The call of the West: looking back on 6 months in the Mountain States
High pitch, low pitch, one chirp, then two. The baseline was composed of woodpeckers rapidly tapping on the trunks of trees in the distance. It was the symphony of birds. It was the concerto of the Pecos wilderness in New Mexico. More than that, it was a welcome back song. The sun filled my face with warmth and sweat dripped down my back beneath my backpack. My legs itched as I brushed passed a plant that tickled my leg and reminded me of the continuously biting mosquitoes. It was wonderful. I slapped away a mosquito that hovered over the red scar that now decorates my leg. The only visible sign of months not being able to walk and an explanation for the gingerness held while carrying a pack and walking on uneven ground. This was not a year in South America or a grandiose van trip to escape it all. Well maybe it was a little of the latter. The 2nd of July marked the one year anniversary of beginning life with a permanent address listed as Guy in Van. No, this was a weekend in the mount