Happy spring to a couple morning visitors outside my window.
Drive home listening to the news on the radio until I can’t stand the shittiness of it all any longer so I turn it off, then ten minutes on social media and I see example after example of people just being hateful dicks to each other, and then this. This is what being the baddest hombre on the fucking mountain looks like.
I often feel a little weird sharing articles I wrote that “go live” online. It feels a little too, “Hey, look at me!” for my tastes. But not this time, damn it. Pete Fromm became one of my favorite writers way back when I first read Indian Creek Chronicles, and he deserves to be read and enjoyed by everybody. His new book, The Names of the Stars, is newly released, and I have a review in this week’s Independent. Here is an excerpt:
The main action in Stars revolves around Fromm’s return to the wilderness — this time the Bob Marshall — in the spring of 2004 to babysit another batch of fish eggs. Unlike his previous experience, it’s only for a month, and Fromm is no longer a footloose young man. He’s pushing middle-age, is married and has two young sons. When he is first offered the job, he hopes to bring his sons out into the wilds with him, despite the Bob having the highest concentration of grizzly bears anywhere in the lower 48 states. Issues of liability and Forest Service bureaucracy prevent Fromm from taking them and he nearly decides not to go.
Check out the review HERE. I enjoyed the book very much. Definitely one of my favorite reads of the year.
First real blast of winter, just before night falls, and I love it.