Grounded

We made it. Six days and many gallons of gasoline, three cheap motels and three campgrounds, 2800 miles and approximately two pounds of trail mix later, we arrived in the sweet, fetid heart of the southern lowlands.

In the last two weeks, I went from seeing this ten paces from the front door:

to this:

I picked up a boar jawbone off the road yesterday, have already eaten biscuits twice (if you count dumplings), and have a fresh collection of sand gnats bites on my ankles to pick at in my sleep. Good clean swampy fun!

Hence, culture shock. When I'm in between, the world really reveals itself. No comforting habits, no daily grind, no automatic pilot. Beautiful, delicate, raw and unflinching cognitive dissonance is really the only way to go.

And the more biscuits, the better.