Some things my spouse and I did to prepare for his months-long hike of the Appalachian Trail.

Answers to some of the most common questions I’ve been asked about my spouse’s Appalachian Trail thru-hike.

The places I'm from are complicated, y'all, and I love them in spite of the many reasons it would be easier not to. It hurts to love this South sometimes, but it would hurt me even more to leave.

Christ the Lord is risen today ends with a question mark these days. But I do feel the resurrection of spring coming, the sun returning to bronze my winter-paled arms, the grass sprouting up greenly, flowering trees dropping petals like rain over parked cars. I have new rhythms these days.

I hardly knew it was Easter until I woke up and Easter broke my heart.

I'd like to give you permission this holiday season to do things whatever the heck way you want to do things. Have an honest conversation with yourself about what makes you happy and brings you joy—because, after all, joy is the only thing the holidays should be about.

I just re-read all The Little House books, and seeing them through adult eyes has me enamored of Almanzo Wilder, husband of our esteemed author Laura Ingalls Wilder. Why? Read on.

Andy and I eat dinner in front of the TV 99.99% of the nights that we eat together at home, and I'm not angling to change that. I know that flies in the face of all the posts on the Internet about intimacy and connecting with your spouse and raising your kids right, but it works for us, and here's why.

If you have a friend who's not a big partier, doing a bookish bachelorette scavenger hunt may be just the way to celebrate her impending nuptials.

Let's be real: starting a family is used a euphemism for having kids. And that bothers me. I started a family the day I said yes to Andy's "Will you marry me?"

If you sing, you're a singer. You don't have to wait for someone to give you permission or to print out the right label to stick on your permanent record. Just start being a dang singer. That's what Connie Britton did.

I don't much like the word hustle. I know it's all the rage these days. Hustle is the new black. People have their "side hustles" and they hustle early in the morning and they hustle late at night. They hustle, hustle, hustle. But I'm a word person, and I don't like the sound of hustle.

Sometimes I literally forget to breathe. I'll be sitting on the couch watching TV and realize, with a sharp intake of air, that I'm not sure how long it's been since I last took a breath. My body subconsciously preserves itself better than my brain can. It won't let me stop breathing. But sometimes my psyche tries to anyway.

A recurring item on my lists of values, goals, and ideal working situations was stillness. Rest. Quiet, unhurried work. Part of why I enjoy backpacking is because your only responsibility is to walk. You get to be at peace among the trees. You can only carry what you can carry, so there's no pressure to achieve. The journey is the destination, etc. etc.

Obviously you are lovely, and lovable, and worthy of being loved, and I am proud of you, and you are just enough, you're not too much.

What is community if it's not reaching out to someone you miss? What is community if it's not including people in your life and making connections?

My community is texting a friend when I see someone with a tote bag that I think she would like. My community is inviting my neighbors to a housewarming party even though I am wary of making myself that vulnerable. My community is being open and honest and telling people how I feel.

Incidental sun exposure adds up. But what's really the worst is getting a sunburn. There are some good sunscreens out there these days. There are dry touch ones that don't feel greasy, there are formulas for your face to keep you from breaking out, there are spray versions for when you're at the pool alone and can't ask someone to rub it on your back. I don't really see an excuse for letting yourself burn, and when I see people with lobster shoulders it just makes me sad.

When you're 21, you don't know you're 21. I've always been mature for my age, and I scoffed at the thought that we were "getting married so young." I thought I knew what I was getting into. And in many ways, I did. But what a lifetime together means gets brought into stark relief when it's four years later and you've both grown up a lot.