“Reading is FUNdamental” and Trees Really Do Fall in the Forest.

   Did anybody see this happen?

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I’ve been on a delightful and very gratifying book-reading tear for the past decade or so. This new-found hobby ties in perfectly with my mid-life-crisis goal of spending as much time as possible in the glorious outdoors of Colorado and elsewhere, both in business and free-time pursuits.

For most of my life this usually translated into some on-the-edge physical sport, adventurous endeavor or work project, with all the inherent insurance risks.  But with advancing age, I’m finding that injuries are less prevalent when sitting in a chair. Reading in the outdoors, in some secluded, peaceful, scenic place is one of my new joys. And my State Farm agent loves me for my latest outlook on life.

A more recent goal has been to find ways to escape the clutches of my beloved iMac computer. But, drat, dang nabbit, digital photography, writing, research, news consumption and social media silliness are all so addicting, so I’m still working on this goal.

Having finished my last book weeks ago, I was getting restless for another literary meal, a mental escape, my next life diversion. Anything so I don’t go near a TV. Or in some instances, people. So I just ordered a few more of Tim Cahill’s classics.

Tim is the author of several books, most published years and decades ago, but timeless nonetheless. His titles include “Road Fever,” “Jaguars Ripped My Flesh,” and “A Wolverine Is Eating My Leg.” He is a founding editor of Outside magazine and writes frequently for National Geographic Adventure and other national publications. He lives in Montana.

344178I discovered his writings when I happened upon a book at a yard sale a decade ago. It had this close-up photo of an odd-looking, forlorn duck on the cover. This was before the Aflac commercial craze, but I had to buy it when I saw the title: “Pecked to Death by Ducks.”

Cahill’s book titles are randomly and oddly selected, and have nothing at all to do with the content, but then, in strange ways, perfectly explain his adventures and written masterpieces in concise and twisted ways. Some might even call Tim twisted. I’m sure all his friends, and his publisher, do.

One critic explains Tim this way: “Cahill is great! He is the P.J. O’Rourke of the outdoors! Fearless and hell-bent on overcoming all obstacles in his path, Cahill takes us to the oddest and scariest adventures nature has to offer.”

If you have read any Cahill, you will find a slight irony in the fact that while I was comfortably ensconced in my camping chair in the White River Forest of Colorado this past week, with no mortals anywhere within miles of me, halfway into “ A Wolverine is Eating My Leg,” I was jolted from my chair upon hearing a tree–a very large tree, no doubt–topple over and crash in the forest clear across the valley. In the middle of the afternoon. And there was no wind.

No one else heard it. Just me. And how often does that happen?

But I heard it. And so it did indeed fall.

Thank you, Tim.

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