This is the one day in my entire five-month thru-hike where I didn’t take any notes. Here is what I remember:
Toad in a hole in the morning, or “dead baby in a shallow grave”, as a friend once called it- three eggs cracked into three slices of gluten-free bread in a cast-iron skillet popping with hot oil. Each slice of bread has a circle cut out of the center. That’s where the egg cooks. Snack on the circular bread cutouts while you wait. Also red Russian kale, cooked until watery and soft. Oversalted.
Sitting alone in the darkened living room, shades drawn, playing guitar. Writing the chords on a piece of yellow scrap paper and resting the paper on my knee. Making my voice as low as possible. Moving to the front porch and sitting on the cool concrete stoop.
Walking across Ashland, through the park full of oak leaves, drinking Lithia water from the bubblers next to the park. Hazy yellow sunshine.
A bus ride to the edge of town to fill a cart with discounted bars at the discounted health food store. How much food does it take to feed myself for all of Oregon? Schlepping a hundred paper grocery bags home on the bus. How do I even begin to make resupply boxes for myself? I’ll deal with it in the morning, I think.