Fall is trailing into winter, red and orange in pockets among the frostbearing skeletons along the hills and ridges.
School is a trip. A little podunk state uni with a faculty full of hidden masters. I'm one of a handful (literally) of Natural Science majors adrift on an inland sea of resort management and art majors. The four nat sci profs have five or six PhDs among them and the pedagogy they embrace is some of the finest I've encountered.
A little over a year ago I laid out long term goals - 6 months, a year, three years, five years - and I find myself ahead on all of them.
The truck is shaping up. Major mechanicals are done. Interior and electrical all but done. Life support modifications finalized and scheduled.
Nobody is stopping me from doing the things I want to do, and I am making my own program now.
The rural life suits me. I'm an outsider here and always will be, but there are gems among the locals.
I'm working with a group of colleagues from another life to do the work that my government has, officially if behind closed doors, refused to do. We're rescuing Afghans who are owed a debt. It's slow work, and ponderous, and we are of late openly sabotaged by the offices and agencies whose duty we are fulfilling.
For the first time in years, I am free.