I still need a life to call my own. I am still not certain whether my river wanders are a legitimate calling or just an excuse to run away from the life that is mine to live. There is no doubt that I typically run away to rivers when my flight mode has been triggered. Even in the desert I typically find and head to the nearest watershed. Still, I believe it could be a calling. Callings have been given weaker signs.

When I cut off my river wanders at Golconda, on the Illinois bank of the Ohio River, I earmarked Labor Day Weekend for the end of the discernment weekend. Rivers are tourist attractions, wherever you find them. Labor Day Weekend is the official, end of tourist season.

And here we are. Labor Day Weekend has arrived.

I am waffling between the river call and continuing my projects here in Austin. The projects are going gratifyingly well, but I am still feeling the hyper-vigilance while waiting for the next domestic drama to derail the train. Aside from all the domestic drama and boom stresses, the only real problem with my life in Central Texas is that there are no navigable rivers here. It's desert watershed system is quite fascinating, but far from navigable by boat. Still, I take considerable Old Hippie pride in the strength of the Urban Agriculture movement here. My current spread really could have a shot at being a part of it. Honey and eggs are already available. The medicinal herbs have been neglected in the domestic drama, but. . . I already have several established in spite of the domestic drama. Hive products other than honey are equally lost in the domestic drama, but the potential is established.

Hubs seems to be on-board with my resuming the river wanders. Seems to be. Not sure if his Super Martyr Cape is snapping or if he really is okay with it. He is a pretty super dude by nature. It is hard to tell sometimes. . .

Sorting. . .

Thanks for the sort space. Feeling pretty stable. Input welcome.