Fifteen Miles Out

Calvin (Dar) and The Coyote

Grief punches a hole in your heart so big,
there aren’t enough words in the world to fill it.

For me,
I tried to fill it with stories.
I wrote a book.
I gave him a cap and a wave and a quiet goodbye by the fire.
But grief…
grief doesn’t work like that.

When Mark and I drive down that road,
I feel it coming,
that wave of anxious grief
that starts even before we see the house.
Not the garage.
Not the driveway.
It starts where the smoke used to rise,
from the fire that was always burning.
But there’s no smoke now.
No fire.
Just the memory of it.
And still, it hits the same.

Sometimes, fifteen miles out,
it starts in my chest.
I know Mark feels it too.
He can’t even say the words.
I just look at him,
and then we’re both crying.
Because you don’t need words
when you’re both carrying the same weight.

Some small part of me still whispers,
“We’ll just stop and see who’s there.”
But it’s never him.
And even though the stops have mostly stopped,
the memory of them lingers.
Because he was always there.
Waiting.
With a cold one,
a grumpy smile,
the kind that came with a furrowed brow and a twinkle in his eye,
and a story you’d already heard a hundred times
but never wanted to end.

Calvin meant a lot to a lot of people.
Many knew him longer, knew him deeper,
and still, the space he left behind
feels impossible to fill.

And no one feels that more than his wife.
Her grief is deeper than I can speak to,
an everyday ache that none of us can imagine.
What I feel is only a shadow of what she carries.

And then there are the fishing buddies,
the hunting crew,
the wonderfully wild misfits
who knew his laugh in the early hours,
and his stories long before I ever heard them.

There are his brothers,
his cousins,
his nieces and nephews,
a family who knew the inside jokes and the old stories
that only belong to people who go back.

They miss him too.
In their own ways.
We all do.

Because everyone has a Calvin, don’t they?
That person who made the world feel a little lighter,
a little louder,
a little more theirs.
And when that person is gone,
it leaves something that can’t be patched or filled.
Not really.

And everyone carries that grief in their own way.
Sometimes it’s loud, sometimes it’s quiet,
sometimes it hits fifteen miles out
with no warning at all.

That’s why I wrote this book.
Not just for Calvin,
but for anyone carrying a grief that doesn’t go quiet.
For the people still trying to find words
for someone who was never just one thing.
I hope it helps.
Even just a little.
I hope it feels like sitting by the fire with someone you miss,
and letting the stories carry what words can’t.

📖 Calvin and the Coyote is now available here: www.fireflyandfog.com

If this speaks to you, please feel free to share.
And if you’ve got a “Calvin” of your own,
I see you.

Okay, but JUST ONE (Present… or Firefly, Coyote, or One Dirty, Rotten, Stinkin’ Raccoon)

I’ve always been the kind of person who says, “Let’s just open one present.” You know, just a tiny peek, just one little ribbon tugged loose on Christmas Eve. And okay, maybe one turns into two… and then suddenly the tree is looking suspiciously empty by morning. Oops.

It’s not really about the presents. It’s about the joy. I love joy. I love the part where someone’s eyes light up and say, “No way, really?” I want to pass that kind of feeling around like cookies at a party. I want to share it.

And lately? The joy has been showing up as stories.

Writing these books has flipped my “just one present” impulse into full-blown overdrive. First came Frances the Firefly, a soft, glowing story that still makes my heart flutter. Then Calvin and the Coyote, full of feathers, firelight, and memory. It feels like handing over little pieces of a shared past.

But now… there’s this dirty, stinkin’, rotten raccoon lurking in the corners of my imagination. And I can’t lie, I want to tell you everything. I want to show you the kid with the firefly t-shirt, the mayor with the oversized hairdo, and the raccoon who may or may not be misunderstood…

And his friend.

Because yes, he has one. A young crow who’s always stirring the pot: clever, quick, and never far when something funny (or slightly chaotic) happens.
And if you’re thinking, hmmm… a firefly? a crow?, then congratulations. You’re already spotting the easter eggs. I know, I’m no Taylor Swift, but she’s onto something. If I start naming chapters after my exes, you’ll know I’ve gone full Swift.

But I can’t share it all just yet.

If I go all-in on the raccoon right now, I risk overshadowing Frances and Calvin, who are still out there finding their readers. They deserve their moment in the sun.
If you haven’t read those yet, I hope you will. And if they land somewhere soft inside you, I’d be so grateful if you’d share them or leave a review. I know, I know… everyone asks. But here’s the truth: these stories matter to me, and they can’t travel far on their own. I’m one person with a full heart and a very small megaphone, trying to help them find their people. Maybe even yours.

That said… the raccoon is coming. And the countdown is officially on.

If you have kids (or grandkids) who love a little summer caper, or if you just need a 20-minute break when the “I’m bored” chorus begins this summer, head to Firefly & Fog and check the Books section. You’ll find a “Wanted” poster for one dirty, stinkin’, rotten raccoon. He’s been spotted. He’s up to something. And this spring, I’ll be sharing free printable activity pages to help track him down and build the excitement.

Think: raccoon sightings, silly name generators, coloring pages, reading trackers… all with a mischievous twist. It’s a sneaky little way to keep kids reading, drawing, imagining, and maybe even giggling while they wait for the full story.

More fun printables will follow the book’s release, but for now, let the springtime sleuthing (and silliness) begin.

Frances and Calvin still have their time to shine, and I’m so proud of them both.
But I’ll admit… I’m keeping one eye on the woods.
There’s rustling out there.
And maybe a feather, too.

P.S. If you know a kid, a parent, a grandparent, a teacher, or a curious grown-up who still believes in mischief and magic, I’d love for you to share this with them. Word of mouth means the world. And if you’d like first dibs on printables, peeks, and maybe a riddle or two, signing up is easy — and full of sparkle.
As always, I love you, I appreciate you, and I thank you.