Pass the Whiskey
August had just begun, and now I had a plan: work on the farm through mid-October and spend the winter learning Spanish and farming in Central America. Ahhh… I breathed a sigh of relief and sat back. All this thinking had really made me hungry, I wondered if there were any cookies downstairs.
My relaxation was short-lived, though. I exhaled the stress from winter plan-making only to inhale an unmistakable stench… shit was most definitely hitting the fan somewhere.
Well it hadn’t yet, actually, but it was about to. The details of what happened are better told in the company of close friends and a stiff drink (whiskey, please. Neat.). Ultimately, though, I was suddenly jobless, which also meant I was homeless. And there went my plan to stay here and farm for the next 2 and a half months.
So what does one do when the rug is pulled out from under them? Slink home of course. For me that wasn’t where my family is, or where I grew up. No, for me “home” was Durham, NC.