PART 1 — Everything I Owned Was Beside the Trash
The cardboard box containing most of my life had split open beside the curb.
My work boots lay in the wet grass. Fishing equipment, tax records, old kitchen tools, and family photographs were scattered near the recycling bin. One of my flannel shirts had caught on the lid and moved in the wind like an empty hand asking for help.
I remained inside my pickup, unable to understand what I was seeing.
I had returned early from a three-day fishing trip at Lucky Peak. During the drive home, I had been thinking about warming up leftover chili, checking the tomato plants, and asking my son whether the water heater had caused any trouble.
Instead, everything I owned had been placed outside in the rain.
I stepped from the truck and walked toward the pile.
The first thing I found was a framed photograph of my late wife, Ruth. The glass had cracked across her smiling face.
