So I probably owe you loyal readers an explanation about my four-month hiatus. We will get to that, but for today let me tell you what jolted me back to this part of my writing life.
Bliss.
Since December 2025 I’ve been moving houses, trying to get someone acting like a madman out of one of them, juggling hard writing deadlines, and working to create a successful path for my successor through my slightly unique day job.
All work and no play–except that Japan trip. During the Japan trip, on the last full day before we flew the next night, my dad died. It was not unexpected; he had left us long ago through Alzheimer’s. But the physical death was sudden, so there was nothing for my friend and fellow traveler in Japan Amelia and I to do but come home at the planned time.
When I got home, a few details to clean up meant I last wrote to you March 11. And then my brain kinda shut down. I’m still producing radio stories. I’m still conducting interviews on the Hurricane Helene book for a December manuscript deadline. And I have spoken with an Appalachian-based press about the Eviction book (tentatively titled No Good Deed) detailing what happened when we invited That Guy to live in our second home. Which is now my primary home. That and a book about Food Insecurity in Appalachia will be next.
But what I really want to tell you about today is my friend Amelia’s casual life-lifting comment “My friend Caroline is inviting some women to sit in the river; let’s go.” The New River is very shallow in many places, not least near the hydro dam in Fries (pronounced Freeze for those of you who paused here). We took sunscreen, hats, and chairs, and went down to the river to play.
This was my first meeting with Caroline, an engaging soul whose word count might approximate 500 per minute. She is a good storyteller so that was fun. We were sitting in shallow water something between swimming pool and bathwater in temperature, so that was delightful. Little fish schools swam around us, so that was diverting; we contemplated losing our water shoes for impromptu pedicures.
It was a relaxing couple of hours, and they did not so much speed past as flow gently. When we left I found I had been sitting doing nothing but enjoying the flow of words and the flow of water for more than two hours.
Amelia and I got dinner, I went home, lay down, and slept for 12 hours, rising only once to properly prepare for bed after having been in it awhile.
Bliss, I tell you. I had no idea how tired I was, how sick I was of moving stuff between houses in preparation for moving to Scotland. How stressed I was over moving all the logistics of the healthcare nonprofit to a new mind, fresh and eager but unaware of details unless I imparted them.
We will talk later of the iron clad lease now in place (1500 words and counting) for the people staying in my wilderness property. Of our concern that our house in town is not selling. Of my disappoint at not getting an awesome job that I was a finalist for two years ago. They checked my references, then went with a man from DC, transplanted him to Appalachia, and expected all to be well. He blew out 14 months later. They didn’t offer my interview this time. That’s more about them than me and I know it, so let it flow away. Scotland ho. We have a small apartment overlooking the ocean in Stonehaven awaiting.
More later, but just know I missed sharing the small sweet moments that make up the bigness of life with you. Hope you are doing well, and hang in there if not. The water will eventually wash it away.
Wendy Welch: Books, Yarn, Cats, Opioids 