Times have changed, and that’s a good thing
As an adolescent male in the 1970s, you didn’t tell your other male friends you loved them, not at that time, not like the hugs and “love you brother” that is so common today. Just didn’t happen, at least not in the Southern military town of my childhood.
This must be the place: ‘And I thought that I’d found a light to guide me through’
A soothing mid-fall breeze floats across my front porch, through the screen door and into the apartment, ultimately swirling around the writing desk facing a bustling Russ Avenue within sight.
This must be the place: Ode to Anna Marie, ode to the kids of Smith Street (and beyond)
Stepping outside the small log cabin, I took a moment to collect my thoughts. Vast farm fields and ancient dirt in the rural countryside outside of Goldsboro, the cool air of an impending fall was felt with a sense of relief in a place where heat and humidity reign supreme.
This must be the place: ‘The questions of a thousand dreams, what you do and what you see’
It’s never easy to go home. And I think it only seems to get harder, perhaps more abstract and blurry, as one gets older — further and farther between from the starting line, literally and figuratively. Case-in-point, I recently returned home to my native North Country.
This must be the place: ‘A sunbeam’s shining through his hair, fear not to have a care’
It’s 9:54 a.m. Tuesday. I’m sitting at the old wooden kitchen table at my parents’ farmhouse in rural Upstate New York, within close range of the Canadian border, just a few farm fields away from the mighty, ancient Lake Champlain.
This must be the place: ‘A horse is a horse, of course, of course’
The alarm on my smart phone echoed throughout the small cabin. It was 7:30 a.m. Saturday and I had to be somewhere in an hour — hopping onto a saddle for an early morning horse ride.
The more things change, the more they remain the same
When reporters, editors and publishers from all over North Carolina gather each year to hand out awards for the best work in the state, the talk inevitably turns to what is shop talk in this industry: the stories we’ve covered, the relationship with local officials back home, the challenges the industry faces as we’re all transforming our business models to accommodate changing reader habits.
A broken heart is an open heart
It was a beautiful sunny morning when I felt the urge to make the 45-minute drive to my hometown of Weaverville.
This must be the place: ‘Scarecrow and a yellow moon and pretty soon a carnival on the edge of town’
Mailbox 278 (pictured) along Route 581 in the unincorporated community of Nahunta, North Carolina. In the rural depths of Wayne County on the outskirts of the small city of Goldsboro.
This must be the place: Ode to 10 years of ‘This…place,’ ode to all you kind readers
Hello from 36,000 feet above the Midwest on this otherwise quiet Monday afternoon.
