Late-Night Check-In

Just checked in to a motel, a tad after 2 a.m.  Yesterday morning rose to sunshine.  My wife already in the garden.  I kissed her near the fava beans.  All morning it was chores with family — switch out tractor implements, check chickens and ducks, unload duck and chicken feed, load some stuff for the dump, check oats sown last night, get poles around for pea trellises, just generally soak up some of the sun and green of the farm in spring.  Then after lunch, loaded the car with book boxes and suitcase, drove two-plus hours to Stevens Point, Wisconsin, where I spoke to and shot the breeze with a big ol’ room full of arson investigators (do NOT play with matches, because them people will pin it on you!) (speaking of pins, my backpack now sports an International Association of Arson Investigators pin), then about 9 p.m. hit the road for here, which is somewhere near Moline, Illinois, but not quite.  Five more hours on the road, a lot of AM skip, some more Molly Hatchet and a few tracks of Portishead, and here we are.  Always strange to check into a motel this late, all the cars parked quiet in the lot, not much sound in the halls, no one in the lobby.

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