A collection of 12 unique short stories ranging from science fiction to allegory and contemporary fiction. Each story represents a different idea or "acorn", and all tied together by discussions of morality, reality, and choices.
Science fiction:
The Return Flight, Benjamin: The A.I. Government
Allegory:
The Bridge of Working Truth, The Demise of the Great Village, The Man Who Held Court.
Comedy:
The Nobody who Fought a Dragon.
Contemporary fiction:
My Old Street, The Charleston Market, The Graverobber Sitting Across from Me. The False Treeing Hound. The Unstoppable Train.
A collection of 12 unique short stories ranging from science fiction to allegory and contemporary fiction. Each story represents a different idea or "acorn", and all tied together by discussions of morality, reality, and choices.
Science fiction:
The Return Flight, Benjamin: The A.I. Government
Allegory:
The Bridge of Working Truth, The Demise of the Great Village, The Man Who Held Court.
Comedy:
The Nobody who Fought a Dragon.
Contemporary fiction:
My Old Street, The Charleston Market, The Graverobber Sitting Across from Me. The False Treeing Hound. The Unstoppable Train.
A Short Story
Why am I writing this story?
The short answer is—because I should.
The longer answer is—because a complete stranger redirected my life, and I am still trying to understand how it happened.
Perhaps by telling you this story I will understand it better myself.
Why should you read this story?
Because the gap between what you know and what you will need to know is enormous. Perhaps the advice I received from this stranger will help you as much as it helped me.
*****
Around a decade ago, I arrived home from work and walked into my kitchen to find a note on the counter. My girlfriend was not home, and I assumed this was a grocery list or something of the sort. However, when I looked at it more closely, I found it was a letter stating that she was not happy and that it was over.
I knew we had not been in a good place, but I did not realize things were this bad. I suppose at that time, being twenty-six, I was self-absorbed and putting nearly all of my focus into my career without investing time or thought into our relationship. There were many things I had said but should not have said, and many things I did not say but should have. However, it takes two to tango, and she did not tell me she was even contemplating leaving. I suppose there were a number of vital conversations which we simply did not have.
The situation caught me by surprise, and I drank heavily that night. In my drunken stupor, I devised a foolish plan and, doubling down, committed to it. Within a few weeks, my house was on the market, and I was effectively homeless. I slept on the couch at a buddy’s apartment once my house sold, then I took the sale money, quit my job (which I really was not that fond of anyway), and drove around the country.
It had always been a dream of mine to take a road trip across the expanse of the United States and see all of it. This was the first time it was possible. I had no attachments, no house, and no one depended on me. Furthermore, it had always previously felt like whenever I had time, I had no money; and whenever I had money, I had no time. At that moment, it all came together, and my road trip dream suddenly became possible.
You could say I was running away from my problems, and I probably was. It did not occur to me that anywhere I went, I would be bringing myself along with me. In any case, a man can get a ton of clarity on a long drive, and I had one ahead of me. I purposefully did not plot a route or set any dates; the roads were wide open.
I planned to go wherever the roads took me; see whatever they wanted to show me, and I would have no schedule. I did not know what I was looking for, but I knew I would know it when I found it. Maybe I would even stumble into a place that felt like home and settle down there. Who knows? The possibilities were endless, and I felt a sense of adventure and anticipation which I had not felt for years.
This particular story is not about the entire trip, although there is much I could say. This story is about one moment of that trip when I had a conversation with an old man in Wyoming; a man I met by complete accident.
When I look back now at this chance meeting of ten years ago, it is still strange to me. What I considered important milestones at the time, losing my girlfriend, quitting my job, selling my house, they now seem like footnotes. The real story began when I met the old man.
Before I get into that, I would be remiss if I did not suggest that everyone take the time to drive around this country. Even if you do a series of shorter road trips throughout your lifetime, there is nothing better than taking the country by car and really seeing it. I have often found that the places which are so arrogantly referred to by self-proclaimed elites as “flyover country,” often turn out the best people backdropped by the most incredible landscapes. I say for sure that I have always loved my country but seeing it from the road less traveled gave me a much deeper appreciation for the vast possibilities of what it has to offer.
Upon the conclusion of my road trip, I considered the entire country to be my home. I love my home dearly, and seeing so much of it by car, I believe I know it well. With that being said, I did eventually settle down in a new town I discovered along the way, and I have lived there since.
Now, back to my original story.
I was passing through the national forests in western Wyoming when my car began to overheat, and I had to pull off the road. The car was steaming, so I popped the hood, and a wall of superheated steam roiled out. I peered under the hood only to discover green fluid spraying out onto the pavement. My radiator, having sprung a leak, was trailing coolant down the road. I could see a stream of fluid trailing back the way I came. Checking my phone and, not surprisingly, finding that I did not have reception in the vast valleys and mountains of that area, I found myself stuck without any way to call a tow truck.
I was driving the backroads to take in their incredible and authentic scenery, but with the tradeoff that I had not seen a gas station for many miles. I could not even remember the last time I had seen another car, let alone a town with a mechanic’s shop.
At first, I just waited. I sat leaning on my car, assuming someone would have to drive by eventually. After a while, I became restless and locked the car, then I started walking down the road. My shoes were in good shape, as was I, and I figured I could walk a fair distance up the road.
I must have gone five miles, not realizing how hot it was outside, until I finally saw a mailbox up ahead. When I reached the mailbox, I saw a long winding driveway and a nicely maintained wooden sign that read “Kurt’s Guide Service.”
The driveway must have been at least two hundred yards long, winding through the thick pine until it eventually opened up onto a large, cleared area covered with short green grass. As I walked up, there was a modest country home with a wraparound porch, a red barn, and a large fenced-in area with a pack of dogs running around and playing. Spotting me from a distance they began to bay and howl excitedly, alerting their owner that there was someone coming. As I slowly drew closer, I noticed three well-groomed mules grazing in another pen just beyond the dogs, as well as a few hens strutting around the garden, busily digging for bugs and seeds.
Responding to the dogs’ howls, an old man came around the corner of the barn. He was holding a paint brush covered in red paint. I couldn’t help but notice he also had a large revolver dangling off his hip. The old man had a white beard, cowboy hat, leather Wellington boots, and thick worn-in work gloves poking out of his back pocket. Presumably, he was in the middle of painting the barn when I walked up, and he was not expecting company.
“This is private property. Can I help you, son?” he asked.
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir. My car overheated a ways down the road. My phone has no reception, so I just started walking. Your house is the first one I’ve seen, and I was hoping I could use your phone to call a tow truck,” I politely explained.
“Must have been a solid few miles based on the condition of your shirt,” he said with a smile, looking at my sweat-soaked clothes and dripping hair. “The town is about ten more miles up the road, but we only have one mechanic, and George is closed on Sundays. The next town after that is another twenty miles, and I don’t know if they have anyone open today, either.”
“I don’t mind waiting overnight if I have to. Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice, but I don’t feel good about leaving my car on the side of the road,” I said.
“What’s wrong with it?” he asked.
“Radiator blew. Or at least the coolant’s leaking, and she’s overheating,” I said. “I’m not great with cars so I can’t say for sure.”
“What’s your name, son?” he asked.
“I’m Dan—Daniel,” I said as I reached out to shake his hand.
“Kurt. Nice to meet you, Daniel. Sorry for your bad luck. Folks around here are religious, and most of us don’t work on Sundays. But cars can break down any day of the week. Where’re you from, Daniel?” he asked.
“Ohio, near Cleveland,” I said.
“Ohio? What are you doing way out here?” he asked.
“I’m taking a road trip across the country,” I answered.
“Fair enough,” he said.
Then Kurt pointed to a large black pickup truck parked on the side of the house. “I’ll tell you what, Daniel. I can tow your car here and let you stay one night if you need. Tomorrow afternoon I’m guiding two gentlemen from Iowa into the mountains, so you’ll be on your own after tomorrow morning,” he said.
“I appreciate that, sir. I couldn’t ask for a favor like that, and I don’t much like taking charity, but I’m pretty much stuck, so I accept, gratefully,” I explained.
“Just call me Kurt,” he said. “And it’s not charity. It’s just being a good Christian or a good neighbor. You can stay here one night; but first, you have to pass the test.”
“What’s the test?” I asked, not sure where this was headed.
“If you can walk over and pet that mule, the brown and white one, you can stay here. If he won’t let you get near him, then I’ll let you use the phone, but you’ll have to figure out something else,” he said with a straight face.
I was not sure if he was serious, and even looking back now, I still do not really know. “So, I just have to walk up and try to pet that mule?” I asked.
“That’s it,” he said. “I’ve been hunting with that mule for years, and his judgment about people’s character is better than mine. He knows when I have a bad client a few days before I can even see it. I trust that mule more than I trust myself.”
I was convinced the old man was joking, but he raised a hand and gestured for me to move toward the mules. The two of us began walking towards them together.
When we were about twenty feet from the animals, Kurt stopped and motioned for me to continue approaching them. I knew almost nothing about horses, or donkeys, or mules. In fact, this was the first time I had ever seen any mules, and I almost mistook them for awkward-looking horses with rabbit ears.
I crept towards them slowly and reluctantly. I did not know what to expect. Is this mule going to kick me, or bite me, or headbutt me? I wondered as I nervously approached.
The mules momentarily stopped chewing their hay when I was close, and they studied me for a few seconds. On walking up, I thought about how people first domesticated horses and how brave or stupid those folks had to be to walk up to such large and powerful animals. I decided the best approach would be to act confident and move with intention, but not too fast, and speak aloud in tones that conveyed confidence and goodwill.
To make a long story short, I was nervous. As it turned out, the mules were well trained and did not mind new people. Perhaps because they received such good care from Kurt, they had no bad associations with people and no reason to be suspicious. I walked right up and started petting the large mule. All three quickly went back to chewing hay and did not mind my presence.
Kurt laughed loudly as he watched my nervous face. “Welcome to the country life,” he said with a smile.
We grabbed a few supplies from the barn and hopped in Kurt’s truck to go and tow my car back to his ranch. On the way, Kurt told me how he grew up in Wisconsin and how he passed through this area in his twenties, then never left. “I always loved hunting and fishing, but I thought I was going to go to college and become a lawyer or something. Then I got a taste of the mountain life, and nothing else really made sense to me after,” he explained.
“Do you have any kids?” I asked.
“Not that I know of,” he replied with a smile. “Almost got married a few times, too. But you know, life seems to have its own plans for every man.”
“Yes, it does,” I agreed.
“It’s the strangest thing, but for some reason, I can’t seem to meet any nice lady out in the woods,” he said with a laugh.
“Yeah, I imagine that’s a small market. Although back home, you’d be surprised how many women go fishing now, even ice fishing, too,” I replied. “But obviously, those gals don’t stay single for long.”
“I’ll tell you what, hunting and fishing are two things, on a short list of things, which have always made sense to me. I think people are starting to miss that connection to the land. That’s why I love the mountain life. I understand it. You know? I understand it and I know where I fit in with it,” he explained.
I was surprised by Kurt. He lived alone with a pack of dogs and mules, miles away from the nearest person, but I found him to be a deeply introspective and thoughtful man. Maybe he’s the product of years of quiet reflection, alone with his thoughts. I don’t really understand him yet, but he’s a fascinating guy. At the very least, and from where I’m from, it’s rare to meet people who have the skills to survive in the wild or who know how to do anything useful with their hands, I thought as we drove down the road. I should really pay attention and try to learn whatever I can from him while I’m here.
Kurt explained that he had been guiding for nearly four decades. As we spoke, I got the impression that he was a bit of a local legend within the area’s hunting community. Hunters seemingly knew Kurt was the man to ask if they had questions, and his clients came from all around the country. Kurt knew the terrain, the animals, and the methods as well as anyone. He also told me about his work with Wyoming wildlife management, being tasked with tagging and tracking animals for conservation research.
I did not know anything about hunting, because where I grew up it was anything but common and often frowned upon. I was amazed to learn that even though Kurt was in the business of hunting and killing wild animals, he truly loved each of them. I realized the irony of the fact that all the people in urban areas who claim to love wildlife do so largely in the abstract, because they do not live anywhere near any wildlife. Few, if any, of the people I knew would take a week off of work to go see wildlife up-close. My city friends who frown on me for eating cheeseburgers rarely make the time to even visit the local forest preserve, let alone the real wilderness.
Kurt’s knowledge of the elk, deer, bear, mountain lion, and birds was astounding. The drive to my car was not long, but I learned a great deal on that short drive. He told me about how the wildlife populations were diminished for a time but were now coming back through intelligent and cooperative conservation efforts.
“Most times, when we get out of our own way, nature seems to balance itself. Conservation is about getting the numbers right for how many animals we should hunt, then making sure to set land aside for them. If we hunt more lions, there’ll be more deer and elk. If we hunt more ungulates, the lions will start taking more livestock. If the lions take more livestock, the farmers will lose their livelihoods and take matters into their own hands. So, we track the numbers carefully to know how many animals we can, and should, take each season. And we’re getting better at the equation each year,” he explained.
We latched the front of my car to his truck and slowly towed it back to the ranch. “George, the local mechanic, knows my property well, and we can call him tomorrow morning at eight,” Kurt said.
Then we continued down to the road as we talked. Five miles later, we were back on Kurt’s ranch.
“Sorry, I don’t have much entertainment for a young person like yourself. You’re welcome to wander around the property or just hang around. I need to spend a few hours working with my dogs. You’re welcome to help out if you want,” he told me.
As I have always loved dogs, I happily agreed to work with him. We walked over to the kennels, and Kurt opened the latches for two of the six dogs to come out.
“These two are Buck and Ruby,” he told me. “They’re still pups and have a lot to learn.”
“What breed are they?” I asked.
“These are bluetick coonhounds. Some of the finest-bred hunting dogs on earth. They’re brother and sister from the same litter,” he said proudly.
“I’ve heard of the breed but didn’t know what they looked like. These are gorgeous dogs,” I said. “So, I get how you use the mules to get to remote places then camp out in the bush. How do you hunt with the dogs?”
“For mountain lions,” he said. “It’d be nearly impossible to hunt lions without dogs. Lions are way too fast and elusive for any man on foot, especially an old one. When I say hunt, I don’t just mean killing them but also tagging and tracking them. I do a lot of work with the state’s wildlife management to capture, sedate, and put collars on mountain lions. You wouldn’t believe how far those cats travel throughout a year. We never knew just how big their territories were before radio collars.”
“How do you catch the lions?” I asked.
“I train the dogs to sniff out a track where a lion has passed through. The dogs need to judge whether the track is old or fresh, and I decide, based on their level of excitement, whether it’s worth following or if we keep looking. When they find a good track, they need to follow it fast enough to catch up to that lion. If they can get close enough, the lion will usually go up in a tree because they’re great climbers and dogs aren’t. It’s much easier in the snow because I can look for fresh tracks and measure their size to know if it’s a big tomcat or a smaller female,” Kurt explained.
“How often do you find one?” I asked.
“Most days we strike out. Lions are great athletes, and they’re darn clever. You can go a whole lifetime out here without even seeing one, but their pawprints are all over,” he said. “We use radio collars and let the dogs go way ahead following a track. When they find a good one, they get excited and start to bay. When they eventually do get a lion up in a tree, their sound changes, and you can hear that sound from a mile away.”
I listened intently. This was all new to me, and I had never seen hunting dogs at work. Kurt had a handful of treats in his pocket, and he was working on training the two young dogs to listen to his voice and commands.
“When the dogs don’t listen, sometimes you lose them back in the woods. Before we had radio collars, you’d spend days looking for your dog when it ran off. They can get carried away and wander too far away to hear you. Guys used to lose dogs all the time. The best way to protect your dogs is to make sure they’re well trained and to have more experienced dogs alongside your younger one. It takes years for them to get really good,” he told me.
“Have you taken these two hunting?” I asked.
“We’ve taken some shorter trips near the house where they’re familiar. I needed to see how well they’d listen, how far they’d wander, and gauge their instincts,” he explained.
“How’d they do?” I asked.
“Well, this girl here,” he said, pointing to Ruby, “she’s wicked smart. I’ve only seen a few dogs with instincts and judgment as good as hers. I think in a year or two, she’ll probably be my best dog. But right now, she doesn’t have the confidence. She’s as sharp as can be, but she’s indecisive and she doubts herself.”
“So, what do you do?” I asked. “I mean, to build her confidence?”
“Well, just like it is for smart people, it’s hard to convince them to trust themselves. Mostly they just need time and to get some smaller successes under their belt. So, I try to encourage her, give her time, let her work things out. You know, she works more slowly than the other dogs, but she gets it right,” he explained.
I pointed to the other dog, Buck. “What about this one here?” I asked.
“Oh him?” Kurt said as he started laughing. “Well, he’s my false treeing hound.”
I did not understand. “False treeing hound?” I asked.
“Yeah, he’s all action and no brains; just like a teenage boy. But he’s an extremely athletic dog, strong and full of stamina. If he wasn’t always going the wrong way, he’d get there before all the other dogs. He’s confident but he has no idea that he’s clueless. He sort of reminds me of myself before I turned fifty,” Kurt mused.
I laughed and thought this point over for a moment. “What do you do about that,” I asked.
Kurt rubbed his white beard. “If I pull him back too much and domestic him, he won’t be the same dog. But if I don’t do anything, then he’ll probably run too far from home and get lost. He might even drive from Ohio all the way to Wyoming and get stranded there,” Kurt said.
I looked at Kurt sharply, beginning to understand what he was really telling me.
“I assume you took this drive because of girl troubles,” he said.
“What makes you say that?” I asked.
Kurt laughed. “That’s how I ended up out here. The only difference is that I never left,” he said.
At that moment, I began to understand a little bit about old Kurt and how he came to be.
He noticed me studying his face. “Yep, I’m an old dog, but I’m a lot like these two young ones. Most of my life has been defined by things I said too soon, or things I said too late,” he explained.
“Or sometimes things you never said at all,” I added.
“Or things I never said at all,” he agreed. “I’ve been training dogs for decades but in studying my dogs it was myself and other people that I came to understand.”
“How so?” I asked.
Kurt studied the dogs closely as he formulated the words. “People have a lot of words to choose from, and sometimes we make things too complicated. But we’re mostly motivated by the same things as any other animals. We get hungry, thirsty, tired. Sometimes, we get bored or lonely. We need affection and friendship. We get motivated by an encouraging word and diminished by a discouraging one. We want to know where we fit into our pack and our surroundings. And most of all, we need purpose to get out of bed and to keep moving,” he answered.
“Even dogs need purpose?” I asked.
“Smart dogs especially do,” he replied. “These dogs are never happier than when they’re pursuing a track and seeking out the critter that made it. It’s their instinct and their nature. Nothing makes them more excited, focused, or alive. When you isolate one dog, or put too many together, or go months without giving them any work, then you’ll understand the worst of humanity.”
I looked between the two dogs, Ruby and Buck, and I studied them as Kurt spoke.
I do not remember all of the conversations we had, but that conversation, in particular, stayed with me. I have been thinking about that talk, on and off, for the last ten years.
When we ate dinner, Kurt cooked up a great meal of venison pulled from his freezer and potatoes from his garden. I never tried deer before, and I was grateful that he was willing to share the experience with me. Kurt cooked a bit of extra meat and saved some bones, which we shared with the dogs after dinner.
At night we sat on the porch in rocking chairs as he rolled us cigarettes and we drank bourbon. He told me old stories from growing up in Wisconsin and funny happenings during his hunting trips.
A few of his older dogs were napping on the porch at our feet as we sat. He was an excellent host and was more accommodating than I could have expected or hoped for. I think he enjoyed my company for the night and was happy to borrow someone’s grandson for an evening. He seemed to enjoy talking to someone other than his dogs, mules, and chickens. I was certainly grateful to be the recipient of a grandfather’s wisdom when I was lost and needed it most.
In some ways, talking to Kurt felt almost like talking to an older version of myself, one who had the advantage of hindsight to help guide his young counterpart. I think Kurt could instinctually read exactly where I was at and how I got there. Whether it was conscious or not, he seemed to have the words I needed for that season of my life.
“The way I see it, there are three kinds of men,” he told me. “There are fearless men who’re fools. There are men who know so much that they become cowards. Then there are courageous men who face life despite all they know and all their fears.”
I was not sure why Kurt chose to tell me that, but I have been thinking about it since. Perhaps he saw something that I still do not yet see.
That evening I stayed at his place, and we talked deep into the night; in fact, into the first few hours of the next day. Eventually, I fell asleep on his downstairs couch.
The next morning, Kurt still managed to be out of bed and ready by six in the morning. I woke up to the sound and smell of bacon sizzling on the stove and coffee steaming in the coffeepot. We sat drinking coffee and continued our previous conversations as we ate.
At eight we called the tow truck and shortly after, his hunting customers arrived. I helped Kurt pack supplies and gear onto his mules as they prepared for the extended trip into the deep country. Kurt told me it was going to be a one-week trip into terrain barely touched by people. “I wish you could see it,” he told me.
“I hope I do, someday,” I replied.
An hour later the tow truck arrived, and Kurt talked with George, the mechanic, for a few minutes, putting in a good word for me. Then Kurt and his two clients hopped on the mules and began walking off into the woods. A moment later, they were gone, vanishing into the thick wilderness behind Kurt’s property.
At the mechanic shop, it took several hours to fix my radiator. As I did not have any books or any interest in the magazines, I sat there thinking. I thought about Kurt and the wisdom he departed. I realized that when it came to people, I had equal regrets about bad things I had said and good words I never did say. I thought about how sometimes I was the dog who spoke too soon, and sometimes, I was the dog who spoke too late. Then I thought about how sometimes I was the dog who did not make a peep but knew I should have.
On the way out of the mechanic shop, I decided to call my own grandparents, who were living in Salt Lake City.
They had moved out to Utah five years before this, and I was overdue for a phone call.
On the phone, I meant to only say “hello,” but I spewed more than I planned to share. I told them about the breakup, the road trip, and my good friend Kurt. They insisted that if I was driving around aimlessly, then I must come stay with them for a few days. I agreed and set out for their house the moment I left the mechanic.
The drive was only seven hours, and it was rather late when I arrived. We did not get to talk much that first night, but I slept like a rock for nearly ten hours. When I woke up, my grandparents wanted to hear my full story and all that I had been up to.
“But first, we need to have some coffee,” said my grandfather. “Can we take you to breakfast? We have a favorite spot in town.”
“We insist!” said my grandmother enthusiastically.
I agreed, and we drove down to a local diner in town, not far from their house.
As we walked in, the hostess immediately recognized my grandparents. “Good morning, you two! And I see you have three this morning. The usual table?” she asked.
“Good morning, Stacey!” said my grandmother. “And yes, we do. This is our grandson, Daniel.”
“Nice to meet you, Daniel,” Stacey said as she reached out to shake my hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” I replied.
Then Stacey grabbed three menus and began to lead us to our table. It was clear that my grandparents came here often.
In their older years, they seemed to rekindle a sort of childlike curiosity. They were especially interested in people, and they talked to everyone they encountered. Everyone in the restaurant seemed to know them.
We sat down at the table, and they did not even need to open the menus. They set theirs aside and began to chat with one another. As I opened my menu and began to look through it, a voice came up from behind me. “Good morning, Mr. Edward and Mrs. Arvy! Okay, I’ve got decaf for the gorgeous young lady, and regular coffee for the handsome young man. And I see you have some company this morning,” said the voice as she came around the table.
“You’re a doll, Julia,” said my grandmother.
Julia smiled at my grandmother as she worked her way around the table and turned over our coffee mugs to fill them.
“We were hoping we could get a table in your section this morning. This is our grandson, Daniel,” said my grandfather.
As I looked up at Julia, I was speechless. She was astonishingly beautiful with long dark hair, big brown eyes, and little dimples in her cheek paired with a warm smile. I am not sure if I have ever seen a woman as beautiful as her. Her beauty was not only because of her features but also because of the open and comfortable way she greeted my grandparents. She immediately had my heart.
“It’s really nice to meet you, Daniel,” she said as she smiled at me.
I still could not speak, and I had no idea what to say. I extended my hand to shake hers.
“You’re very lucky. I adore your grandparents, and I always have a good day when they come in,” she said.
I composed myself for a moment. “It’s great to meet you, Julia,” I said as I looked between her and my grandparents.
“Julia is a student at the university. She’s studying psychology, so watch yourself,” my grandmother mused.
“Well, I only just finished my second year. I swear I’m still harmless,” Julia said. “Well, I’m mostly harmless.”
After filling our coffee and chatting with my grandparents for a moment, she stepped away to check on her other tables. I wanted to talk to her so badly but still did not have the words.
Julia stopped at our table many times throughout our breakfast. She seemed to come talk to us as often as she could. When she was not at our table, I watched her from the corner of my eye as often as I could see her. I could not help it.
From time to time, I could have sworn she was glancing at me when I was not looking. My grandparents seemed to notice this dance, and they looked at each other with playful smiles. Apparently, grandparents just sort of know things, which the rest of us do not.
“So how long are you in town, Daniel?” Julia asked on one stop at our table.
“I’m not sure yet. I’m on a long road trip, but so far, I really like it here in Salt Lake,” I said. “And I’ve missed these two. You guys might be stuck with me in town for a while.”
My grandmother seemed to light up at this idea. “We’d love to have you closer! Ohio is too far away, and we miss our grandkids. And it’s beautiful here this time of year,” she said. “Stay as long as you like.”
Our breakfast was wonderful, and we talked and laughed together for over an hour. I had completely forgotten about the troubles which sent me on this trip in the first place. It had entirely slipped my mind that I was still completely lost.
I had forgotten that I was effectively homeless and driving around the country with all my possessions in an old car. None of that seemed to matter. At that moment, I was happy. I was with my pack.
On the way out of the diner, we stopped to talk to Julia. “It was great to see you guys,” she said to my grandparents. “And it was really nice to meet you, Daniel. Your grandparents are very special, and you’re very lucky to have them.”
“It was great meeting you, Julia. Thank you for taking such good care of them. The rest of our family is out east, but it makes me happy to know they have good friends out here,” I told her.
“People need good friends. We’re pack animals, after all,” she said.
Her words took me aback. It was like she had also been talking to old Kurt. “Yes, we are,” I replied.
Julia and I looked at each other for an extended second, and there was an awkward silence. There was so much more I wanted to say, and Julia seemed to want to say more, too. We both seemed to be waiting for something.
Finally, my grandmother broke the silence and gave Julia a hug with some parting words. Then we walked outside toward the car.
On the walk to the car, I was heartbroken. I had the inescapable feeling that I had made a mistake and left something unfinished. It felt like coming to the end of a great story, then the book suddenly concludes with untied ends. Everyone knows that a bad ending taints the entire story, and I could not escape the uneasy feeling that my story was about to have a bad ending.
Who do you want to be? I asked myself. Do you want to be the dog that barked too soon or the one who never barked at all? Which would you rather live with? Will you face uncertainty with courage, or will you never take a chance because you’re afraid? Who cares if you’re unemployed and living in your car? Who cares if you’re lost in the woods? Who cares if you have no idea what you’re doing? Does anyone really know what they’re doing? Maybe everyone is just pretending, I thought.
The three of us got in the car, but my grandfather would not start it. He and my grandmother just exchanged glances through the rearview mirror. It felt like they knew something I did not. I sat in thought for a moment.
Then I made a bold decision, for better or worse. “I’ll be right back,” I said as I opened the door and jogged back to the entrance of the diner.
My grandfather laughed as he glanced at my grandmother through the mirror.
“Well, it’s about time,” said my grandmother as she looked back and watched me run inside.
When I got back in the restaurant, Julia was at the hostess stand. She was looking down as she was writing on the seating chart. When she looked up, her eyebrows rose reflexively in surprise. Then she smiled at me warmly, like she knew why I came back.
I asked for her phone number, and she wrote it down on a notepad with a smile and a small blush. Then I walked out and got back in the car.
I didn’t speak too soon or too late but exactly when I needed to, I thought.
My grandparents showed me around town for the next few days, taking me to their favorite spots. I always liked Salt Lake City, the few times I had visited, but this time it felt like home. Soon I made the decision that this was where I was going to set up shop.
Within one week I was interviewing and looking for an apartment. Within another week I found a suitable job. Then I took Julia out for coffee, and we started dating. Things seemed to come together quickly and naturally. For the first time in several years, I did not feel like I was swimming against the river.
This is where I’m supposed to be, and when I’m supposed to be here, I thought.
Nearly two years later, right after Julia graduated with her bachelor’s degree, we finally drove to Kurt’s ranch. I thought it would be important for Julia to meet Kurt, the subtle figure who was so pivotal in our story. He and I had been in touch over the phone for the last two years, but this would be the first time I had seen him since.
When we arrived at Kurt’s, he greeted us as we came up the driveway. I gave him a big hug like he was family, and he gave Julia a big hug like she was family. We chatted for several minutes then Kurt informed us he had to finish a bit of work. “I was just about to go clean the stables, but you two should go walk the property. Daniel can show you around,” he said.
This was the part of my plan which I had worked out with Kurt in advance over the phone. Julia would find out my plan soon.
We walked by the mules, and by the dogs, then down the driveway as I told her the full story. “This is where fate conspired to sabotage my car,” I said as I pointed. “One of the most important days of my life. If my car hadn’t broken down here, I wouldn’t have met Kurt. And if I had never met Kurt, then I would’ve never met you. He changed my life, and I owe that man everything.”
Julia smiled and listened closely to the story as we walked. “I’m glad you brought me here. This is a very special place. It’s a special place for us,” she said.
“Our kids are going to love visiting here someday,” I said as I turned in front of Julia and took hold of both of her hands.
“Our kids?” she asked.
Then I got down on one knee and I asked her to marry me.
*****
That was nearly eight years ago now, and Julia and I have been happily married for the last seven. I will never know how my car happened to break down a few miles from Kurt’s house, but I know why it happened. It broke down where it did because it needed to. It broke down right there because it was supposed to.
As I write this story, I am sitting on Kurt’s porch, looking out at his property on a beautiful and sunny summer day. Kurt is next to me, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette and looking out across the yard.
Julia is out in the garden with our two children, James and Mary. They are running around and laughing, playing with two old but familiar dogs, Ruby and Buck.
The End
With a dozen short stories to enjoy, 13 Acorns was a pleasant ride all the way to the last one. The variety of stories, genres and voices kept my attention without ever becoming too stale or overdone. While each story is unique in it's plotline and delivery, Martin ties them all together with deeper and thought-provoking questions. I absolutely loved how Martin's conversational tone in both the epilogue and prologue, and how he gives the reader tremendous faith and insight into his writing process.
Traditional thinking would recommend that I not group together such a large spread of ideas. It is believed that the average reader does not have a broad range of interests, and it would be wise to keep my work narrow. Normally this would be wise, but you are not an average reader. I have no reason to believe that your mind and interests are narrow. Why should I assume you are any less curious than I am?
Of the dozen stories, my favorite was The Nobody who Fought a Dragon, which was also the only comedy of the bunch. Set in a small town hundreds of years ago, main character Bill is the town potter. Bill actually doesn't enjoy making pottery, nor is he any good at it, but this business had been in his family for generations. Due to his general unhappiness at his lot in life, he has also become an alcoholic and dubbed "the Town Drunk." At night he sneaks away to a nearby cave and works on both brewing his own beer and whiskey, and also painting nature scenes.
One day a dragon swoops down on Bill's little town and wreaks havoc, causing the Prince to be sent to slay the beast. The King wants the townspeople to send in another man to assist his son, and they vote that Bill be that man. While Bill is most certainly a terrible potter and a drunk, he is not a coward.
Bill accompanies the Prince on his beast-slaying mission and it just so happens that the dragon has made itself at home in Bill's hidden cave. Some comical interesting events unfurl from this point forward, which I really enjoyed.
Ultimately each story was on the darker side, but were generally well-written, entertaining and attention grabbing. I'd recommend to anyone looking for something different than the normal novel or nonfiction book on your shelves.