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looking for astronauts
I / manistee
we were holed up in a remote but comfortable cabin along the little manistee river with family. across from us, the river politely split itself around an island of tall pines, and that's where we looked for dinosaur bones one day. another day we sat in lawn chairs in the river and let the current wash over us. inside we played crossfire and flora snarled at my niece and the two have never been good with each other since.
there's a patti smith song i will never admit to liking, but it's among my favorites and we listened to it at full volume with the windows open, speeding down a nameless back road. a blue racer darted out in front of us — a long one. silver in the sun; silver on the blacktop. we had gotten married the year before and were on our way to look at three properties. 
II / arbutus it seems odd now that a perfectly lovely forested property across from a little lake park would have gone for twenty thousand (less, i think), but that was the summer before covid: innocent and easy. people drive like maniacs on that road. my husband drives like a maniac on that road. he didn't have a drivers license back then. he does now, and he drives down that road to buy cigarettes at our forest bodega — courtade's — that has been there since time immemorial. we thought about flora. there were pines and ferns here. we wanted her to run free, but we didn't want her to run to the road.
III / empire
every visit before and every visit since, the people of empire, michigan have been saints. they are tidy-minded, kind, small town folks. they have an asparagus festival complete with an asparagus queen on stilts.
but on that sweet summer day in 2019 the fog rolled in, smoke on the water. someone honked and flipped us off at the town's one intersection (my fault). and when we drove slowly through the new neighborhood to look at the property, someone flew down their front porch steps waving us away.
this, in hindsight, was a blessing. there is one restaurant open for dinner in this town. target is thirty-six minutes away and much, much longer in the snow.
IV / chandler
we got out of the car and looked down a thickly forested bluff; a cliff, really. we groaned. we almost got back in the car. but my grandparents built a cottage themselves in the 1970s on land that was much steeper and much more difficult. we careened down and it flattened out. there were hemlocks and birches. i'm a sucker for a birch. i've always been a sucker for a birch — ever since I was little and would unlawfully peel the paper off their bark. the sun glowed off the lake and we both had a sense that this must be the place. 
V / café regular back in brooklyn, we sat around an old marble table and had a very responsible, adult conversation about money. and then immediately made the irresponsible, impulsive decision to buy an empty piece of property, signing the paperwork just a few days later. we had no realtor and no idea about owning property or building a house. that whole trip i listened to alligator by the national (which is a solid album, by the way.) you know you have a permanent piece of my medium sized american heart.
VI / home
it's 9:18 pm and i'm a 40 year old man with skin tags. our three year old house already has some dings. i've felt disconnected this year. routines (like this substack) and projects (like dissolving our hoa) have kept things moving. we have an elderly pup (also with a skin tag), and a young buck we got to keep her spicy. i'm outside waiting for them to pee and staring up at our home in the twilight. it glows like the lake on the first day we looked at this slice of the world. i am grateful. gratitude isn't binary, which is something i'm learning, but i'm grateful for that lesson too. gratitude is a routine and also a project.
We're out looking for astronauts, looking for astronauts We're out looking for astronauts, looking for astronauts It's a little too late, too late, too late for this Isn't it a little too late for this Little too late, too late for this Isn't it a little too late for this You know you have a permanent piece Of my medium-sized American heart We're out looking for astronauts, looking for astronauts We're out looking for astronauts, looking for astronauts Are we gone Come on yeah, we know we're gone Bye bye bye Bye bye bye we know we're gone Take all your reasons and take them away To the middle of nowhere, and on your way home Throw from your window your record collection They all run together and never make sense But that's how we like it, and that's all we want Something to cry for, and something to hunt Are we gone Come on yeah, we know we're gone Bye bye bye Bye bye bye we know we're gone We're out looking for astronauts, looking for astronauts We're out looking for astronauts, looking for astronauts It's a little too late, too late, too late for this Isn't it a little too late for this Little too late, too late for this Isn't it a little too late for this You know you have a permanent piece Of my medium-sized American heart So don't wear the watch When you're out with the cunts You can break what you have, but the rest of it is mine Take all your reasons and take them away To the middle of nowhere, and on your way home Throw from your window your record collection They all run together and never make sense But that's how we like it, and that's all we want Something to cry for, and something to hunt
andrew wyeth
christina’s world, 1948
// MoMA, 2018