the bear inside her quieted.

You know that part in the movie Legends of the Fall when Brad Pitt comes back from his boating trip around the world and he’s no longer sleeping with whores or hunting wild game? The part where he settles down with that nice half-Indian girl and becomes a bootlegger?

That’s me. Or at least it will be, once Eric Lyttle and I figure out how to make a newspaper all by ourselves tomorrow afternoon.

Everything has quieted down. We feed the chickens and tend the garden. I’ve even begun to use a clothesline. It feels good to, as you say, put something in the ground. It’s stabilizing.

Seth and I made sauce and pasta from scratch and had cookies and wine. We were able to enjoy the time as a couple. Tonight I felt good about everything I ever did, and all the blessings that are piled up around me. Especially this:

they won

The Teters went camping this weekend. Part of the celebration involved a day trip including something called a Moonshine Festival. Please go. There is no description that can adequately describe it. I can, however, offer one piece of advice: Moonshine Pie does not pair well with Old-Fashioned Root beer.

Also, it was Memorial Day, and Maybel was thisclose to taking a crap in the middle of the festival on the New Straitsville Veterans’ Memorial. Plus she does this thing where she flings her poo onto monuments with her back paws. Luckily the WWII vets were distracted by the car show.

In journalism, I have achieved my career goals. I am 25. Any ideas for what’s next? I’m taking suggestions.

In work, Dan Williamson’s last day is tomorrow. Although he says he’ll sneak out the door without fanfare, I can’t imagine he wouldn’t secretly appreciate how sad people are about his departure.

I’ll tell you what I would have told him: I would say the same things to Dan that I said to Danny Russell—-that I adore his work and am devastated by his departure, andd I wish he would’ve stuck around so I could apprentice, blah, blah, blah—-but now I’m just spittin’ mad.

Almost four years ago, I moved to Columbus and started reading The Other Paper. A few moments later, I decided that I wanted to be Dan Williamson when I grew up. I’m not sure many young ladies think this. I probably blogged about it. Flash forward to the present, and I’m here, and damned if everybody I wanted to work with hasn’t flown the coop, but I can’t be too mad for too long. If it weren’t for Dan, I’d probably still be writing my stupid little columns across the hall. Plus, Eric is prepping to pretty much rock the joint.

I think Ohio’s governor is soothing. I could listen to him all day long.

What I meant to say is that I am happy for everybody. and that I might get to be a statehouse reporter–whatever that means.

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