home nearly forty years his junior and had resulted in Hosea’s own existence.   Warren came to Saratoga every year, and so Hosea had hoped by taking this job at the Grand Union that his father would be here this summer.  To tell him the news, and to hope that perhaps now that he was old enough, there might be some place for him in this world beyond gardening and hauling heavy trunks. He clipped another rose, continued to listen.  It was John Davies and Marcus Van Doorn talking, by the sound of it.  “I swear, Congress is a particular level of Dante’s hell these days, to hear Harold talk.  All the Southerners are making such a racket about withdrawing from our union if that prairie bumpkin Lincoln is elected.” “Yes, well, the Southern rabble is all noise and no powder.  And Mr. Lincoln is no fiery-eyed abolitionist.  It’s not as though he’s sworn over John Brown’s grave to free all the slaves, only to halt expansion into the West.” “That’s quite a lot of land, though.  And growing closer within reach each year.  Those mail riders for the Pony Express can make it from Missouri all the way to California in ten days now, and the telegraph won’t be too far behind, I imagine.” “Ought to get some of those ponies on the track here,” Van Doorn quipped.  “Though I imagine we could do without the buckskin and tobacco spit of their riders.” Davies laughed at that.  “It’s a young man’s game out there, that much is for certain.  I like a good adventure, but I’m not too proud to admit these bones are a bit too old for wrestling bears.” There are bears in the Berkshires, if you left your houses and went up into the mountains at all.  Hosea had been practically weaned onto bear meat, provided by his Uncle Jim.  Started to learn to hunt them, learning to make bear bait, before Uncle Jim disappeared last fall while out hunting. “Oh, you never get too old for some adventures.”  Davies chuckled again.  “Take my cousin, old William Schuyler Warren.  The old fox certainly knew how to live his life to the fullest.  Would have made a sultan blush, but he taught me to select a good wine, a good gentleman’s club, and a good mistress.” “Ah, to die at seventy-five with your last sight being a lovely young woman.  We should all be so lucky.”  Hosea stopped.  His father had died?  He felt frozen in that moment, like a block of ice cut from the lake.  You’ll never see him again.  He’ll never say he’s proud of you.  Never give you any kind of chance in this life to be more than this.  He didn’t think he’d ever imagined being acknowledged, called a Schuyler Warren rather than a Matthews, given he’d grown old enough to understand.  He was a bastard and his father had a wife and children in the city, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still be a son in careful, covert ways.  Claimed as a ward of charity or the like.  His father had promised him when he was older things would be different, and...well.  It wouldn’t happen now, that much was clear. Something broke within him, crumbled to dust.  He would leave.  Get far away from this world with no place for him, with all these cynical indolent rich fools.  He would take a horse tonight from the stables and go west, fast as one of those Pony Express riders, and find something to do there.  Something better than this.  They said there were dragons out in the west, all sorts of untamed and unknown dangers, but that couldn’t be worse than the vipers right here. 

[bellakitse]

Driving alone, following your form

Day 2 Fic prompt : Distance @michaelguerinweek

Michael leaves Roswell two weeks after they bring Max back to life. That's how long he manages to give his siblings before the sinking feeling that has surrounded him for the last seven months takes over him again.

He’s been drowning since Caulfield prison, Rosa coming back like a living ghost of all their sins, Max dead on a cave floor, and Alex.

Always Alex.

Alex who left time and time again but refused to leave at the prison, willing to die for him. Alex who gave him one absolutely crushed look when he found him at the Wild Pony with Maria and then shifted to his military persona in a blink of an eye, doing everything in his power to give him and Isobel back their brother.

It's ridiculous that with everything they all been through the last seven months, what has him the most in knots is Alex Manes, but when has that ever not been the case.

Aliens, secrets about a dead girl, murderous brother-in-law’s and in the end the first and last thought of every day for Michael still comes down to Alex. His anger, his resentment, his pain but most of all his all-encompassing love for the man.

He and Maria last exactly one kiss and one song, the look on Alex's face when he found them together still haunts the little sleep he manages to get.

So, he goes, quietly in the darkness of night. He leaves his siblings a note, telling them that he needs to go for a while, clear his head because he feels like a powder keg about to explode and if he does, he doesn't want them caught in the fallout. He asks they don't call him.

Isobel texts him hours after he's out of Roswell.

'You're an asshole, we love you, be safe.'

He lets out a noise when he reads it; half laugh, half sob, grateful for the understanding he doesn’t deserve. He’s put Isobel through the wringer during the months that Max slept in his pod. He should have been a better brother, and he promises himself as soon as he has his head on straight again, he’ll do exactly that.

On a whim he also leaves a note for Alex, telling him pretty much the same. He’s a mess and that he needs to go for a while. That he’s always loved him and that he’s sorry. He hopes that it’s enough but isn’t sure.

During the months they all worked on bringing Max back, Alex was there every step of the way, supporting Liz, being there for Isobel, being their access point to what the military knew. He risked his life and his career more than once to get them the information they needed. He worked side by side with Michael and never once brought ‘them’ up in conversation. A part of Michael was thankful for the reprieve, knowing that he wasn’t in the headspace to deal with everything Alex means to him. However, every time they didn’t talk about the elephant in the room the distance between them seemed to expand and Michael wonders; fears that there’s maybe too much damage, too much hurt on both sides. That maybe too much of everything has chipped away at their love.

He prays to a God he doesn’t believe in, that that’s not the case. He hopes as the miles between him and Roswell grow; that leaving will serve as a balm to the open wounds they both carry.

He has no plan, no map, no destination in mind for the first week, he drives his truck down main highways, taking exits and then back roads on a whim. He starts north, crossing Colorado without even stopping until he arrives at Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Stopping here and there in the picturesque town, grabbing some food and information before getting back in his truck and driving towards Grand Teton National Park. It’s the afternoon, later than when people usually get to the park but there are still families and groups around probably ready to call it a day if they aren’t sleeping onsite. Some make eye contact and even nod in his direction, but no one bothers him as he takes his camping equipment and starts to make his way up the trail to Lake Jenny where he’s decided to spend the night.

That night he sits outside his tent looking up at a starry sky that reflects on the still waters of the lake, and his only thought is how much Alex would love to see it. He takes a picture that comes out better than expected and he begrudgingly thanks Isobel for nagging him into updating his phone. He texts the photo to Alex before he can start to doubt himself, his heart beating fast when he sees ‘read’ on the message, he waits to see if Alex will text anything back. The seconds turn to minutes, and he shakes his head, calling himself an idiot. What exactly does he expect Alex to say to a damn picture?

He sits there wishing he had something to drink, Whiskey, a beer, definitely some acetone, but he’s made a commitment to himself to slow the fuck down, and he’s going to keep it. When his phone buzzes in his loose hold it startles him so much, he almost drops it.

It says: ‘That’s beautiful.’

It’s not much, but it still feels like an olive branch, and it helps loosen some of the tightness in his chest. He holds his breath as he sees little bubbles appear on the text indicating that Alex is writing. It stops and starts a couple of times, and Michael feels a stab of sympathy for Alex being at a loss for words. Finally, a text comes through.

‘Are you okay?’

Michael lets out a small, humorless laugh because the obvious answer to that is no. He’s not okay. He’s an alien, his brother died and came back to life, he watched his mother die in front of him, he loves a man more than anything in his life, and he can’t manage to get it right with him, and he’s currently running away from all of that like a child running away from home.

He starts to write without pause, lets every random, not so great thought that has circled his head pour out of him. That he’s never felt at home here and resents Isobel and Max for feeling differently, how he loves Max and is so grateful for having him back but resents him for playing god in the first place, for healing his hand without permission.

There are more little bubbles after he presses send on his small meltdown.

‘Feel better?’

Michael snorts, the question feels a little sarcastic and knowing Alex it probably was, surprisingly it does make him feel better, and he answers as much.

‘Good, I’m glad.’

Michael's thumbs hover over the keyboard, hesitating on whether he should ask or not, writing back he promises himself that if the answer is no, he won’t take it personally, he’s not the only one trying to heal here.

‘Can I keep texting you?’

He doesn’t have time to work himself up; Alex’s answer comes back fast.

‘I’ll be here.’

Michael can’t help the small smile it brings to his lips. That night he sleeps better than he has in months.

He hits the road again a day later, flipping a coin to see if he should keep heading north or turn east. Tails have it, and he heads into Nebraska and sees a lot of corn, a lot. When he tells Alex this on their now nightly communication, he gets pure sass in return.

'It’s the Cornhusker State, Guerin, what did you expect?'

The answer is so Alex that it makes his ridiculous heart do a funny jump. He treats Alex to a picture of the cornfields at sunset and Alex answers back with: 'I wish I could be there.'

Any chance of his heart settling down after that is hopeless; it beats hard against his chest as he answers back.  

'Me too.'

Alex doesn't say anything after that, and Michael doesn't either; at peace with the exchange. Where before he would have seen the silence as Alex retreating, he's starting to understand that the last few months hasn’t been Alex distancing himself from Michael because he doesn't love him anymore. He's been trying to give Michael space to find his footing again after having the rug pulled from under his feet again and again. The damage that before seemed unfixable between them is slowly starting to mend with every text they share. He doesn't know if it's because they aren't facing each other and therefore don't have sex to fall back on or because quietly they both know what's really at stake for the first time, but they're talking in a way they never have before.

Alex hadn't been exaggerating when he said they loved each other without ever really talking and now that they are, Michael wants to know more. So, he asks questions without fear, in between driving, in-between states as he heads into Kansas and Missouri, crosses through Oklahoma to get to Texas. He texts and sends pictures; Alex answers and sends of few pictures of his own. The one of Isobel looking through dresses, her back to the camera has him raising an eyebrow. When he asks about that, he gets back:

'We've become close.'

It makes him smile, he likes the idea that Isobel and Alex have become friends, and he remembers the Max-less months how more than once Alex could be found next to Isobel, protective in his stance. Still knowing his sister and knowing Alex an alliance between them does send a shiver of nervousness down his spine.

‘Should I be scared?’

He gets back ‘Terrified’ and it makes him laugh, it’s followed with a selfie of Isobel and Alex, straight-faced, the hint of a smirk on both their faces and it squeezes his heart to see the two people he loves the most together.

He makes his way through Texas and stops in Hays County to get to the Dripping Springs; he sends a quick picture of the place to Alex, and he doesn’t have to wait long for a response.

‘That’s 500 miles from Roswell.’

Michael swallows hard because yes, he knows that. If he leaves now, he could be back in Roswell in about eight hours, take the US-87 N and US-380 W, and he’d be back home. But he’s not ready, he’s close, he’s better, but he’s not there yet. He tells Alex and holds his breath when he sees that Alex is texting back.

‘Okay, no rush. I’ll be here when you’re ready.’

He has to sit down at that answer and just breathe and keep on breathing. There has been a part of him, a part that has gotten smaller and quieter, but still there that has been whispering in his ear that maybe once he’s ready, Alex won’t be there. After all, isn’t that what he did to Alex when he was ready? He ran away and towards someone else, he realizes now out of fear. He’d gotten so used to Alex walking away, that he didn’t know what to do when Alex was standing in front of him, telling him that he wasn’t leaving anymore, that Michael is where he wanted to be. He ran.

He does cross into New Mexico but doesn’t stop until he hits Arizona. There he goes to The Grand Canyon, and it’s breathtaking at sunrise.

‘If I ask, will you come here with me someday?’

‘I’ll go with you wherever and whenever you ask, Michael.’

Michael sits on a massive boulder, his feet dangling, the morning sun hitting his face with a stunning view in front of him but all he can do is stare at Alex’s message and the significance of his name.

When he texts back, there is no more fear.

‘I haven’t looked away.’

‘Neither have I and I never will.’

If he cries for a while; the last remnants of his pain finally releasing him. If he cries because he’s finally within reach of what he has so desperately wanted since he was seventeen, no one’s around to watch. From there he knows what he wants, what he’s always wanted. He shoots Alex a text with coordinates and the time it will take him to get there as he enters California, he doesn’t get an answer back, but he doesn’t worry as he drives through Death Valley up to Yosemite, getting there as it starts to get dark.

He pulls into the campgrounds where there are other cars gathered, but he only notices one, or better yet, the man leaning against the car. Parking across Alex’s rental, he takes him in as the headlights of his truck illuminate him like a halo of light around him.

Alex has always been beautiful, he was beautiful back in high school with his emo punk clothes, he’s beautiful in his Air Force uniform, and everything in between, he’s beautiful now as he combines the boy he was and the man he is.

But after traveling for weeks on end with only a picture of the man he loves, looking at Alex now, he’s never been more breathtaking.

“You made good time,” he says as he gets out of his truck and walks over to him.

Alex gives him a small serene smile. “You took the long way; I took a plane.”

“I bet my view was better,” Michael teases.

Alex nods. “I have no doubt.”

“I’ll show it to you someday,” Michael blurts out, wincing at the volume of his voice. “Sorry, I’m nervous I guess.”

Alex looks at him, studies him in that Alex way of his, his expression softening. “Can I?” he asks quietly, his arms open. Michael doesn’t answer. Instead, he steps into Alex’s space and holds on as Alex’s arms circle him, his hold strong and comforting.

“I missed you,” Alex whispers into his neck and Michael answers by tightening his arms around him. They stay wrapped in each other for a while before Michael pulls back.

“Come on,” he says, taking Alex’s hand in his, leading him back to his truck to grab his gear. “I called ahead and reserved the spot we’re camping in,” he continues, heading up the trail the girl at the desk told him about.

It doesn’t take them long to get set up. At this point Michael is a pro at putting up his tent, it’ll be close quarters with Alex here, but given that they haven’t stopped holding each other since they laid down on one of his blankets staring at the sky, he doesn’t think either of them is going to complain.

“I’ve stared at the sky for weeks now,” Michael says quietly, not wanting to ruin the peace around them.

“I don’t blame you,” Alex says just as softly. “It’s beautiful.”

“I have been looking at the stars, searching for my home,” he continues, swallowing hard as he feels Alex tense up. He doesn’t stop him when he pulls away to sit up. Alex is quiet for a moment, his gaze upward.

“Did you find it?” he finally asks, looking back at Michael, the light of the night reflecting in his eyes like amber.

Michael nods and places a shaky hand over Alex’s chest. “Right here,” he says, tapping on Alex’s heart. “If I’m allowed in again.”

Alex lets out a watery laugh and a tear rolls down the side of his face, but the smile he gives Michael is wide, and the love that shines through his expression warms Michael more than the Roswell sun.  “That implies that you ever left, Michael,” He answers, and it’s Michael's turn to cry as a sob passes his lips. Alex's hands cradle the back of his neck, and he presses his forehead against Michael’s. “And you have never, not for one second left my heart,” Alex continues, shushing him softly as Michael cries. “It’s yours, Michael, it’s yours.”

The first kiss they share in over nine months is salty from their tears, but as Alex holds him, as he whispers, he loves him, and Michael whispers it back, a sky full of stars above them and a future full of possibilities ahead of them, it’s utterly sweet.

[everydayanth]

“Asphalt is the earth’s last crop”

I read that in an article a while back (it’s posted somewhere below, #soilcrisis) and it has HAUNTED me so much!

So my dad was being a butt about climate change and I just did one of those impatient-bomb things and was like: yo, da, everywhere there is a city is a patch that used to be covered in green forests n’shit. So if you think of it that way, the earth is at like, a 60% burn, and generally humans can’t live past 80%, so maybe we work on regrowing some surface-area skin for our girl mother nature, yeah?

And THAT stuck with him. All the facts and numbers had no context, he was of the “humans can’t have that much of an impact” mind, but that stuck. I think because in his life, he’s seen the cities grow and the parking lots get bigger and the rooftops get taller and all the housing developments cut down forests. That was the thing that he’d seen change. Michigan is pretty insulated with the lakes, freak snowstorms in W. Mich have been pretty normal, so it’s difficult to attribute them to climate change when 50 years ago they happened too. Until, of course, you start to point out that it’s not just one, it’s many and it’s every year. 

Anyway, my point was just... may I introduce you to earth shelters! ^-^

And a map!

(These images came from a book called Earth Shelter Technology by Lester L. Boyer, Walter T. Grondzik, available on Google Books).

Parliament House, Canberra, AUS (Photo from Australian Parliamentary Education Office)

There are some issues with it, sure, but not many that some basic adaptions in human habit, community places, or new construction tech can’t take care of. 

“The desirability of unobstructed views and natural illumination often results in problems with control of solar radiation.” (Boyer, Grondzik, pg19)

Icelandic Turf House of Glaumbaer (photo from Wikipedia Commons), which can be found across northern Europe and Scandinavia.

A traditional log-house/log cabin with a green roof, also from N.Europe/Scandinavia.

Earthlodge of upper Missouri tribes, including the Mandan, Hidatsa, and Arikara.

My German teacher’s son was part of the initial push of engineers in Germany constructing green-roofs and leading the initiative to change policy, so we got yearly updates and have followed the idea for a while. 

So far, tons of people have articles about it, so go find them, but a few key features the green-roof initiative has yielded throughout Europe: a decrease in pollution, greater economic stability as development, construction, and maintenance companies provide stable jobs, better air quality, better mood/stability in urbanized areas, more community efforts to maintain and interact in green spaces and to clean up other aspects of communities, less storm-water runoff (and thereby less urban flooding), increase in biodiversity of plants and animals, more stable ecosystems that decrease the high populations of insects and pests, stable populations of urban wildlife, better thermo-regulation of buildings (and thereby less use of energy and fuels to heat or cool the location). 

Okay, so, TL;DR: 

Earth-shelters and half-efforts (like green roofs and other nature-urban-integration efforts) may take some getting used to but bruh, they awesome af and we should talk about them so important people know we think they’re cool and then start building them, cus like, that’s how we get shit done now I guess. 

[sohannabarberaesque]

Postcards from Snagglepuss: Thoughts as a Major Road Trip gets underway

(And I'm talking rather long distance, with quite a few of us interesting characters taking part, know.)

Travelling through South Dakota eastbound and out along I-90 from Wall Drug and the Badlands, it can get rather surprising to notice that, once you cross the Missouri River, things seem to be a little greener and more pastoral. Though it's important to remember that the change (which is at the bridge over the Missouri River, alias Lake Francis Case, at Oacoma/Chamberlain) takes some while to notice, understand. And gets to be a little evident when most of the billboards along I-90 tend to be for the Corn Palace in Mitchell--the World's Only Corn Palace, even. (And I assume some of you still recall the time when The Banana Splits played there while their tour bus was getting repaired, eliciting much response no doubt.)

And it is at the Corn Palace, erected in tribute to the agricultural bounty of the region, that we gather for a substantial stop, a photo opportunity even. And among such who couldn't have been more impressed at the sight were the likes of Ruff and Reddy, Yogi Bear, even the Hair Bear Bunch, come to think of it ... and I understand Peter Potamus couldn't resist the historical display inside of the Corn Palace's evolution, of the many bands as played there over the years, not to mention the displays created out of corn and native prairie grasses gracing its outside, as if the Moorish-looking domes looking like turned-upside-down beets weren't attracting enow. And we all know that the very name has nothing to do with the supposedly "corny" acts as probably played there in past, which certainly caught a certain Hardy Har-Har by surprise (and we all know that Hardy Har-Har hardly laughs much, let alone his counterpart with The King's crew, Yukka-Yukka).

With not much else in downtown Mitchell--blame, obviously enough, Walmart and their ilk for decimating downtown--it was hard enough to get the few as were downtown to pose for selfies, let alone our Funtastic crew posing themselves before the Corn Palace. Especially this early in the summer. Onward, then, to a truck stop outside Sioux Falls, as much for supper as for conversation. Especially one particularly bemusing episode which saw Hardy Har-Har seated opposite Yukka-Yukka, a study in contrasts indeed. Witness this snippet of conversation:

HARDY HAR-HAR: Oh me ... oh my ... do my eyes deceive me, or am I seeing--

YUKKA-YUKKA: Do my eyes deceive ME, or am I--

[Crazy double-take]

HARDY HAR-HAR: I wasn't aware of you until--

YUKKA-YUKKA: And the likelihood of our being cousins was merely whispered about ...

[YUKKA-YUKKA produces a joy buzzer and gets HARDY HAR-HAR to shake his hand, unaware of the joy buzzer gag inherent]

HARDY HAR-HAR: Was I ever surprised?!!

(At which point, their orders came along.)

Not far from that scene:

THE KING: Are you rather surprised at my being such a specimen of cool--?

LIPPY THE LION: Are you still stunned that we might likely be--COUSINS?!!

THE KING: Which is rather vague in prospect--I remember now, that was back at the Truth or Consequences Fiesta, when the connexion was revealed!!

LIPPY THE LION: I think I remember that now somewhat ... And who could be more surprised?

THE KING: Could it be that we may equally be surprised?

SHEENA, to LIPPY: I happen to be the King's girlfriend myself, uh--

LIPPY THE LION: Lippy the Lion there, uh--

SHEENA: Sheena. King and I are rather close, but--

THE KING, interjecting: Not exactly in a relationship. We're just friends for the most part.

And I assume there's more where that came from, especially when they're closely related in the animal kingdom. And maybe more as the journey rolls on.

*************

Crossing the line into Minnesota not long afterward ... and on the heels of a wonderful sunset besides. Eventually to park for the evening near a statue of the Jolly Green Giant near Blue Earth, erected in tribute to the local vegetable production for canning and freezing. And in the morning, heading onwards to the SPAM Museum in Austin, center of production for a certain legendary canned meat product ... and who couldn't be more impressed at SPAM then us, arriving at opening time to the stunned surprise of Hormel personnel assigned the SPAM tribute? (And did I mention admission was free?)

At any rate ... practically everybody couldn't believe such a tribute to such a legendary product and its association to the town as produces it. None more so than, for one, Augie Doggie, who just can't get enough of that SPAM in such forms as sandwiches and even as stir-ins to canned spaghetti or macaroni (and, as usual, Doggie Daddy acknowledging that "my Augie's a growing boy, and he can't resist that SPAM!") ... for another, my boon companion, Huckleberry Hound, who can't resist it grilled and in sandwich form ("You do need to spray some PAM on the barbecue grill beforehand, to make it easier to handle) ... and even more unlikely, Country and Kitty Jo, from the Cattanooga Cats even, who couldn't help but open up memories of being rather dependent upon SPAM in leaner times before breaking into music when they did (Kitty Jo especially; "I admit there were even weeks when SPAM was about the only meat I had trying to break into music, even when about the only work I could get was in awful-looking coffee houses for tips when the hat was passed around).

Even the Cattanooga Cats' Groove, the feline master of barbecue, couldn't resist the possibilities of trying to barbecue SPAM, on a rotisserie even, smothered in his own barbecue sauce receipt ... so explaining buying whole cases of the classic SPAM, Bacon-Flavoured SPAM, Smoke-Flavoured SPAM, SPAM Lite even, at the attached gift shop. And so did practically everybody in the company, even Yogi Bear getting a few cans of that which, to hear Yukka-Yukka the jokemeister explain it, is acronym for "Suspiciously Packaged As Meat." (Actually, it came from an employee contest in the mid-1930's, when it first came out, and is a hybrid of "SPiced HAm." Now you know. And did I mention where even the Hair Bear Bunch have been known to include some SPAM when they have weekends at their Secret Surf and Dive Spot, mainly for sandwiches?)

As for breakfast, we found a decent-looking diner close by Beautiful Downtown Austin which had SPAM featured on their breakfast menu, though not in ways recalling a certain Monty Python sketch exactly ... yet there was a SPAM-and-cheese omlette which suited my omlette-loving taste, hash browns on the side even. No doubt explaining the delay for breakfast when our caravan left Blue Earth earlier in the morning.

*************

Next stop: Winona, Minnesota. Steamboat Days, even. Which will be covered next week in this very presence, so stay tuned.  

[thebeatles-world]

Patrick Swayze's Unknown Son

The alleged son is Jason Whittle, who was born in 1973 and now is 44 years old. The following two pictures show, first, Whittle and, second, Swayze.

Whittle grew up not knowing he was Swayze's son. His mother, Bonnie Kay Whittle, was 15 years old when she allegedly had a one-night stand with 20-year-old Swayze in 1972. Bonnie Kay died of cancer in 2012, and the article seems to indicate that she informed Jason only a short time before she died.

Swayze died in 2009, so it seems likely that he never knew about Jason Whittle. If Swayze had known, then his estate lawyer surely would have advised him to give Jason Whittle at least a token $1 in the will to prevent him from challenging the will. Swayze left his entire estate to his wife Lisa and left nothing to his other Swayze relatives. Now Whittle is claiming a big part -- perhaps half -- of Swayze's estate, which is estimated to be $40 million.

The other Swayze relatives claim that Lisa used abusive methods to coerce Patrick to change his will seven weeks before his death to give everything to her.

Globe

reports that some of those stiffed relatives now feel gratified that Whittle might take much of the estate from Lisa.

======

I have a copy of Swayze's autobiography

The Time of My Life

, and I intend to write an article about it for this blog. The book says that in 1972 he was in a touring ice-skating show called Disney on Parade. That's how in 1972 he would have visited Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri, where Bonnie Kay lived. Jason Whittle probably can prove that Disney on Parade was in that location exactly nine months before he was born.

The book includes the following passages about Swayze's experiences in 1972 (pages 30-32).

The dancers made $125 a week, which felt like a lot of money, especially since we all doubled, tripled, and quadrupled up in our living arrangements on the road. Most of the dancers were women, and of the few who were men, even fewer were straight men. So the opportunities for me in terms of finding women to date were just about endless. Unfortunately, I still didn't know how to communicate with women, or anybody else. I just sounded like an egotistical ass whenever I talked, as I couldn't stop going on and on about myself. For one thing, my knee [injured in a high-school football game] kept blowing up after each performance, the joint swelling painfully due to the rigors of the show. .... It got so bad that I had to go to the hospital in every city to get the fluid drained from my knee. And the more knee trouble I had, the more I had to talk about it. But after I had initially alienated just about everyone with my incessant blathering, people started realizing that I wasn't really egotistical, just insecure.

Apparently, Swayze was extraordinarily promiscuous during this 1972 tour. He hit on many girls who crossed his path and managed to seduce many of them.

Although Swayze was an extraordinarily handsome and talented young man, I think that he didn't study much in high school and felt intellectually inadequate. He was too busy with dance and athletics to read and study. I think that he often felt stupid in conversations with women in conversations about general knowledge -- history, current events and so forth.

In this regard, Swayze was quite similar to the character Johnny Castle in

Dirty Dancing

in his relationship with intellectual Baby Houseman. His personal experience and feelings of intellectual inferiority enabled him to play the role so well.

I think that Swayze's insecurity was a major reason why in 1972 he involved himself with much younger girls, such as 15-year-old Bonnie Kay. He was intellectually inhibited by older, more sophisticated and sarcastic women.

I began dating one woman who was in the show, a good-looking blonde who had a party-queen reputation. She was a wild one, the kind of girl who liked trouble, and at first I was drawn to her dangerous air. Part of me just wanted to see if I could win her, but once I did, I realized she wasn't at all the kind of woman I was looking for. It sounds corny, but I really did believe in Snow White and Prince Charming -- I wanted to find a woman whom I could ride off into the sunset and share my life with.

While Swayze was touring in 1972, he maintained also a long-distance platonic relationship with Lisa Haapaniemi, a 16-year-old girl, a dance student in his mother's dance school in Houston, Texas.

I'm not sure I as even aware of it at the time, but subconsciously I was comparing all the women I met to Lisa.

Beyond sharing Patrick's love of dance, Lisa did not threaten him intellectually, because she was so young and was likewise a poor student.

Lisa was back in Houston having problems of her own. She'd been having a lot of trouble sleeping, and her insomnia eventually got so bad she had to drop out of high school. She'd always had trouble fitting in, and now, with the onset of a creeping depression, she felt even more alienated. This was the beginning of what she later called her "blue period".

Lisa argued with her parents and so came to live for two weeks with Patrick's mother, who was Lisa's dance teacher. During those two weeks, Patrick happened to come home from his tour for several days. Lisa and Patrick already knew each other from their participation in his mother's dance school.

During those two weeks, Patrick dated other girls but also became sexually involved with Lisa in his home.

My mom didn't know it, but the attraction between Lisa and me had been growing for some time. She had seemed indifferent to me all those months [of Disney on Parade], but it turned out she was interested in me, too -- she was just shy, and acting like she didn't care was her way of covering it up. But during those two weeks when Lisa stayed with us, and and I took every opportunity to steal time together. When Mom was in the kitchen, we'd be behind the swinging door in the dining room, making out. After everyone n the house had gone to sleep, we'd sneak out to the living room and fool around on the couch. We still weren't technically "dating", but, man, we couldn't get enough of each other. In fact, I had been seeing other girls -- and the very day Lisa came to stay at our house I had a date with a girl named Mimi, which led to an uncomfortable moment. ... I'd asked Mimi out for that Saturday night, to go to the Houston Rodeo. When Lisa moved into our house that afternoon, Mom expected me to give her a ride to the rodeo too.  .... To my embarrassment, Mimi kept tickling my ear and kissing me all the way to the rodeo, as Lisa sat silently. ...

Soon, however, Patrick settled down with Lisa. As far as the public knows, he ended this promiscuous period of his life. Patrick married Lisa in 1975 and they remained married until his death in 2009.

========

When 15-year-old Bonnie Kay happened to cross paths with 20-year-old Patrick Swayze in Missouri, their encounter might have had nothing to do with Disney on Parade. Perhaps she was a

Candy Stripe

volunteer at a hospital where he had fluid drained from his knee. Since he hit on girls everywhere and was becoming a pickup artist through frequent practice, he might have seduced Bonnie Kay in one day -- and she never even saw the Disney on Parade show. (This is just my idle speculation.)

Her [Bonnie Kay's] mom, Lebetta Whittle, tells Globe, ... "She [Bonnie Kay] told me he [Patrick] wanted her to run away with him," Lebetta recalls. "But she was way too young and told him he could get in trouble for doing that. It was a short relationship, and she said she stayed there all night."

The fact that Bonnie Kay's mother has the last name Whittle indicates that Bonnie Kay never married.

When 15-year-old Bonnie Kay became pregnant in 1972, abortion still was illegal in Missouri. On January 22, 1973, the US Supreme Court ruled that abortion would henceforth be legal during at least the first three months of pregnancy. The

Globe

article does not specify Whittle's birthday, but it's likely that Bonnie Kay was a little more than three months pregnant on January 22, 1973. If so, then abortion remained illegal for her.

Although Bonnie Kay's fling with Swayze lasted only about one day, she did learn his identify. Her brother Ron told the

Globe

that she had Swayze's name and phone number written her arm when she came home from her night with him. At that time, though, Swayze was a nobody -- not worth the trouble of tracking him down to try to prove his paternity and collect child-support payments. Bonnie Kay kept Patrick's identify secret through the years, but sometimes was heard to remark that her seducer Patrick "was doing acting".

It's quite possible that she deliberately passed on any abortion possibilities anyway, because she considered an abortion to be a murder of a baby. That was an opinion to which many young women adhered even when they become unhappily pregnant -- and that still is true.

Many such young women who got pregnant dropped out of high school, gave birth, kept the child, and eventually married another man who adopted the child. The child was taught to respect that other man as the family's father. Such women considered such a difficult solution to their problem to be the moral solution.

The fact that Bonnie Kay kept the identity of Jason's biological father until perhaps her deathbed -- even though she knew that he was famous and rich Patrick Swayze -- suggests to me that she adhered stubbornly to some very strong moral convictions. It seems that she blamed herself for her foolish teenage fling and did not want to cause trouble for her own relationships or for the Swayzes' marriage.

======

The story of Jason Whittle is an ironic counter-point to the movie

Dirty Dancing,

which portrayed sexual flings and subsequent abortions positively -- and which made Patrick Swayze an international star. If Baby Houseman had become pregnant from her fling with Johnny Castle, she certainly would have obtained an abortion and continued on with her planned life, graduating from college and becoming a career woman.

In contrast, Bonnie Kay probably dropped out of high school and lived a lower-middle-class life as an unmarried mother -- or as a common-law wife to another high-school dropout. Even after she realized, many years later, that her son's biological father was the actor Patrick Swayze, she kept that secret to herself out of respect for her family.

Swayze did not became even moderately famous until 1985, when he starred in the televised historical drama

North and South

. By that time, Jason was already about 12 years old. When Swayze became a superstar from

Dirty Dancing

in 1987, Jason was already about 14 years old.

After Jason became an adult, he probably began to hear comments that he looked like the now famous actor Patrick Swayze. However, Jason might have suspected that his biological father was another man in the vicinity who had similar looks.

Jason would not have imagined any possibility that his mother ever crossed paths with Swayze -- much less ever had sex with him -- when she was a 15-year-old girl living with her parents in a Missouri town.

Decades would pass before the adult Jason would be able to sit down at a computer and google "Patrick Swayze" and instantly receive a wealth of information about Swayze's life. Before Google, Jason would not have been able to discover that Swayze was touring with Disney on Parade throughout the USA in 1972, when Jason was conceived.

======

Because Swayze died not knowing about this biological son, Swayze left his entire $40 million estate to his wife Lisa and did not even mention this unknown son in his will. Swayze did not explicitly exclude Jason from his estate.

Because Bonnie Kay did not inform Jason until after Swayze had died, Jason eventually might able to acquire as much as half of Swayze's $40 million estate.

article here: http://dirty-dancing-analysis.blogspot.com/2017/07/patrick-swayzes-unknown-son.html

let me know if you guys think it’s true or not, I decided to share this since this seemed interesting to read... 

[my4bears]

WIDOW DIARIES - 14

LEAVING HOME-

What makes a house a home? Throughout my life I've lived in a number of houses. The first one was on Watson Street in Bossier City where my mother kept the wooden floors so clean and shiny that you could see your reflection in them. We moved from there to Schex Drive just before I turned 2 years old. That is where we brought my baby sister home. I remember the back yard was so big and we had two play houses there. One was in the back of the garage which we used as a house and the other was an open shed that we pretended was a ship at sea among other things. My Powell cousins lived across the street and Donna and I acted out Cinderella, wearing Sue's skirts, a thousand times. We sneaked into Little Ronnie's forbidden tree house when he wasn't home. And spent countless hours twirling around on the whirl-a-gig they had in the back yard.

We moved to McGregor Street about the time I was in second grade and that's where I made friends with Connie who is still someone I consider a dear friend. We were even roommates together in college. My grandmother MamaPowell came to live with us there after her stroke, and I fell in love with genealogy sitting at her feet. About the time I turned 12 we got a weekend camp at Lake Bistineau and spent every weekend there with my other close cousin Susie. We went to church there and got involved with the youth group. We loved it so much there that we ended up moving to a small camp house at Camp Joy. That is where I spent time fishing and swimming and that is where I fell in love with my soul mate Cliff.

When we married, we moved into a small rental in West Monroe where we were going to college, but his Uncle Ken offered him a job in Pineville and we moved. We lived in a little mobile home, but I was miserable. I was homesick for my family and friends, and it didn't take long before we moved back to Haughton. The first home we owned was a small mobile home on land we rented in Doyline. We grew close to Tammie and Paul Holmes and spent many vacations and weekends making memories with them and their children who were only months apart in age from ours. We had the opportunity to buy land from my aunt where we lived when our children were little. So many gatherings and memories there. It's where I got to know Deana and Ricky and dubbed Deana the best neighbor I ever had. She still carries that title!

When Lori was in the second grade, we bought land in Bossier Parish so our children would go to school there, and built our first house. It was my dream home--a log house that I designed and we built with our own hands. I intended to live there forever. The memories of the years we spent there can not be equaled: swimming, teens, proms, music, gatherings, joy and sorrow. When I had to leave that house, the pain was the most searing I've ever known. No place will ever compare to that home. But God had other plans.

We moved to Missouri in 2004 and leased a house in Eureka. It was a nice place, but Cliff promised me that he'd find us our own home within two years...and he did. We hunted for a long time before we found a log house in Raintree Plantation in Hillsboro. It was far enough in the country that I thought I could breathe. But the log house didn't quite fit our needs. Lo and behold, as we were leaving, the woman in the house next door asked if we were there to look at her house. Apparently, the person who was scheduled to tour it never showed, but when I walked in, I knew. This was it. It was never a house that I loved the way I loved my log house, but I knew it would be home. And it was. We picked up there with the gatherings, the singing, the graduations and weddings, learning we were to be grandparents, and watching those babies grow. We swam, we fished, we laughed, and then we cried. I tended my dying husband in that house. I held him as he faded and died. And I knew I could not stay when he was gone.

So here we are. We emptied, we mended, we cleaned, and we prayed. I prayed for strength to let go, I prayed for my agent to have wisdom, and I've prayed for the next family that will call that house their home. Today there have been offers. I don't know what will come of them, but I know I am nearing the time to truly walk away from that home. The last home Cliff and I had together. Never again will I live in a place with memories filled with "him." On the final day that I went there to do some cleaning, I sat in the floor and cried. I looked out the window at "Cynthia's tree" that was planted the year she passed away, and there was a beautiful red cardinal watching me. He flapped his wings and flew away. I'm going to be okay.

[stevishabitat]

Concerns linger as completion date for Coldwater Creek cleanup pushed to 2038 | Metro | stltoday.com

The St. Louis region played an enormous role supplying U.S. forces with firepower during World War II. In St. Charles County, 17,000 acres of farmland were snapped up by eminent domain to make TNT for torpedoes and other bombs. A plant in the 4800 block of Goodfellow Boulevard in St. Louis produced ammunition and artillery projectiles.

And on the Mississippi riverfront, north of Downtown St. Louis, Mallinckrodt Chemical Co. processed massive amounts of uranium ore for the development of atomic weapons from 1942 to 1957. Tons of byproduct with residual radioactive material were shipped to a location on the northern border of the airport, next to Coldwater Creek, to be stored.

For years, the toxic waste sat there, mainly in barrels, in the 100 block of James S. McDonnell Boulevard. By the mid-1960s, Continental Mining and Milling Co. purchased much of the material. They trucked it about a mile away, to an industrial area in the 9200 block of Latty Avenue, which also borders Coldwater Creek. The material was dried there before it was shipped to Canon City, Colorado. Some of it was also eventually buried at West Lake Landfill in Bridgeton.

The main storage sites along Coldwater Creek, and surrounding areas, ended up being heavily contaminated. Those sources of contamination have mainly been remediated. Now, after a lot of concern from residents, the ongoing focus has been testing so the creek can finally be cleaned up.

Unbeknownst to the new residents, many of them had followed the path of the radioactive waste trucked from north St. Louis to North County, before President Richard Nixon created the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. The residents were drawn by brand-new homes, in new school districts and neighborhoods, some with views of the countryside.

Coldwater Creek became a real, live jungle gym. A place to catch crawdads.

“We would play in the creek when I was growing up,” said Dan Farrell, 60, of Hazelwood. “No one knew about the Manhattan Project, at least not little kids. We found out when we were older that we should be glowing. I used to swim in it and eat berries out of the trees.”

In 2011, a group of former and current North County residents launched a Facebook group, “Coldwater Creek — Just the Facts Please,” after they noticed a lot of people in their 30s and 40s getting rare cancers.

“We were all over, reconnected through social media,” said Kim Visintine, a nurse practitioner in Detroit who helped found the online group. Her mother still lives in the area.

Two years later, the Missouri Department of Health and Senior Services Cancer Inquiry Program completed a study of ZIP codes surrounding Coldwater Creek. Facing public pressure, the state broadened the study in 2014 to include two more nearby ZIP codes and lengthened the timeframe of cancer incidence data, but it did not include people who had moved out of the area.

Considering 1996 to 2011, the state found cases of leukemia were “statistically significantly higher” than the rate for the rest of Missouri, as were cases of breast, colon, prostrate, kidney and bladder cancers, according to the report. Among children, 17 and younger, cases of brain and other nervous system cancers were “significantly” higher than expected in the 63043 ZIP code. Oddly, thyroid cancer, which is more easily linked to ionizing radiation exposure, was significantly lower in the region.

There was enough concern in 2019 that the U.S. Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry, or ATSDR, weighed in with a 252-page report.

ATSDR, which addresses community public health concerns nationwide, concluded that people like Farrell who lived or played “in and around” Coldwater Creek between the 1960s and 1990s could have increased risk of getting lung cancer, bone cancer or leukemia from radiological contamination that was around prior to remediation of the original storage areas beside the airport and on Latty Avenue.

ATSDR said there was “only slightly” increased risk of developing lung cancer from daily residential exposure since 2000.

The federal agency made recommendations. Reporting shows that several of them aren’t being followed.The creek travels through Hazelwood, Florissant, Black Jack, unincorporated St. Louis County and a sliver of Berkeley — all areas that had postwar population booms. Florissant ballooned from 3,700 people in 1950 to 66,000 in 1970; Hazelwood shot up from 300 to 14,000 people in that timeframe.

[wineanddinosaur]

VinePair Podcast: Four Regions to Break You Out of Your Wine Rut

On this episode of the “VinePair Podcast,” co-hosts Adam Teeter, Joanna Sciarrino, and Zach Geballe discuss the wine regions they believe are not getting the credit they deserve.

For the Friday tasting, the group tries Twisted Tea for the first time, cracking open 24-ounce cans in two different flavors. The verdict? Listen to find out and join in reminiscing about flavored drinks before hard seltzers.

Plus, listen in on an interview with Kascadia Wine Merchants owner VJ Gandhi, who joins for a conversation about British Columbia wines, and why she believes more American consumers should be drinking them. Gandhi grew up near the breathtaking Okanagan Valley wine region. Since moving to California, she has built her business importing, selling, and educating other markets about Canadian wines.

Tune in, plus learn more about Kascadia Wine Merchants and British Columbia wine at KascadiaWineMerchants.com.

LISTEN ONLINE

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OR CHECK OUT THE CONVERSATION HERE

Adam Teeter: From VinePair’s New York City headquarters — and the phone booth — I’m Adam Teeter.

Joanna Sciarrino: And I’m Joanna Sciarrino.

Zach Geballe: And in Seattle, Washington, I’m Zach Geballe.

A: And this is the “VinePair Podcast.” Yeah, that’s right. We are still coming to you live from the VinePair headquarters and the phone booth inside the VinePair headquarters. And Zach’s in his basement.

Z: I am in my basement, surrounded by wine. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

J: Sounds pretty good.

A: For this Friday episode, we’re going to talk a little bit about unrepresented wine regions or wine regions that a lot of people don’t talk about as much as others. Every wine region has its champions. Every wine region has places where there are tons of people who love them — whether they’re people in the trade, reps, or other people — but they’re not as well known by consumers. Zach, you have a fun interview coming up with someone who represents one of these wine regions. I thought, to kick off this Friday episode, we’d each talk about one region we think is underrepresented. I feel like Zach, since you have the interview, you should go first.

Z: Sure. I’m not going to talk about B.C. and the Okanagan Valley because longtime listeners will know I’ve actually talked about this on a podcast like way back in the day.

A: Oh, we know.

Z: I get into that with our guest, VJ Gandhi, about her work importing wine from B.C. You can hear more about that coming up later in the episode. Another place that I really believe in as a great wine region, and it baffles me that it is surprisingly hard to find wine from, is the Margaret River in Australia. It’s in western Australia. Australian wine in general gets a really weird and bad reputation here in the U.S. Some of it may be deserved. There was a lot of mediocre wine — critter wine, as it’s often called — Yellow Tail and others that came over in the ’90s and 2000s, that really set the impression of the market. Then, on the other side, you have your Penfolds Grange and those huge, very expensive, full-bodied red blends. The Margaret River is totally different than that. I’ve never been. I would love to go. It’s much cooler and kind of has a Mediterranean climate. You have a lot of beautiful Cabernet Sauvignon and some Syrah, plus Riesling and other aromatic whites. Yet, for some reason, it’s maddeningly hard to find a good cross-section of wines from that part of Australia in particular, here in the U.S. That’s at least been my case in Seattle. Having talked to people throughout the wine industry, it seems that that’s true even in other parts of the country. Part of this is maybe, like I said, a little bit of overexposure of certain kinds of Australian wine. I also think, weirdly, there’s been so much fascination in wine circles with every last corner of Europe. I love Europe. There’s lots of great wine there. Certainly, here in America, there’s a lot of interest in American wine, which is also great. Weirdly, people are not curious about Australia. I don’t understand why. It’s a continent. There’s a lot of different growing conditions. There’s a lot of different things that are possible there. Yet, people seem very closed off to the notion that there could be truly great wine from Australia. A lot of the wines I have had the chance to try, I’ve been really, really impressed by.

A: I think that happens a lot with the New World. With American and European drinkers, it just seems to be a lot harder to get them excited about any sort of New World region that’s, dare I say, affordable or budget. It’s just really hard. We’ve done a lot of work in the past with Wines of Chile. They have amazing high-end, premium wines from the country, and it’s always been difficult. As Americans, we’re happy to find our wine regions that we think are premium and support them, like Napa. It’s just weird, though. For the rest of the world, it’s really difficult. You don’t have people saying, “I’m going to start collecting Australian wine.” I don’t know why. Joanna, what about you?

J: We’ve certainly written about this before on VinePair. Adam, I think you’ve written about it. I was going to say the Finger Lakes. I think a lot of people, when they think of New York and East Coast wine, they think of Long Island and the North Fork. I feel like I very rarely see wine from the Finger Lakes on menus, even in the city. It’s definitely an up-and-coming region for Riesling, but also probably for more. Right, Adam? For other grapes?

A: For sure. It’s always been a region that has Riesling for sure. It’s also a region that hasn’t truly figured out what red varietal it wants to be known for. You have some producers, like Nathan Kendall who are making incredible Pinot Noir. Then, you have other producers that are making really great Cab Franc. Ravines is one of those producers. There’s Hermann Wiemer that we’ve talked about before. It totally depends. The region’s figuring that out. But, yeah, I agree. New York somms really talk a lot about the Finger Lakes, because it’s a place that they can go up to pretty easily and do harvest. They become obsessed with that region because they did harvest there, but it’s not as well known, even like two or three states to our south. People are like, “Wait, the Finger Lakes? They make wine?” Even though it’s now considered a world-class Riesling region, it hasn’t really expanded as much as it should outside of certain places.

Z: I wonder if that’s also just a capacity issue. It’s still a pretty small region in terms of production. When you get outside of New York State, you may very quickly run into issues where there might be people interested in it in Missouri or Arizona. If all that makes it into those states are three cases of wine, it’s pretty hard to get that into people’s hands.

A: That’s really true. I mean, It’s so difficult with what the capacity looks like. There’s the question of if people were more aware, maybe they’d plant more.

Z: For sure.

A: I’m going to do one that I think is a little bit of a curveball, because some people are going to tell me that they think a lot of people know this region. I think it’s one that is not as well known as it should be. That’s Santa Barbara. I think that most consumers who are aware of wine from California are very aware of Napa and Sonoma. They may now have heard of Paso, but they actually are not aware of Santa Barbara. That’s always so shocking to me. Even when I talk to my friends who live in L.A., and say, “You know, you have a pretty world-class wine region close to Los Angeles.” I’ll tell them it’s Santa Barbara and they’ll respond, “Oh yeah, it’s got the most beautiful beaches. We go there all the time to go to the beaches.” I’m like, “Yeah, but you should go there to taste wines.” Some of the best Chardonnay and Pinot Noir I’ve had from California has come from Santa Barbara. It’s a region that could have the issue that you said, Zach. There’s not a lot of it. It’s really hard to get wines from there, but some of my favorite wineries and winemakers are in that region. It’s been one of the most memorable visits I’ve had because it’s still a region where I find there to be very little pretension. Everyone’s really fun and having a great time. Santa Barbara also has a downtown area where you can sort of do a crawl to different tasting rooms. People have a great time. A lot of the wineries from the region have setups there. You can see what people are doing and get really excited about it. Lots of great people are making wine there. So, mine would be Santa Barbara, which I think some people are going to say is crazy. I really do think it’s one that not enough people know, in the same way that I think Finger Lakes is that. In a lot of ways, regions in Australia and the one you’re about to talk to in British Columbia is as well. So, Zach, we’re going to let you get to the interview.

A CONVERSATION WITH VJ GANDHI, OWNER OF KASCADIA WINE MERCHANTS

Z: From Seattle, Washington, I’m Zach Geballe. Today I’m speaking with VJ Gandhi, who’s the founder of Kascadia Wine Merchants, a wine importer and retailer focused on the wines of British Columbia. VJ, thank you so much for your time.

VJ Gandhi: Thank you so much for having me. It’s my pleasure.

Z: I’m very excited about this because, as listeners of the podcast will know, I’m a big fan of many of the wines from British Columbia, and from the Okanagan Valley in particular. It’s always exciting to talk to other people, especially people here in the U.S., who share my passion. One of the sad things about the wines is that, until recently, I think it was very hard to get them in the U.S. We will talk about that. Let’s start with this question, VJ. What is your background with B.C. wine? How did you come to decide that importing wine was what you wanted to do with your life?

VJ: You mean, when did the wine bug bite me?

Z: You know, yes, I suppose that would be one way to put it.

VJ: Actually, I don’t have a huge background in B.C. wine. Wine happened to come into my life after I had a corporate career in behavioral health. It was mostly about gaining an understanding of how we were going to create a business for B.C. wines in the U.S., so that they had some sort of platform here to sell their wines. I moved to California seven years ago. I grew up in Vancouver. People in Vancouver go to the Okanagan Valley during long weekends or in the summer with our family members. Of course, we’re there for the lake. There’s this beautiful lake that runs right down the center of the valley. You enjoy barbecues and have fun with your family. What you do on one or two of those days is go to the wineries. There’s, I believe, over 200 of them in the Okanagan Valley. I was very familiar with wine tasting in British Columbia. When you go to local restaurants in Vancouver, we’re so spoiled for local wine and incredible food. When I moved out here to California, I was exploring the restaurant culture in California and in the Silicon Valley. It’s pretty amazing in the peninsula here. I would see wine from Germany, New Zealand, Australia, and just about every country that you can think of that grows fantastic wine, except for Canada. That really bothered me. I thought, “Wow, this is really a missing link, because we’re just a two hour flight to British Columbia from California, and I cannot believe it has not crossed the border.” I began to research. I reached out to a few friends that were familiar with B.C. trade in the U.S. That started my journey into B.C. wine.

Z: I want to talk more in this conversation about what getting B.C. wine into the U.S. has been like and what some of the challenges have been. Many of our listeners will not be familiar with the Okanagan Valley and with British Columbia wine more broadly. You mentioned the lake. Can you talk about some of the more important aspects of the region stylistically, or even in terms of varieties. What kind of wines are we talking about?

VJ: Absolutely. The Okanagan Valley, I believe, is known as the fruit bowl of Canada. It’s always been a growing region and it starts at the 49th parallel and works its way all the way down to the Washington and B.C. border. The reason why I bring up Okanogan Valley is because it’s the biggest growing region in British Columbia. There are also other growing regions like the Similkameen Valley and Fraser Valley. Maybe I’ll get into that a little bit more later. The Okanagan Valley in particular, if you want to picture it for the folks that live out here in California, think of the Napa Valley and then think of a 50-mile lake that runs right down the center. That is the best way for me to describe it to someone here. What you can experience around that is a lot of lake life, food in our culture, and, of course, a lot of beautiful vineyards. There’s a big education piece to this for U.S. consumers. I put a lot of time and effort into telling stories and sharing geographic traits and things like that about the valley. When I first started showing photos, people would compare it to Lake Como in Italy, because it does look like this Mediterranean lifestyle. The really unique thing about growing wine in the Okanagan Valley, though, is that there’s microclimates throughout the Okanagan Valley. As you are further north and you’re working your way down to the center and south, you can grow very different types of grapes in each area. The most prominent in conversation recently has been the Sonoran Desert region. It starts at the bottom of British Columbia, right along the border there in the Osoyoos region. It works its way into Washington and Oregon, actually. Folks aren’t really familiar with the Sonoran Desert region, but it’s the only desert that exists in Canada and it is right smack dab on the border of Washington and British Columbia. What growers are growing fabulously out there are really nice, big, red, Bordeaux sort of wines. You can find Bordeaux style, Syrah, Cabernet Francs, Petit Verdots. Those are what we’ve seen come out of there that do really well in the U.S. Of course, people are not looking for something very fruity, but we’re also getting a lot of herbaceousness and big reds. As you work your way further north, you can expect to see really great Burgundian-style wines as well. Kind of in the center, I would say, there’s some fantastic Pinot Noir — I think some of the best we’ve ever had. There’s a Chardonnay. As you work your way even further north, you get Pinot Gris, really beautiful dry Riesling,  which Canada is known for, and Gewürztraminer, which I think is another fantastic one. One of my recent favorites from Canada is Grüner Veltliner. It’s just mind blowing, specifically one winemaker who we’ve been purchasing from. It’s just been doing so amazing in the U.S.

Z: Very cool. You’ve hit on one of the key features, I think, of the Okanagan Valley, which is this incredible diversity of, as you said, microclimates, the potential for a number of different varieties to thrive, and different styles of wine. I’m based here in Seattle, and a concern I’ve heard at times from people in the wine production trade here in Washington, is that it’s sometimes hard to sell to an export or distant market a wine region whose strength is everything. You know, it’s sometimes easier. The Willamette Valley in Oregon has had an easier time branding itself globally as the spot for Pinot Noir than it would have if it were trying to showcase six or seven different varieties or styles. Obviously, you’re not yet able to import the full gamut of everything that’s grown in B.C., but is it challenging or an advantage, from your perspective, to be able to say, “Here is a Cabernet Sauvignon based wine from Osoyoos and here is a Gewürztraminer, and here’s everything in between?” Does that diversity make it easier or harder for you?

VJ: I think the diversity makes it easier, actually. A comment that I received very early on when I started Kascadia was, “Are you crazy? You want to sell Canadian wine in the Napa Valley wine region?” People here, the demographic, is very wine educated. When you have a wine-educated demographic, they’re looking to try new things. I’m not trying to say that the Okanagan Valley wines are going to compare to wines from other parts of the world. I think what’s really beautiful about it is that winemakers are really showcasing the land there. They’re growing things that really complement the soil and geography there. For example, a Riesling from Okanagan Valley, which is pretty well known across the world now — I think Karen MacNeil talks about in the “Wine Bible” and I’ve seen it in a lot of different prints — is much drier than what you would get from something in Europe. For example, it’s the same thing with Sauvignon Blanc. Some of these wines that you would get in New Zealand have a little bit more tropical fruit on the nose. It would be a little bit more minerality, grass, and lemon here on the Pacific Northwest side. I’m not trying to compare it to anything in the U.S. I’m just saying, “Hey, this is something really beautiful.” It’s kind of New World now. I feel like it’s not as New World anymore in my eyes, because, based on the attention we’re getting here on our products, more people understand it and are starting to recognize it. That’s especially because it’s landing itself in so many publications. The 2017 Red Icon from Painted Rock was awarded Wine of the Year for Decanter last year. That’s a big deal. There’s plenty of wines in our portfolio, if you take a quick peek, that do have many accolades. Even then, you still have to taste the wine and understand it for yourself.

Z: Gotcha. Let’s talk a little bit about this education piece that I know has been a big part of your business. I would imagine that, for many people that you have talked to, the first hurdle you have to get over is when people say, “Wait, they make wine in Canada?” Maybe subsequent to that is the revelation that they make something besides ice wine. Starting out with people, how do you get them over their assumption that all of Canada is tundra?

VJ: When I began purchasing for our portfolio, I opted not to purchase ice wine and I did get a slap on the wrist from a buyer one time. It was actually a pretty well-known buyer out of Los Angeles. He said to me, “Why do you not have ice wine in your portfolio?” I simply replied with, “Because I really want you to know what else we’re excited about. I really want you to know the other varietals and types of wines we’re growing out in Canada.” Ice wine is predominantly grown, of course, in the Niagara Peninsula region and the Ontario region. It’s the biggest style of wine in Canada. I was introducing, right from the get-go, Cabernet Franc, Syrah, Pinot Gris, Chardonnay. These were things that I feel like captured our audience. Like I said earlier, I wasn’t showcasing something to compare it to something here. It was completely individualistic. This is coming from this particular region, and this is what you’re going to taste, smell, feel.

Z: Makes sense. You started out by bringing in some of these wines and consciously steering away from the ice wine stereotype or what people’s expectations would have been. You were in California, around Napa Valley and Sonoma and these places that are so acclaimed for wine themselves. You mentioned before in our conversation that you found that audience to be actually receptive to B.C. wine because wine is a big part of their life. As much as they might love Napa, Sonoma, or California wine generally, that’s not maybe the extent of what they want to drink all the time. You sell to over 30 states. As you’ve looked to expand beyond California, are you finding that the people who are coming to you for wine are people who are Canadian expats or otherwise already have a fondness for wines from British Columbia? Or are the people who are really looking to discover something new and, one way or another, come across your wines?

VJ: Great question. To begin with, the audience was definitely more familiar with Canadian wine, As we’ve grown over the last two to three years, we definitely have a lot of new consumers who are not Canadian and who are purchasing our wines regularly. We have regular customers from Maine, Texas, Florida. Sometimes the customers went up to the Okanogan Valley with their family one time, They’ll say, “I heard that they grow a ton of grapes now, so I’m just curious what you’ve got in your portfolio.” Actually, I have a lot of consumers that reach out to me by email to talk to me about the B.C. or Ontario wine portfolios that we have, which is really nice. That’s what I love about our business being a smaller, boutique-style shop. It’s easier for people to shop around and learn a little bit about something new. We initially started off with our consumers who were either from Canada or had family members in Canada and have visited out there. There was a lot of familiarity. That grew, of course, on our social media. It’s really amazing what an incredible platform social media can be for directing consumers to your website or product. I think right now, on Instagram, we have over 10,000 followers and that really cultivated itself over the last couple of years. We get a lot of engagement there. People are very curious. We get a lot of traffic from our social media to our website for purchases.

Z: That makes sense. You also, obviously, have a pretty big direct-to-consumer piece. Did you see even more growth once the pandemic started and people had to find sources for wine that could get delivered to their door and were probably looking for adventures without leaving the house?

VJ: Yes, exactly. It was an adventure for all of us. We did see growth in direct-to-consumer sales during the pandemic. That was especially, like you mentioned, because of the convenience. We’re completely an online store. You’re easily able to purchase on our online store and have it delivered to your preferred address. We were also hosting many virtual tastings. For the virtual tastings, there were more U.S. consumers that had no attachment to Canada at all. It was great, because that’s just folks that are curious and feeling adventurous. That was a really interesting part of last year’s growth. It was driving more U.S. consumers to venture out into Canadian wines, whereas before that, maybe we did have more Canadian expats, visitors, or family members of Canadians purchasing. So, last year was huge for us.

Z: Gotcha. I actually want to step back. I realize we kind of skipped over some of the genesis of this whole idea. We talked about your background. One big obstacle that I had seen in talking to people throughout the wine industry about getting wine from British Columbia into the United States has been, A: a limited amount of production. The production in B.C. has grown a lot lately, but it’s still not enormous, especially when you start entering the global market. B: I’ve heard that a lot of wineries in British Columbia, quite candidly, didn’t see the point of selling wine for export or selling wine into distribution as opposed to through your wine club or whatever — meaning that they probably had to sell the wine for less so that it can go through import duties, the three-tier system here in the U.S., and still be affordable-ish for people. I don’t want to get into all the intricacies of that, particularly. But, I do want to ask, VJ, was it challenging to get wineries in B.C. on board or did you find that most of them were really excited about the opportunity to be in the U.S. market?

VJ: It’s a fantastic question, and I understand what you’re saying. I see how that is a challenge. Initially, when I started to work on this project — maybe because I’m Canadian and I was overly passionate, and I’m not saying other importers are not — I was really gung-ho about making sure I could make this happen. That’s where my head was at right from the beginning. The big challenge was figuring out how much B.C. wineries know about exporting into the U.S. This is not just an education piece for U.S. consumers. This is also an education piece for B.C. wineries to export into the U.S. I had worked with a wine consultant from the U.S. quite closely, who had 30 years-plus experience of working in many different facets of the industry out here. He helped coach me into how I could help coach wineries from B.C. and what would be expected of them here. That is what I’m doing today. For example, once I’ve met with a winery and we’ve decided we’re going to work together, I really do take care of all the customs, transportation, and any sort of licensing that is required. I want to make them feel at ease, so that the things that we can work through are things like pricing, helping them understand what the pricing structure is like in the U.S. Wineries are excited. They’re very excited. The hurdle for them is having to understand what is expected of them. I’m very transparent when it comes to pricing strategies. It’s because I do everything exactly by the book. We do Excel spreadsheets or whatever I need to do to show them that this is where the price points need to sit so that it’s competitive with the pricing in Canada. That’s a very important piece for marketing your brand in the U.S.

Z: For sure. You probably find that you have to be both competitive in price with what the wine costs in Canada, but also competitive in the broader American marketplace. To some extent, the wine is a specialty item. People might not be expecting to get a B.C. wine for $7. At the same time, you did mention there’s been a lot of press more recently and some very glowing reviews. That creates demand, or at least the notion of a premium experience, which maybe supports your price point. It’s interesting to talk about how a lot of the people who have purchased from you, who are just wine consumers. I imagine you have some trade component to this, too. I know I’ve certainly talked to plenty of wine buyers, sommeliers, et cetera, who have maybe even been to B.C., and like me, have been frustrated by the inability to then include any B.C. wines in their program. How do you interact with the trade and where do you see some of your wines popping up?

VJ: As you know, I’m an importer. We’re also a distributor for retail, restaurants, wine clubs, brick and mortars, and things like that. For someone like yourself, what I find that my wholesale clients feel when they look at my portfolio is that they do see that we’re picking the best wines from the regions that we’re sourcing from. Whether the accolades speak to that or they’re familiar with the winemaker or the particular brand, it is like picking from a needle in a haystack. First of all, our portfolio is attractive for buyers, direct-to-consumer, or wholesale. Secondly, I do walk them through the price points. I find that our wholesale clients seek us out, sometimes. I haven’t pushed the retail buyer or the restaurant buyer as much, but we do have a really fantastic portfolio of buyers there as well. Sometimes, it is still an education piece. Hopefully, when the borders open up in a comfortable manner again, we can continue to fly. We have flown out to the Okanagan Valley with some buyers in the past, so that they could meet with winemakers and we could visit facilities. These are buyers that have become advocates for B.C. wineries. In the long term, they start off as a restaurant buyer or a somm that we worked with that eventually becomes a B.C. wine ambassador.

Z: Very cool.

VJ: It’s been a really fantastic experience. I personally feel that I have a fantastic relationship with my regular restaurant and wine club buyers.

Z: The last question I want to ask you is a little bit broad, but at the same time, I think it is a fun thing to discuss. We talked a little bit about the styles of wine that you can find in British Columbia, especially the Okanagan Valley. We talked about what makes it a great place to grow grapes and to make wine. You mentioned, and it is true, that going to Canada is doable, but there’s some questions about how much people want to travel, et cetera. Have you thought about, in addition to taking trips with buyers and stuff like that, is there any part of the business model down the road that involves some kind of wine tourism? Is that something you’re going to leave to the wineries up there?

VJ: We actually did have a tour company reach out to us last year. There were a couple of fantastic ladies — I’m not sure if I can mention brands or names yet — but a couple of fantastic females. They’re running a business that does wine tours and more adventurous trails in between. I do have a couple of clients here in the U.S. that would be interested in that. We’ve been in discussion of possibly partnering in the future to create an unforgettable experience from clients from the U.S. that want to do something like that.

Z: I’m editorializing a bit. I’ve been to a lot of wine regions in the world. Few of them are as beautiful as, in particular, the Okanagan. Actually, the Similkameen as well is also very strong.

VJ: Oh, it is.

Z: They afford a lot of exciting non-wine activities. I don’t know why you would bother. Some people like to go hiking or whatever. There’s a very large lake that people do things on. There’s lots to see and do. When I talk about B.C. and the Okanagan in particular, I think it’s important to note that, not only are the great wines there — which is certainly true for the region — but it is a strikingly beautiful place to visit. That’s certainly true of other wineries, but it’s not true of all.

VJ: In the Okanagan, there’s activities throughout the whole year. Yes, there’s wine tasting in the warmer months, but people go snowshoeing and they still go wine tasting. They love hiking. I’m just so blown away. Growing up in Canada myself, I’ve always been an outdoorsy person. I love hiking, bike riding, and camping. These are aspects of Canada that are very exciting, I think, for consumers from outside of Canada. If you create an experience like that — and wine tasting, meeting with winemakers and growers is a part of that — that’s just mind blowing. That’s definitely something that’s in the works. Right now, it’s just a waiting game for when life gets back to normal a little bit.

Z: For sure. Well, VJ, thank you so much for your time. Really appreciate it. Very excited to learn that there is some expanding access to B.C. wine here in the States. For people who are interested in the wines and in Kascadia, what’s the best way to find out more?

VJ: You can check out our website at KascadiaWineMerchants.com. There’s an About Us page there. We try to keep your shopping experience simple and give you very easy access to some of the most fantastic wines you’ll have from Canada that will be shipped right to your door, to over 30 states.

Z: Fantastic. Thank you so much, VJ.

VJ: Thank you so much, Zach.

THE VINEPAIR TEAM TRIES TWISTED TEA

A: That was a super-interesting interview.

Z: Thank you.

A: Yeah, man. Great job. You’ve got a really good rapport with people. I like the questions you ask. It’s very in-depth, really good, super interesting. I hope everyone else found that interesting as well.

Z: Does it make you want to go to British Columbia?

A: It does. I would like to go.

J: Yes.

A: Now, for something totally unrelated, again. To end our Friday episodes, we’re always going to try something a little bit off the wall. Today we’re trying something that none of us have had. Some of the VinePair staff are fans. You’re going to be shocked when I say what this is: Twisted Tea.

Z: Oh, yeah.

A: Twisted Tea was the precursor to Truly. It was Sam Adams’ quiet sleeper hit that no one wanted to talk about, but it was really helping the company grow. Boston Beer had really put a lot behind Twisted Tea. I have mine in a glass because Joanna and I are splitting a 24 ounce. I can smell mine from here. It definitely smells like tea. None of us has had this before, at all. I’ve never had a single Twisted Tea. You guys have never had any of the flavors, right?

Z: No.

A: OK. Joanna, you and I have Half and Half. It’s their version of an Arnold Palmer.

A: Perhaps a John Daly, since it’s boozy.

J: Right.

A: Those are so good. You, Zach, have the original.

Z: I’ve got 24 ounces of the original staring at me.

A: Let’s taste it. It smells like a lemonade iced tea. I’m not going to lie.

Z: Oh, man. That is dangerously drinkable.

J: Ours is a little bitter for me. It’s probably from the lemon.

Z: A thing that I find fascinating about my can — and I’m not sure how this is possible — it does not have any nutritional information on it.

A: Oh, there’s a lot of sugar in this.

Z: I’m sure there is. I kind of assumed they had to put that on the can.

J: Maybe it predates that. It’s grandfathered in.

A: If you gave me the Half and Half and you told me this came out of an Arizona bottle, I would totally believe you. The alcohol is completely hidden in this. As you said, it’s dangerous. An alcoholic version of tea is not my beverage of choice for alcohol delivery. For some people, I guess it is. You’re right, Zach. It’s dangerously drinkable. I don’t hate it like I hated the Cacti.

J: Yeah. I feel like this is more successful than a hard seltzer.

Z: I just looked it up and, granted, this is just what the internet gave me, but this 24-ounce can has almost 400 calories in it.

A: It’s a lot.

Z: It’s definitely playing in a different sphere.

A: What’s the alcohol percentage?

Z: Five percent.

A: Right. That’s a lot of calories from sugar. It really does taste like someone took a 50/50 and added a little bit of booze, but you really don’t taste the alcohol at all.

Z: No, it’s dangerous. I don’t taste it at all in the original, either. It’s also very interesting to me. I’ll post a picture of this, but I have to talk about the can. I don’t know how it is on the 50/50. For one, this can has very grainy, low-quality pictures of people enjoying Twisted Tea that they either posted on social media or sent in or whatever. It looks like they submitted it. It also makes a point to point out on the can that it is not carbonated. Can confirm, it’s not carbonated. It’s interesting to me, too. This definitely predates the seltzer boom. You can see the faint outline of what would happen with seltzer. It’s a malt beverage, it’s flavored, but it so clearly predates that by a touch. It was, maybe, reaching out to a slightly different kind of consumer. I drank a lot of Arizona iced tea when I was in college, so it’s got some weird nostalgia. I’m sure that if this had existed, I probably would have drank a lot of it, because it’s booze plus like a flavor I liked. I don’t really want to drink all of it. I definitely am not going to. It’s also the middle of the afternoon here. I bet we’ll go through a lot of other drinks on the podcast. I don’t know exactly what we’ll do in future weeks, but I bet we will drink a lot of other things before we get to something that I like as much as this.

A: Yeah. I’m already getting a little bit of that sugary thing in the back of my throat. You guys know what I’m talking about? I don’t think I could drink a lot more of this. Like I said, I don’t really like canned sweet teas anyways. They’re always too sugary for me. I don’t think I would drink a lot of this, but I don’t find it bad. I guess what I’m saying is that I could not see the appeal at all of Cacti. You must be a psychopath if you like that.

Z: Quite possibly.

A: With this, I totally see why people like this. I totally see why there is a market.

J: It’s made a comeback, right? It’s really popular now.

A: Yes it has. I totally see why people like it. All right. Cool. Guys, talk to you Monday.

Z: And, hey folks, if you have suggestions, we want more ideas for what to drink.

J: Please. There’s a lot of pumpkin in our future.

A: No, no, no, Hard no.

J: You’re going to get Adam retching.

Z: I was thinking last week, I like it when you drink something that you hate. It’s much more interesting.

A: Oh, my God. OK. Fine. Talk to you guys next week. Peace out.

J: Thanks guys. Bye.

Z: Sounds great.

Thanks so much for listening to the “VinePair Podcast.” If you love this show as much as we love making it, please leave us a rating or review on iTunes, Spotify, Stitcher or wherever it is you get your podcasts. It really helps everyone else discover the show.

Now, for the credits, VinePair is produced and recorded in New York City and Seattle, Washington, by myself and Zach Geballe, who does all the editing and loves to get the credit. Also, I would love to give a special shout-out to my VinePair co-founder, Josh Malin, for helping make all this possible and also to Keith Beavers, VinePair’s tastings director, who is additionally a producer on the show. I also want to, of course, thank every other member of the VinePair team who are instrumental in all of the ideas that go into making the show every week. Thanks so much for listening, and we’ll see you again.

Ed. note: This episode has been edited for length and clarity.

The article VinePair Podcast: Four Regions to Break You Out of Your Wine Rut appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/podcast-underrated-wine-regions/