Lavinia Spalding
The old rancher stood on the porch of my log cabin, shuffling his boots. Then he lowered the rim of his cowboy hat, squinted, and delivered the news I’d been dreading — the news that had probably been inevitable from the start.
Though I say the cabin was mine, I should confess it was really his. The rancher’s. Still, I felt possessive. I’d lived there only months, but I loved the wide covered porch where I’d hung my rope hammock, bought for 20 bucks in Mexico. I loved the woodstove and my nascent ability to make a half-decent fire on a chilly night. I loved the view from my picture window, past bright green fields and golden sandstone mesas, all the way to a distant blue triangle of mountain. A herd of deer grazed insouciantly in my yard each evening, a chorus of coyotes sang late at night. I loved everything about my cabin — especially what it represented: something that had eluded me my entire adult life.
The New York Times, Modern Love: How I Learned to Trust (Some) Men
The New York Times, Modern Love: “Goodbye, My Fantasy Man”
AFAR Magazine: “Playing by Heart” (Winner of a Gold Lowell Thomas Award)
River Teeth: A lot of Tomorrows
Going: New Orleans, The Southern US City Where Jazz Was Born
Parents: I Grew Up in a Haunted House—Here’s What I Tell My Child About Ghosts
AFAR: Seoul Food
Off Assignment, Letter to a Stranger: “To the Shopkeeper in Fez”
The Bold Italic: “Working Three Jobs Nearly Killed Me”
AirBnB Magazine: “So I Slept in a ...Cave”
AAA Westways Magazine: “Korean Encore”
AFAR.com: “Everything You Need to Know About Jazz Fest”
AFAR.com: “Get Beyond the Beads: The 101 on Mardi Gras Throws”
AFAR.com: “The Art of Eating Crawfish in New Orleans”
AFAR.com: “Find New Orleans’s Soul at These 6 Mini-Museums”
Ms. Magazine: “Politics is on the Menu at Hell’s Backbone Grill”
AirBnB Magazine: “New Orleans for the Celebratory”
Off Assignment, Letter to a Stranger: “To the one who was supposed to get away”
I wasn’t willing to settle for less than kismet. But chasing a romantic illusion nearly kept me from finding love. -- The night I agreed to try online dating, I told my roommate Meghan I hoped I wouldn’t meet anyone because that wasn’t the kind of story . . .
We are at the dinner table when my young son asks, “The day after a lot of tomorrows, will we build a treehouse?” I want to scoop him in my arms, this boy so eager and fresh, so tall his forehead meets my shoulder. If I could, I would lift his body above . . .
I still clearly remember my first meal in South Korea. I had just arrived in the country, fresh out of college and ready to begin a job teaching English. My new boss had whisked me from the airport to a barbecue restaurant, where I’d watched in panic as . . .
. . .