I’ve been a bachelor for nearly a week now while Elle and River have been enjoying family in Minnesota. I couldn’t have realized how much I would miss them—the chatter of baby talk and occasional crying, the boy’s smiles and Elle’s thoughtfulness about our current life. I miss the walks and the anticipation of spending time with my people.

I’ve been a good bachelor though, getting out of the house, mushroom hunting, dressing as a tomato for Halloween, writing, going to poetry readings, pushing an engineless truck up a hill with six other guys, etc.

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One of the highlights of the past week was my second-ever mushroom hunt. The day was dark under the cover of the trees and we walked slowly off trail with a sort of imperfect attention, that for a brief moment allows you to see something more clearly—an area that might be good for growth. Your eyes hover about the ground as you weave up and over down trees and wet boulders, and then you’re brushing away the duff and the warm color rises, as the chanterelles come light into your hands.

It’s a meditative act, not unlike berry picking. You can lose yourself in it and become a part of the background. And while I love longer journeys, this kind of wandering is a welcome respite from the destination-oriented mind of a hike.

In these woods I don’t have a map. I work a wide orientation of my position and then trust myself. At one point I took a break from the search, wandering far, crossing the delta-like split streams that come with heavy rain. I took no straight path and paused to grab some wild ginger. At the river I found a rock to lean against. The sound of water enveloped me entirely and I pulled a heel of bread from my bag, and looked around. “I could stay here,” I thought.

I imagined what I would do if I found myself lost here (I always do this in the woods). I spotted good shelter and thought I could risk drinking the water this far up the mountain. I had a little food and good clothing. When I finished my bread I got up slowly and wandered back toward the trail, once again knowing how few things we really need to get by.