I tried to write my first novel sometime around age 10. I got one page in before calling it quits.

Writing a novel is quite the feat, and the prompting to give it a go never left.

At age 28, with little more literary training, I gave the feat a second attempt, though with a different plot (The first one was all dragons and mountains. The new one is mostly just mountains.)

6 years later—TO WASHINGTON is done. Whether this new story enthralls the masses or only my parents, I’m happy to have done it. I’m not the first to have climbed Mt. Everest, nor did I climb it best. The masses don’t often know the names of the people who weren’t first or best. But I climbed Mt. Everest, nonetheless.

We’re still talking about writing books, here. Don’t get confused.

Fiction is a tricky thing. Authors write fiction to create an escape for readers and for themselves. Other worlds and false realities. I guess I did that too. TO WASHINGTON is fiction. But when people set my work of fiction down, I hope they don’t ache for something unattainable— to save the world, wield a sword, slay dragons. I hope they ache for something they can grab hold of—saving the world, wielding a sword, slaying dragons. You know?

TO WASHINGTON is rooted in reality. All the trails my protagonist, Wash, hikes in the book are real trails. I hiked hundreds of miles on those trails myself before Wash ever did. It was research—Wash needed to know where he was going.

New Hampshire—White Mountains

One time though, Wash hiked a trail before I did. Months after his journey in New Hampshire had already been written, I hiked it myself and found Wash had readied the path for me.

It was the Presidential Traverse trail in the White Mountains. To write this section before having gone myself, I looked at pictures, read trail reports, and let Wash’s personality dictate how that part of the story would unfold and feel. When I did get up to New Hampshire to hike that trail, my experience was more similar to Wash’s than I bargained for. If you’ve finished chapter 4 of TO WASHINGTON, you’ll understand why a parallel between his experience at the top of Mount Washington and my own might unsettle me.

A white mist enveloped him, erasing all but a dozen or so yards of dirt and grass around his feet. He turned a circle. Nothing existed in every direction. The wind kept blowing.

A gap broke in the clouds to reveal Mount Washington’s summit towering ahead. There it is.

Wash does not make it to Mount Washington for a very specific reason. And despite my intention, neither did I. You can read in the book what happens to Wash, but the day I walked up the Presidential Traverse toward Mount Washington, a hurricane rolled through. My wife and I hunkered down in the AMC Hut at Lake of the Clouds, uncertain how long we could hold out before the threat of the storm would force us down. It forced us down.

Ask my wife, I was grumpy as we made our descent to safer ground. I was meant to get on top of Mount Washington. I had a book to write. When was I going to get back there? It’s a difficult hike, you know. One I was going to have to repeat on another day and in another year to see it through.

That’s the tension Wash has to live through.

Ugh. I was not trying to have the same journey Wash had. But he laid down that journey before I could.

Maybe I’ll get back up there someday.

North Dakota—Badlands

This time I hiked it first.

And what do you know? I had a mishap with my water supply. Therefore, Wash has a mishap with his water supply. I had a staring contest with a bull. Wash has a staring contest with a bull. There are several stories lifted from my experience and placed in Wash’s. You get the idea.

People ask me (because I often can’t help but bring up that I climbed Mt. Everest, and hearers feel obliged to be inquisitive in response) if I feel like I am Wash, or wrote myself into his shoes.

Nope. Wash and I share a multitude of experiences, but when I sought a vessel for my personal ethos, I wrote Grant Westmore. If you’ve read and understand Grant, and know me, you’ll know I don’t match all his qualities. Grant, for me, was an outlet by which to express portions of my heart that often go unexpressed in my typical hours between waking and sleeping.

Never is that more true than in all Grant writes along the Maah Daah Hey Trail in the Badlands.

I cannot help but compare my own station as a visitor in this land, my own station in life, to that of the cowboy. I admit to an envy of sorts.

But I will say this: The wilderness does not much care if you’re the real thing or something else. Dirt and rock will wear a hole in the sole of a cowboy’s boot just as well as that of an academic. A setting sun’s light will illuminate the edges of the clouds for any man or woman who gets themselves in a place to see it.

California—High Sierra

I’ve heard it said by more than one person that it’s easier to find God in the wilderness than it is in the modern day church.

I’ll say this—it’s awfully easy to find God in the High Sierra.

And yet this portion of Wash’s journey has more characters in it than any other. I’ll leave it to you to decide if the environment drives the revelation of the community, or if the community drives the revelation they have in the environment.

I’ve never been in Yosemite, or Sequoia, or Redwoods as a solo traveler. I wonder what that would be like. What would I feel and how might God speak? Would it be different from days when I was surrounded by friends? Wash experienced a bit of both. If you’re curious yourself, ask him.

The meltwater of a long winter’s snow rushed in full, icy force. He sat and listened to the steady thrum of the water crashing over the rocks. Somewhere in the rush of the water he was nearly certain he heard a low voice speaking words he could not understand.

Washington D.C.

It won’t surprise you to know I haven’t held a job anywhere near our nation’s Capitol.

The politics in TO WASHINGTON developed secondary to the plot. Still, it could be argued that the politics are what move the story along.

Maybe, I’d say.

Undoubtedly, in the task of giving Wash the fodder of a life that he could leave to go into the mountains and embark the journey I initially hoped he would have, that fodder ended up composed of things that happen to matter to quite a lot of people.

I worked diligently to treat the political portions of that fodder earnestly and with hope.

The political arena has plenty of differing voices hoping to convince us all is lost and the only life saving vessel is their own ship. I don’t know that my role as an outsider is to point to one ship or the other’s likelihood of success. If anything, I hope to call out to the ships that they’d have room for more people aboard if they were to drop their cannons into the water.

“The key is stuck in the lock.”

“Have you wiggled the key?”

“Seven times.”

“Then cut the lock.”

TO WASHINGTON

I sat atop a kayak in Percy Priest Lake outside Nashville, TN when I told my wife I thought I might write a novel. She asked what it might be about. I had no idea.

After five quiet minutes of thinking, with only the sound of waves lapping under my plastic boat, I recited to her a basic premise: A protagonist, recently come to face to face with the belief that they are not the hero in the story they thought they were, goes on a series of thru-hikes for personal reflection, and inadvertently comes out of the woods the most famous person in the country.

I set out to write a novel. And I did it. Isn’t that something?

— Ross Gentry

To get updates on TO WASHINGTON, including information on early releases, head to rossgentryauthor.com. Officially available, May 19th, 2026.

A poem about a man with a journeyed life

For my father. An actual pilot.

He did not start as a pilot. He started on the ground, in the fields.

The fields would have chosen to keep him. All likelihood insisted that they would.

His eyes were fixed on the sky. Little by little, each day, he fixed his eyes on the sky, his feet lifted from the ground.

The body follows the eyes.

It was man that controlled the sky—that’s what the men who sought to control it insisted. No matter, the would-be pilot insisted on earning his place.

“Patrol the air for us, we’ll allow you to fly.” Leased a license and machine, he flew.

The air at high elevation welcomed him. The air was faithful, keeping the wings of his machine aloft.

The Maker saw that it was good.

He was called The Pilot. The orange and gold light that bounced from cloud to Heaven was the light of his home.

The fields below looked up at The Pilot, confused at his station. They called for him to come down, a sound lost amidst the roar of wind and engine.

A force did exist that might bring The Pilot back to the ground. A gravity that pulled his heart earthward, though his eyes stayed fixed on the sky.

Love is gravity.

There were those who did not thrive in the fields—their eyes were not on the sky. Feet on the ground, eyes on the ground.

The Pilot let their arms rest on his shoulders, and their feet felt lighter on the ground. A gentle lift provided to their soles.

The loads of many feet were lightened by the upward trajectory of The Pilot onto whom they grasped. Eyes still fixed on the sky, the pilot’s body reached.

The sky just out of reach.

The journey of the eye from the ground to the sky may as well be a million miles. Whose eyes other than The Pilot’s would dare embark upon it?

The journey of the eye from the ground to the eyes of The Pilot was not so far. There were those in the fields whose eyes would undertake that.

Seeing The Pilot’s eyes on the sky allowed those in the field to wonder: At what did he gaze? Where might I gaze?

Wonder becomes wander.

Many left the fields, their bodies floating to the horizons of their own gazes. The Pilot, though, remained in the field.

The fields could not claim victory for the pilot’s presence, nor should they. For it was no power of the fields which kept him there.

It would not be the object beheld by The Pilot’s eyes, nor the path of his body, which The Maker would write about him in the book. It was written that, for The Pilot, gravity was a choice.

And still, his feet always were light.

By Ross Gentry

If you are curious to learn more about this poem, please reach out, and I would be happy to discuss more about my dad’s wild story and how the poem came to be.

I am an author working to publish a new novel. About once a month, I send out an update about how it’s going. Building that email audience helps me get attention from publishers. Would you jump on that update list? It would be very appreciated if you did. Jump on here.

Also, if you didn’t know, I love reading books while I travel. Books whose stories exist in the environment where I am traveling or am about to be traveling. If you want my “30+ Best Books to Read While Traveling or Adventuring Outdoors,” please click here. I organize them by environment, tone, and fiction/non-fiction. Enjoy!

The Pilot was originally published in The Lark on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

It was about three weeks from the time that I took this photograph until I first saw it. And when I did see it, it confirmed something about God that I’ve been tossing around for years.

It changed how I read the Bible and interacted with people. Legitimately. (Especially how I argue with people who may disagree with me).

For the last fifteen years or so, I’ve shot all my adventures on a digital camera. To my great joy, a year or two ago, my parents stumbled across my old film camera in their attic. A Nikon FG-20. It was the camera on which I learned all the basic principles of photography. Amidst several moves and boxings and re-boxings, it had been lost for nearly two decades.

I was ecstatic to see if the unused hunk of metal and plastic still worked. Many things can go wrong for a camera that spends years bouncing from one attic to another.

It was a foregone conclusion that I would take the camera on my next big trip. But I was not so sure I could trust it. I might shoot roll after roll of film only to pay good money to have it developed and get nothing that might pass as a decent memory to show for it.

So naturally, I lugged my equally heavy digital camera and all its lenses on the trip as well. Redundancy is key in managing both technology and anxiety, after all.

The above photo was taken on the first day of my travels in Zion National Park. It’s actually the first photo I took of the park. It’s a view as I looked backward while hiking one of the early sections of the trail that heads up to Angels Landing.

There are a few things I notice immediately about this photograph:

• My eye was drawn to three separate subjects right from the start: The lower tree, the upper tree, and the rock face illuminated just beyond them.
• The red and brown colors of the rock are rich but understated.
• There are many details I cannot see lost in the shadows.

I went to check if there was a version of the same photograph on my digital camera I could compare it against. There wasn’t. So much for redundancy.

And what a loss. One thing digital cameras do better than film cameras is dynamic range. That means that in a photo composition with an overly bright area and an overly dark area, you can get all the detail all at once.

There’s a ton of detail lost to the shadows of this film photograph. Because I was there, I know there is beautiful texture and color all along those rock walls. Zion is famous for that sort of thing.

So, more out of curiosity than anything, I threw the film photograph into Lightroom (a software for editing photos) to see if I could get a glimpse of the detail that was missing. Here’s that version:

This version of the photo was not edited for art but to reveal hidden details.

And what did we get? We got a bush of some sort in the foreground, a little extra splotchy color on the rock walls, and a much less pleasing image.

I reverted it to the unedited version immediately. Somewhere in that process, I had what I’ll call a holy moment. A moment in which the simple revealed something about the divine.

Isn’t it amazing how a person can know a truth, but it isn’t until they’ve had a personal moment of clarity with that truth that it can change their perspective?

Here is the journey that image took me on regarding the mystery of God.

It was not until my mid-to-late teens that I began a conscious spiritual journey. Once I did, I took it upon myself to become the God of the Bible’s great defender in a world that seemed to be out there attacking his reputation. As a teenager, I believed that if I studied hard enough, I could respond to any difficult theological or ontological challenge thrown my way.

Why are we here?

Why do bad things happen to good people?

Do we have free will, or is God all-powerful?

Is Jesus the only way, or are there other ways?

What does God think about homosexuality?

Should women be allowed to preach in church?

I had answers to all these questions locked and loaded. Just ask me to pull the trigger.

And then I hit a wall somewhere just after college. Some of what I knew and felt about the character and nature of God began to rub up against some of the studied and logic-based answers I had for a few of the big questions.

I tried out several different theological schools of thought during this time (I’m sure many of my theological readers can guess which ones) and weighed them against what I saw in the God of whom I, at the time, had a decade of glimpses in personal moments.

I found in each different school of thought the same problem: “Well, if I’m supposed to believe this about God, doesn’t that contradict what I read he says about that?”

After enough of this, these pieces eventually started to come together for me, or rather…stayed a fair distance apart from one another. I learned that most of the theological traditions I was studying originated with Western thinkers and were rooted in the Age of Enlightenment.

A brief (and perhaps over-simplified) synopsis of the Enlightenment would be that it is an intellectual and philosophical movement that began roughly in the 17th century. Much of the way in which we are taught to think about problems and reason out the answers to questions today comes from this movement. The part of your brain that tells you that something can only be true if it is measurable and tested by science was likely conditioned by principles from the Enlightenment.

It’s the sort of thinking that might say if A is true, then in order for B to be true, it must not contradict the truths we know from A.

But not everyone thinks this way, and perhaps more would benefit from putting a broader set of tools for reasoning in their tool belt (Sorry, Descartes).

Many Eastern philosophers and intellectuals of both the old world and today don’t always feel beholden to those parameters. And it may be important to note that among those individuals are likely nearly all the authors who penned the words in the Bible.

The Hebrew traditions that give us the stories we study about God on Sunday mornings were not necessarily focused on making sure everything in their writings fit together like a perfect puzzle. It’s more like a mosaic.

The purpose of their writing is not to reveal facts about God; it’s to lead the reader on an inquisitive journey to learn about the nature of God.

At the risk of being a little divisive, I’ll bring up one example:

Many Western pastors and theologians hold the following logic:

1. The Bible is inerrant (it’s perfect and does not contradict itself).
2. The Bible in Genesis 1 says the earth was created in seven days. It specifically mentions plants being made before humans.
3. The Bible in Genesis 2 gives another account of creation without a descriptor of days and says that humans were made before plants.
4. To correct for this discrepancy, one can look at alternate versions of Hebrew words which may or may not make sense in the narrative of the story but help us justify the empiric facts of it, and one can find geologic records which one can only be fairly certain come from that era and find a fossil of a thing which sort of looks like a plant/not plant that may or may not be the actual thing the author of the story meant.

I feel stressed just thinking about having to justify every detail of an ancient text to prove my beliefs aren’t faulty.

So if we look back to my high school self, the one who was eagerly scouring the internet to find ways to justify how lots of A’s and B’s could both be true, it’s easy to pity the poor boy going through all sorts of mental gymnastic to fit stories and truths about God into a box shaped like the Enlightenment when God is not shaped like the Enlightenment at all. God is shaped only like himself.

So what do I do now? What happens when I stumble onto a question about God? What happens if story A in the Bible feels like it contradicts what I learned about God in story B? Or contradicts what I believe he has revealed to me personally and with other people?

I take a note from the Hebrews and the Easterners: It’s ok to live in tension between two things.

The story of Genesis is a narrative that uses order, numbers, and imagery to help us learn something about how we relate to God. An ancient author may not have cared less if it was actually seven days or forty-three days or millennia. If a literary device could communicate something about the heart of God that their students could engage with, they would do it!

Jesus himself teaches in parables. He uses the simple to reveal the divine.

Do you ever think about how you can read a Bible story one day and then, years later, read it and get something quite different from it? We are meant to treat these stories as treasure buried in the ground. Not treasure dug up in a box, but a treasure with one gem buried a few inches or feet away from another.

Now, suppose one person were to gather something different from a story about God than what I gathered from the same story. I don’t need to fight them about it. To each of us, something was revealed. We can each spend years pursuing more about the nature of God and later discover one or the other of us was correct. Both of us could be right. Both of us could be wrong. Pursuing God in his mystery may be the point.

So what about the picture? What revelation hit me?

It’s better with a little mystery.

In the original version, the subjects are clear. To me, they are beautiful. However, if I get caught up trying to discern the details of what I cannot see, it takes away from the beauty of the thing overall. It takes away from the point.

I would never encourage a curious person to not play with the image to see what other details they could find. Curiosity can be fun and inspire its own revelation. I would say, though, that we must not be beholden to our curiosities so much that we lose sight of the beauty right in front of our faces. We must not lose the beauty which is clearly revealed and leads us to its own wonder.

The photograph teaches me it is ok to live with mystery.

Oh, and shoot film when you can. Sometimes what is not seen leads us toward the beauty of what is.

The Mystery of God, Captured in a Single Frame was originally published in Mystic Minds on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

This article is not meant to function as a book review, but if it serves that purpose for you, then so be it.

I put down this book after reading the last page, and the only words going through my mind were “Wow. Well done.”

The book was somewhat of a risk for me. It’s the debut novel of an author I had never heard of. So I’ll say it again and direct the statement where it is due: Wow. Well done, Ferdia Lennon.

The book is titled Glorious Exploits.

Endings that Don’t Live Up to Beginnings.

Why why why do the books with the strongest starts tend to fade into nothingness by the end?

One of two trajectories seems inevitable:

1. The author, seemingly gifted a perfect premise by the universe, starts the story with heart, intrigue, and precision. Somewhere along the way the author seems to run out of coffee. The inspiration fades. They then rush to finish the novel in an unsatisfying and bland manner so they can dash off to the bathroom and relieve themself of their morning brew.
2. The author gets what I’ll call final action insecurity. They’ve been convinced the reader needs to be wowed. Thrown for a loop. That the story must go to a different dimension and challenge the reality of all we’ve ever known. The truth is that the reader, 9.9 times out of 10, simply wants resolution. Who dies, who lives, whether good or evil takes the day—these are all fine places to get creative. But leave me as the reader with one of two things: Either a resolved story for my main characters, or a resolved theme communicated through the plot.

Let’s chat about why I loved the ending of Glorious Exploits. No spoilers, I promise.

It’s a wild story. One set in ancient Italy and Greece. The main characters are blue-collar workers with the aspiration to direct a play. The actors of the supposed play are to be prisoners of war from a recent battle (a dark prospect, but carried out in the story in with the warmest and most human storytelling).

It’s a first-person narrative. And I should mention the narrator shares his exploits in a conversational Irish voice. Yes, a colorful Irish storytelling from a character existing in ancient Italy. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

There is much to love about this novel. The comedy, the heart, the creative plot devices the author employs to take his characters on their physical and emotional journeys—even a little mysticism and mystery.

But the ending is what brought me to write this article.

It’s not the flashiest ending of all time, but there are several moments that come unexpected.

By the time the primary action of the third act is through, I still felt invested in sitting with the remaining characters in their closing moments. To the last page.

The novel as a whole toys with its own subject matter. The vehicles of storytelling that exist in the world the novel is set are comedy and tragedy. This novel itself embodies the best of such options, carried all the way through to the end.

Lastly, there may just be a little bit of magic dust spread in those pages. Something intangible that makes this book special. I’ll chalk it up to the unique inspiration of a good author.

I would love to sit down with Ferdia and learn if the impetus for the plot of this novel was the ending or the beginning. Which did he see first in his mind’s eye?

Final thoughts:

As I write, I can only think of a handful of other endings to novels so satisfying. The first on that list would be A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles.

What novels struck that perfect ending chord with you?

While you think about that, go check out Ferdia Lennon’s debut novel. I have no connection to him. I just liked the book.

I also love reading books while I travel. Books whose stories exist in the environment where I am traveling or am about to be traveling. If you want my “30+ Best Books to Read While Traveling or Adventuring Outdoors,” please click here. I organize them by environment, tone, and fiction/non-fiction. Enjoy!

I am working on a novel about adventure in the woods. It’s got a little history, a spiritual journey, and a little political espionage. Weird, right? If you give me a follow and stay up to date with me it’s a huge help!

Jump on here.

Finally, A Novel that Ends as Well as it Starts. was originally published in Books Are Our Superpower on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

A lot can be learned from a dog about tackling mountains.

My one and a half year old Shetland Sheepdog attempted to summit the highest mountain that dogs are permitted to summit in the United States: Mt. Elbert.

Before he tried it, I was nervous. Mt. Elbert is 14,440 feet above sea level.

My dog lives his day-to-day life in Nashville at 597 feet.

His name is Kodak.

The story:

My wife and I travelled to Colorado for a three-week sabbatical trip. The goal was not to descend into every canyon, summit every 14er, and admire every tree. It was more about being there.

But c’mon, man, it’s Colorado. We did some of each of those things.

Most of the first twelve days were spent reading, praying, and writing in backcountry cabins or watching surfers carve the whitewater in Salida, CO, while we drank chai.

You know what else that time was? Time for acclimatization to the altitude, for us and the dog.

I’ve been altitude sick before.

Lightheadedness, nausea, a heavy weight of despair. A buddy of mine invited me to summit Mt. Whitney (tallest mountain in the lower forty-eight states) with him. We were only in the state of California for nine hours before attempting the single-day summit. We did make it, but that is a youthful mistake I won’t make again.

I did not want Kodak to have the same experience. We planned Elbert for late in the trip.

Why did we let our dog do this?

He’s only climbed one other mountain in his life. At eight months old, he went six miles up and six miles down Mt. Mitchell in North Carolina at 6,684′. It was a breeze. I don’t know what you were doing at eight months old, but I bet it wasn’t that.

We could have left Kodak behind. Had we done that, it would have been something like eight hours in a crate in a car or ten hours in a crate in an Airbnb. If you know our dog, he prefers to be with the pack.

I turned to the internet to research how to care for a dog when things go sideways in the backcountry. There’s paw care, nutrition, snake bite care, identifying signs of exhaustion, and various apparatuses for carrying your injured dog. We learned a lot. But there was a lot still left to chance.

How did he do?

On the way up, I’m not certain Kodak even knew there was a mountain nearby.

He ran up ahead to our friends and back to us and back up to them and so forth dozens of times. Each time I leaned to my wife and said something to the effect of “we really ought to limit his running around—he’s doubling his elevation gain.” But a dog wants to be free. So he was.

Each time he ran the thirty yards or so to our friends in front, he turned back with a smile to see that we were still on our way. Each time running back to meet us.

Our dog hopped up to the summit of that mountain as easily as Vanna White reveals consonants and vowels.

And then the momentum shifted.

Within two minutes of us stopping to take a few pictures and eat a snack, that dog was out like a light.

That lasted about four to five minutes, and then we began our descent.

He was a happy and perky little guy going down. For a while. And then we saw the signs of wear on him. Kodak was hesitant to jump down big steps. He was hanging with the back group rather than leading the way. No more recon missions running back and forth.

At this point, I did feel bad for the guy. When we set off that morning, he did not know that he was summiting the highest mountain in the world of American dogs. Would he have eaten a bigger breakfast if he had? Who knows?

So we carried him a bit. I would carry him half a mile or so, my wife around that same distance, and then we would test him back on the trail. This cycle repeated three or four times.

With only a mile or so left to the trailhead, Kodak lifted his nose in the air. The less-than-perky gait lengthened into a puppy sprint. It wasn’t the trailhead he smelled. It was running water.

That boy loves a stream. And just short of the trailhead is exactly that. It took a fair amount of stern words to keep him near to us rather than bolt to the waters of life ahead.

Dogs are incredible.

Kodak likely doesn’t care one bit that he summited this tall mountain. He does not seem to hold a grudge that we pushed him to do it either. He enjoyed a day out and about.

I may need to take a page out of his book and enjoy the day itself rather than the prospect of the day alone.

And I will tell you this. Now returned home, he is much less satisfied with a walk and a few short play times each day.

Is my dog made for the mountains? It’s possible.

Is my dog made to spend time with us? You bet.

I also love reading books while I travel. Books whose stories exist in the environment where I am traveling or am about to be traveling. If you want my “30+ Best Books to Read While Traveling or Adventuring Outdoors,” please click here. I organize them by environment, tone, and fiction/non-fiction. Enjoy!

I am working on a novel about adventure in the woods. It’s got a little history, a spiritual journey, and a little political espionage. Weird, right? If you give me a follow and stay up to date with me, it’s a huge help!

Jump on here.

My Dog Climbed the Highest Mountain was originally published in The New Outdoors on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Why do we want to get away?

There’s a cyclical pattern you can spot in the working people of America, a pattern I’ve been victim to as much as anyone.

Escapism.

Escapism described: When life feels boring, or sad, or anxiety-inducing, or unfulfilling, you can escape. Into a vacation. Into a movie. Into a book. Into vices.

I wanted to get away.

In fact, I did just that. I went away to the mountains for several weeks. Away from work, away from the people I know, away from it all.

My chosen escape is a trip to the mountains or a good novel. But I’m also a sucker for a blockbuster film like anyone.

Find any interview with a director or writer of fiction about why they chose their craft. Many will say some version of “I was experiencing *insert personal issue here* and whenever I sat in a theater watching a film, it was a two-hour break where I could transport into another world for a while and forget my own problems. And I wanted to do that for other people.”

When life is difficult, or not meeting expectations, we escape.

When we don’t feel peace, we escape.

Is that wrong?

I’m not here to comment on the moral weight of escape. But I don’t believe escape leads to peace.

Now, vacations, movies, books, and all the rest are not always about escape. They can be used for rest or inspiration, and those are different from escape.

So I had to ask myself: When I left the bumper-to-bumper highways of Nashville for the remote mountains of Colorado, was it about rest and inspiration? Or was I looking for escape?

Was I looking for a peace which I did not have, or an opportunity to quiet myself for a peace I already carried within me?

It’s worth taking a moment to consider where my peace comes from.

Where do you find yours? Where do you find the ability to be alone with your thoughts—alone with the considerations of your own life and the world around you—and not feel the need to distract yourself from them? Where do you find contentment that goes beyond the length of an episode of The Office?

And if you find it, how do you keep it around?

Movies are only so long. Books run out of pages. And most of the people I know in the general population don’t have the funds or skills to take an extended vacation to the mountains.

We need peace that is available in a moment. That does not cost a plane ticket. Peace that allows us to drift to sleep at night without needing the TV on.

Peace that lasts.

I had the chance to consider all this while I was away. And to be honest, I loved what I found.

In myself, I did not find a heart that was running. It was simply a heart eager for new inspiration. But it took a while for me to introspect all the way to that realization.

Now, I am no psychologist or priest. But I do feel a sense of my own peace. And if I can share it with you, I will.

There are three things that are true about me that give me peace.

1. I am loved.
2. I have the ability to make choices.
3. The choices I make don’t change the fact that I am loved.

These things are also true of you. However, they will not help you find peace simply by reading them. They won’t even help you have peace by meditating on them. You have to test them and reflect on them.

I am loved.

It’s true. I’m lucky that my parents love me, and this is a love I did not need to earn. That’s just part of having a parent (for many of us).

I’m lucky that my wife loves me, and largely I did have to earn this, but now that I do have that love, I have great confidence it will not falter.

If you have the love of parents, spouse, friends, or siblings, where you can derive that sense of love, that’s amazing!

How lucky you are. Truly.

But there’s more. Check out this parable.

“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field.”

That’s something Jesus said.

The first time I read that, I thought, “Wow. Ok, I suppose if I want to go to Heaven, I need to sell all my stuff to get it.”

But that’s not likely what the greatest of teachers was getting at here.

Before he told this parable, Jesus said a bunch of other parables. About a guy planting seeds. About a woman putting yeast in bread. About a man dealing with weeds in his garden. In each of those parables, the main character is meant to be an image of God.

For whatever reason, after reading all those parables and then coming to the one about the man with the treasure in the field, I thought the main character in the story was supposed to be an image of me. Or rather, a command: Go sell your stuff, give up your life, do it all if you want to get into Heaven.

But the main character in that parable is not meant to be me. If it flows in line with the other parables, then the main character must be God.

So, who am I?

I think I’m…the treasure.

Is that right?

Yeah. I think so. That’s how God’s way (the Kingdom of Heaven) works. In his joy, he gives it all up for us.

That’s quite a love.

I have the ability to make choices

I own a local business in Tennessee. A good friend of mine worked with me during the first several years of starting that business. And then my friend left.

He actually started his own version of the same business. We tried to part amicably, but it got complicated. We did not part ways as I would have wished.

The vision for my business was shaken. My sense of friendship with everyone around me was shaken. Are people only around me because they want something from me, and as soon as they’ve got it, they’ll leave?

I felt trapped in that thought.

But I have the ability to make choices.

I can’t make any choice I want. For instance, I couldn’t make it, so my friend did not leave. So what choices could I make? I chose to keep moving my business forward rather than keep it in a stall before a tailspin. I kept doing the things I knew to do to keep it growing. I chose to lean into my other friendships. If the one friendship did not work out, then I could do the emotional and practical work to find people and invest in them in a way that would create the type of friendship I could count on. Because those people are out there.

Even though every choice I wanted was not available to me, I still had the option to do what I could with what I had. That has become an important truth to me.

The choices I make don’t change the fact that I am loved.

I could have chosen to let my business dissipate when my friend left. My vision for it was gone. I could have let the business go. I could have found another job.

Would that have been wrong?

Who knows?

Either way, it would not affect the love I have in my life.

Even if I had wallowed in sadness over it for a year or two and stopped working. Given up. I would still have been loved.

How do I know that?

I’ve tested it, and I’ve reflected on it. Through good and bad decisions, I’ve always been able to return to the open arms of those who love me.

Especially God.

He did not sell all he had to purchase a treasure in a field, only to throw that treasure away when it didn’t shine as bright as he would have wished for a moment.

The tough part for me as the author here is that I know I can’t make you realize these things for yourself. However, I can provide you with this framework of truths, and you can verify it through your own experiences. Once you’ve tested the truths out a few times, maybe you won’t need a movie, or a trip, or a vice to mute your mind.

Maybe in the quiet moments, you’ll be able to reflect and have peace.

I hope it is so.

I still go to the mountains every so often. They are a place where the world is quiet and where reflecting on these truths is easier.

Work your way toward peace amidst chaos.

I am working on a novel about adventure in the woods. It’s got a little history, a spiritual journey, and a little political espionage. Weird, right? If you give me a follow and stay up to date with me it’s a huge help!

A Moment to Consider Where Peace Comes From was originally published in Mystic Minds on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Let’s take some time to dream. Our national parks have been called America’s best idea. And that may be true.

I want to hear from all of you on this one.

I love our U.S. national parks. If you’re reading this, you probably do too. However, the parks, like anything in our country, have their constraints.

Limited budgets.

Opposing political agendas.

A mix of competence and incompetence in leadership.

But it’s not my goal today to get into all that. Today’s goal is to dream.

I’m quite curious to know not only what people might add, but maybe even more so, what they might take away.

If we had the budget we needed, the technology (or lack thereof) available, or whatever else we could dream of—what would you change?

Here are a few of mine (Some are more serious than others):

1. I would bulk up the gift shops. Only one section, though. No, not the little collectible shot glasses or the t-shirts with quirky sayings on them (sorry if that’s your jam). I would bulk up the book section at every park store gift shop. Let’s keep encouraging people to read books that include the outdoors. Not informational books only, but more novels, more memoirs, more narrative histories. I’m a sucker for a good book that adds to my experience.
2. I might add additional park staff who hide amongst the rocks and trees who are imbued with the power to taze visitors who litter in the park. Come on, everyone. You can get a candy wrapper into a garbage can.
3. Incentives to encourage visitors to leave their phones behind in their vehicles or accommodations. Incentives, possibly in the form of a discount on entrance or special access to prime park areas at prime times. This might go a small way to seeing a few less noses pressed near glowing screens and a few more eyes taking in a world that elicits wonder. Take an old camera with you if you wish. Post your photos later. I’m sure they’ll be good ones!
4. Traffic systems that encourage more cycling, walking, or even carting. Less infrastructure focused on cars.
5. Rewards for rangers. I cherish nearly every time I am able to share a trail with a ranger on duty. They have the best knowledge, the best stories, and nearly all have that humble ranger charm. They should get paid so much more. I know if they cared primarily about money, they would have chosen a different line of work, but c’mon, these people are amazing and we should find more ways to celebrate them.

If there was an area of the country you would add or subtract as a national park—where would that be?

1. I might just make the whole of the state of California into one big national park. I love that state. Its infrastructure around cities, though, is not always that great. If there were fewer Hollywood executives around as a result, so be it. Let’s make it one big park.
2. We could easily make a national park of the Red River Gorge area in Kentucky. Crazy rock formations, unbelievable climbing, panoramic views—that place could be a heck of a park. There are wonders in those forests that could be protected and enjoyed that much more.

So please comment and respond. Let’s dream it up.

I know different folks may have different goals in mind. Some may dream of a more or less conservation-focused NP system. Some may wish for more control over how many people are allowed in at a time. Some may want there to be less control over visitor numbers!

Some might want robot rangers and augmented-reality experiences in the parks, who knows?

But I bet we may just see some ideas here that we can all get behind. Let’s see.

What would you dream up our National Parks of the future to look like?

If you didn’t catch it, I love reading books while I travel. Books whose stories exist in the environment where I am traveling or am about to be traveling. If you want my “30+ Best Books to Read While Traveling or Adventuring Outdoors,” please click here. I organize them by environment, tone, and fiction/non-fiction. Enjoy!

P.S. I am an author working to publish a new novel. About once a month, I send out an update about how it’s going. Building that email audience helps me get attention from publishers. Would you jump on that update list? It would be very appreciated if you did. Jump on here.

National Parks of the Future was originally published in The New Outdoors on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I’ll come right out with it. I love planning trips. I may as well put myself out there and say I’m on #teamtripplanner. My wife, on the other hand, lands squarely on #teamliveinthemoment.

Is one of us truly having a better experience when we travel?

We’ve been everywhere, man. In the U.S., at least. Give us a hike, a camp, an overlook, a sunrise — we’re all about it. So, who is right when it comes to planning all the details or leaving it all up to chance?

You’re welcome for the best breakfast scramble of your life, babe.

We did the classic visit to Zion NP and Bryce Canyon NP trip a while back. After a sunrise hike one morning, we were starving. And you know what? I knew exactly where to go: The Flying Goat. That homey, small-town, not-overrun-by-tourists classic breakfast diner I saw on Google Maps weeks ago. Its name was in my holster and ready to be fired.

And it was one of the top 3 breakfasts of my life. I’d probably rank it at number two. Probably #1 for her.

Here’s a defense for my people, #teamtripplanner.

For me, trip planning is a chance to revel in endless opportunities. I can dream through all the adventure possibilities out there in the world and believe that they can be mine.

Some people die by paralysis from analysis—another way of saying they feel anxious when needing to pick from a plethora of choices. What hotels do we use? Does this rental car have enough clearance for that trail we may or may not take? Is that coffee shop the best coffee shop?

Paralysis by analysis can take you down. But here’s my answer to that — don’t let it take you down. Take choices as opportunities for dreams, not chances for failure. If a choice doesn’t pan out, no worries! Maybe the next one will.

I promise you that it is among the most satisfying things in the world when you let these decisions be opportunities rather than choices alone. When the hotel you chose is a paradise. When the vehicle you rented glides over that rough terrain. When that coffee in the coffee shop you picked off of Google Maps four months ago is nothing short of nirvana. And you did it. It’s all because you put in the time and research.

And yes. My wife waltzes right into this perfectly curated experience, none the wiser for the endless Reddit threads I poured through as I dreamed us into this new existence. That is its own satisfaction.

So my overall trip experience on #teamtripplanner may be the better one. Not only do I get to live the glory of the trip itself, but I already got to live multiple versions of the trip before the trip even existed, AND I get the satisfaction of having brought the trip to be.

But, it’s only fair to sneak a peek at the other side of the coin.

Here’s a case for #teamliveinthemoment.

They don’t often make movies about people who made a plan, executed their plan perfectly, and nothing unexpected happens along the way (maybe A-Team is an exception? Even then, some things still go awry).

I have a friend who often travels for his work. He had never been out of the U.S. before, and his work sent him to Japan a couple of years back. He got on a plane to Japan without having booked a hotel, a car, or even looking at how far his ultimate destination was from the airport. My jaw dropped.

And you know what? He had a great time. He found a vibey hotel that was within walking distance from his work. He passed a sushi place while walking to work and stopped in to get what he now says was the best sushi of his life. Each instance was like a happy little miracle.

My wife would say that each happy little miracle that comes about unplanned is like a treasure. The only way you allow yourself that treasure is to allow yourself to be surprised, and you can’t be surprised if every little detail of your trip is preplanned. Otherwise, it would be like going to see a movie when you’ve already read all the spoilers.

That’s a compelling argument.

But what about FOMO? (Fear of Missing Out). What if following my spontaneous #teamliveinthemoment heart makes me miss the better experience I could have had if I had just planned ahead? What if I go to Colorado and only spend time on the eastern side of the state and don’t realize there are mountains I could have explored?!

I suppose the answer to this is the same as the answer I gave in the previous section about people who die of paralysis by analysis. You can’t stress about what could have been. You can, however, choose to celebrate what is and what still could be.

So, who is right?

It’s likely that my wife and I enjoy our trip mentality equally. And we do need each other to balance things out.

I also think my wife’s chance of getting eaten by crocodiles because she didn’t look up which rivers have crocodiles in them has gone way down as a result of my trip planning.

So in that sense, I am more right. And maybe that’s why I wrote this article. Because though those of you who disagree with me can comment about it, you can’t give me the chilling side-eye that my wife can give me if we disagree at the kitchen table.

Gosh, I hope she doesn’t read this.

And if you take anything away from this, let it be this: Paralysis by analysis and FOMO are terrible reasons to not enjoy a trip. Keep getting out there, and those beautiful, adventurous, treasures of moments will come. Planned or unplanned.

Paralysis by Analysis and FOMO are terrible reasons to not enjoy a trip.

So, which are you? #teamtripplanner or #teamliveinthemoment?

I also love reading books while I travel. Books whose stories exist in the environment where I am traveling or am about to be traveling. If you want my “30+ Best Books to Read While Traveling or Adventuring Outdoors,” please click here. I organize them by environment, tone, and fiction/non-fiction. Enjoy!

P.S. I am an author working to publish a new novel. About once a month, I send out an update about how it’s going. Building that email audience helps me get attention from publishers. Would you jump on that update list? It would be very appreciated if you did. Jump on here.

Why I Do Trips Better than My Wife. was originally published in Gardening, Birding, and Outdoor Adventure on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

There’s something special about reading a book set in the place where you are. It adds to the memory of your own experience. A few years back I read a book called Travels with Charley, by John Steinbeck. It’s not about one state, but rather a full road trip. I happened to be on my way to North Dakota as the story made it’s own way to North Dakota. Steinbeck’s framing of the Badlands changed my view of them forever. For the better. And now I have my own experiences there to contrast with his. I love that.

If you’re also into that sort of thing, the guide below is for you.

And, if you know a good book that added to the experience of a particular U.S. State — comment it below! Build up the list.

This guide matches each U.S. state with a novel (or occasionally a memoir) that captures its spirit — not just through tourist landmarks, but through wild landscapes, small towns, rivers, mountains, and the characters who call them home.

These stories are adventurous, heartfelt, and a little reflective — perfect for travelers who want more than just a checklist. Each one isn’t necessarily about the state. But it gives a tone. A vibe. A sentiment. Each one special.

Throw one in your backpack and meet America in a whole new way.

Also, I am a writer and author of books (or book) myself. My own fictional novel which traverses many of the wild lands of the United States will hopefully be coming out next year.

If you’d be kind enough to sign up for updates on my writing here it would mean the world to me (and help me gather up publishers!). I won’t spam you hardly at all.

Now, please enjoy the list! I’ve added some of my own travel photos along the way!

*Note: Links are affiliate links, but I stand by these books.

Alabama

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (Fiction)
This one’s a classic for a reason. Set in a small Alabama town, it’s told through the eyes of young Scout, who’s just trying to make sense of the world around her. It’s warm and honest, and even though it tackles heavy stuff like racism and injustice, it does it with a big heart. You really get a feel for the slower pace and deep-rooted community of the South.

Alaska

The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey (Fiction/Fantasy)
This is the kind of book you read by a fire, preferably while it’s snowing outside. It’s set in the wilds of 1920s Alaska and follows a couple trying to survive — and maybe even find joy — in the middle of nowhere.

Arizona

Picnic in the Ruins by Todd Robert Petersen (Fiction)
Out near the Arizona–Utah border, amongst all the red rocks, Picnic in the Ruins unfolds like a smart, offbeat road trip with unexpected depth. A grad student chasing obscure anthropology research crosses paths with artifact smugglers, federal agents, and a whole lot of moral gray area. It’s witty and reflective, with a desert setting. It dives heavy into the ethics of antiquities along the way, for better or worse, depending on what you’re interested in!

Arkansas

True Grit by Charles Portis (Fiction)
Don’t let the fact that this book’s a Western fool you — it’s got real grit and heart. The landscape is rough and beautiful, and 14-year-old Mattie Ross is tougher than most adults you’ll meet. There’s gunfighting, horseback travel, and dry humor for days. A good one for anyone who likes their stories lean and sharp.

California

East of Eden by John Steinbeck (Fiction)
This is a big story set in a big state. The Salinas Valley feels almost like another character here — dusty, sun-drenched, and full of secrets. It’s a generational family saga, so there’s betrayal, redemption, love, and longing all packed in. Definitely a deeper, more reflective read, but one that sinks into you over time. The story of Genesis over many pages. I love this book.

Colorado

The Dog Stars by Peter Heller (Fiction)
Here’s a post-apocalyptic book that’s surprisingly full of light. Set in Colorado after most of the world’s gone quiet, it follows a pilot living near an abandoned airport with his dog. It’s about survival, sure — but more than that, it’s about finding beauty in solitude and learning to live with loss. Plus, Heller knows how to write a landscape.

Connecticut

A Place of My Own by Michael Pollan (Non-Fiction)
This one’s slower, quieter — but in a good way. It’s about Pollan building a writing cabin by hand in the woods of Connecticut. Along the way, he dives into architecture, craftsmanship, and the way we connect to where we are. If you’ve ever wanted to make something tangible, or just love the idea of retreating into the forest, this could be for you.

Delaware

West of Rehoboth by James D. McCallister (Fiction)
Set in Delaware’s coastal towns, this charming story follows a group of friends from different racial backgrounds navigating summer adventures near Rehoboth Beach. With humor and heart, the novel captures the beauty of the area’s dunes and marshlands while exploring themes of friendship, change, and quiet discovery across racial divides.

Florida

To Have and Have Not by Ernest Hemingway (Fiction)
Set in the sultry Florida Keys during the Great Depression, this gritty tale follows Harry Morgan, a fishing boat captain who turns to smuggling to make ends meet. Hemingway’s sharp prose captures the tension of economic hardship and moral ambiguity against the backdrop of turquoise waters and swaying palms. It’s a rugged, fast-paced adventure that immerses you in the raw beauty and danger of the Keys.

Georgia

A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson (Non-Fiction)
This book is pure fun. Bill Bryson is yet to let me down. I love this book for Georgia simply for the fact that the kickoff of the whole journey for the two-man duo starts where the Appalachian Trail itself starts—at the well-known hike-in lodge by Springer Mountain. Get a great glimpse of Georgia from the point-of-view of someone who is not exactly from the area. An overall hilarious attempt at hiking the AT. Enjoy this read either by identifying with the author’s light-heartedly painful experience on the trail as it matches your own, or by simply reading about a trial you will never need to experience yourself.

Hawaii

Moloka’i by Alan Brennert (Fiction)
This poignant novel tells the story of Rachel Kalama, a spirited young girl exiled to the leprosy settlement on Moloka’i Island. Through her eyes, we experience the lush landscapes and rich culture of Hawaii, even as she faces isolation and adversity.

Idaho

This House of Sky: Landscapes of a Western Mind by Ivan Doig (Memoir)
This one reads like sitting on the porch with your granddad, swapping stories about big skies and harder times. Doig writes about growing up in the rugged West — mostly Montana, but his roots and wanderings spill into Idaho’s high country, too. It’s not fast-paced, but if you like a book that feels like it grew out of the land itself, this one’s worth packing in your bag for a quiet night under the stars.

Illinois

The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson (Non-Fiction, Historical)
Alright, not your usual outdoorsy trail read — but if you find yourself in Chicago and want a wild story that actually happened, this one’s it. It’s half about building the fancy White City for the 1893 World’s Fair, half about a creepy guy sneaking around it. Larson’s a master at painting time and place, and the book gives you a gritty, fascinating look at old Illinois ambition — with just enough eerie to keep the pages turning.

Indiana

I’ll be honest. Could not find anything I liked for Indiana. Sorry, Hoosiers. Please comment a good one if you know one.

Iowa

Shoeless Joe by W.P. Kinsella (Fiction)
If you’ve ever driven past an empty cornfield and felt like it had a secret, this one’s for you. This book is the basis for the classic movie, Field of Dreams. A farmer hears a voice — “If you build it, he will come” — and what follows is a weirdly beautiful blend of baseball, ghosts, and second chances. It’s whimsical, peaceful, and pure Iowa in the best way.

Kansas

PrairyErth by William Least Heat-Moon (Non-Fiction)
This isn’t your average road trip book — it’s more like getting lost (on purpose) in the backroads of Kansas. Heat-Moon drills deep into one square county and uncovers layers of prairie history, ecology, and off-the-map characters. It’s dense, sure, but wander through it slowly and you’ll feel like you’ve walked the tallgrass yourself. Kansas never looked so alive.

or

The Last Cattle Drive by Robert Day (Historical Fiction, Western Adventure)
Set in Kansas, this classic Western novel captures the excitement and grit of cattle driving. It follows a group of cowboys as they face challenges, both natural and human-made, during one of the last great cattle drives in the region. The story offers action-packed moments, cowboy camaraderie, and vivid depictions of the Nevada wilderness.

Kentucky

Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry (Fiction)
This one’s like walking into a country barbershop and staying for the stories. Jayber is the town barber, but really he’s a quiet observer of the land, the people, and the passing of time in rural Kentucky. It’s slow, beautiful, and full of love for a place most folks pass by. If you’re craving something that feels rooted and thoughtful, you’ll like this one.

Louisiana

A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole (Fiction, Humor)
Imagine wandering through the French Quarter and bumping into a guy who talks like Shakespeare and acts like a tornado. That’s Ignatius J. Reilly. This book is messy, hilarious, and completely soaked in the flavor of New Orleans. It’s less nature trail and more urban — but still a wild ride through the heart of Louisiana’s weird and wonderful.

Maine

Maine Woods by Henry David Thoreau (Non-Fiction)
Thoreau strapped on his boots, grabbed a canoe, and set off into the vast woods of Maine — and lucky for us, he wrote it all down. This isn’t your average sightseeing log; it’s a meditative journey through rivers, pines, and silence. Bring it along when you’re headed somewhere remote. It’ll make the stillness feel even deeper.

Maryland

Chesapeake Requiem by Earl Swift (Non-Fiction)
Ever wonder what it’s like to live on a sinking island, catching crabs for a living? This one’s set on Tangier Island in the Chesapeake Bay, and it’s a powerful, end-of-an-era kind of story. Swift spent real time with the locals, and the book feels like a final love letter to a place slipping into the sea. If you’re drawn to coastal stories that mix beauty with hard truths, this one stays with you.

Massachusetts

Walden by Henry David Thoreau (Non-Fiction/Philosophy)
Okay, yeah — another Thoreau. But Walden is a classic for a reason. He built a tiny cabin near a pond and lived simply, and he’ll tell you all about it with lots of thoughtful tangents along the way. Massachusetts woods, self-reliance, and still mornings on the water — it’s the kind of book you read slowly, maybe with a thermos nearby and no plans for the afternoon.

Michigan

Once Upon a River by Bonnie Jo Campbell (Fiction)
If Huck Finn were a teenage girl with a rifle and a canoe, this would be her story. Margo sets out along Michigan’s rivers, living wild and quiet after her world falls apart. The writing’s earthy and raw, and the river itself is like another character. It’s about surviving, sure — but also about belonging, and finding your own way by water.

Minnesota

Peace Like a River by Leif Enger (Fiction)
So many people love this one. If you like snowy treks, good-hearted families, and just a touch of the miraculous, this one’s a gem. A boy, his dad, and his sister set out across the Midwest — starting in Minnesota — on a search for a fugitive brother. It’s tender, funny, and full of moments that’ll make you stop and breathe in the cold air. Bring tissues. And maybe a mug of cocoa.

Mississippi

James by Percival Everett (Fiction)
You think you know Huckleberry Finn — but James flips it and gives the reins to Jim, the runaway slave who was always more than a sidekick. It’s bold and full of fresh perspective, all while taking you down the Mississippi River. It’s still a journey, still an adventure, but now it’s deeper, smarter, and hits in all the right places.

Missouri

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain (Fiction)
Speaking of Mark Twain…this classic has backyard caves, fence-painting scams, and barefoot races through the woods — basically childhood adventure bottled up. Twain captures Missouri’s riverside towns like no one else. It’s all mischief and moonlight, perfect for when you want to remember how wild and wide the world felt at ten.

Montana

A River Runs Through It by Norman Maclean (Fiction, Adventure)
This one’s fly fishing, family, and big land beauty. Set in Montana’s big sky country, it’s short but weighty, full of aching love between brothers and a river that ties it all together. Read it slow, maybe by a stream.

Nebraska

The Lincoln Highway by Amor Towles (Fiction, Historical Adventure)
Starts in Nebraska and rolls across the heartland with a ragtag bunch of travelers, each chasing something. It’s got the feel of a classic road trip — maps, mishaps, and unexpected friendships — with a nostalgic twist. If you’re hitting the open road, this one’s a great passenger. Warning…it does end up in New York.

Nevada

The Ox-Bow Incident by Walter Van Tilburg Clark (Fiction, Western)
This isn’t your typical shoot-’em-up Western. Set in a dusty Nevada town, it’s a gripping tale about a posse that forms to avenge a rancher’s death. But as the mob mentality takes over, questions of justice and morality arise. It’s a sobering look at how quickly things can spiral when judgment is clouded by anger.

New Hampshire

Look to the Mountain by LeGrand (Fiction)
Set against the rugged backdrop of New Hampshire’s wilderness, this novel follows a young couple carving out a life in the untamed land. It’s a story of perseverance, love, and the challenges of frontier life. The detailed descriptions of the landscape make you feel the chill of the mountain air and the warmth of a hearth after a long day’s work.

New Jersey

The Pine Barrens by John McPhee (Non-Fiction)
Think New Jersey is all highways and suburbs? Think again. McPhee takes you deep into the heart of the Pine Barrens, a vast, mysterious forest that’s home to unique flora, fauna, and folklore. It’s a fascinating exploration of a lesser-known side of the Garden State, blending natural history with the stories of the people who call this place home.

New Mexico

Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather (Fiction)
This novel paints a vivid picture of New Mexico’s expansive deserts and mission towns through the eyes of a French bishop and his friend as they establish a diocese in the American Southwest. It’s a contemplative journey that delves into faith, friendship, and the cultural tapestry of the region.

New York

Rules of Civility by Amor Towles (Fiction)
Set in 1930s Manhattan, this novel follows Katey Kontent as she navigates the city’s high society. No one beats Amor Towles for good character creation and wisdom shared through writing. With its jazz clubs, smoky bars, and elegant soirées, it’s a stylish and witty exploration of ambition, love, and the choices that shape our lives.

North Carolina

Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier (Fiction)
Inman, a wounded Confederate soldier, embarks on a perilous journey back to his beloved Ada in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Along the way, he encounters a series of characters that reflect the diverse tapestry of the war-torn South. It’s a hauntingly beautiful tale of love, survival, and the longing for home. ​Yeah, it’s also a movie.

North Dakota

Ranch Life and the Hunting-Trail by Theodore Roosevelt (Non-Fiction)
Before he was president, Roosevelt was a rancher in the Badlands of North Dakota. This book chronicles his adventures, from cattle drives to hunting expeditions, offering a glimpse into the rugged life of the American frontier. His passion for the land and its preservation shines through every page.

Ohio

Hillbilly Elegy by J.D. Vance (Non-Fiction)
Politics aside, this is a compelling memoir of growing up in a struggling Appalachian family in Ohio, Vance’s story delves into the complexities of class, culture, and the American Dream. With sharp insights into family dynamics and personal struggles, it’s an honest portrayal of rural life and the challenges of escaping a legacy of hardship.

Oklahoma

The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck (Fiction)
This classic novel follows the Joad family as they flee the Dust Bowl devastation of Oklahoma in search of a better life in California. It’s a powerful story of resilience, injustice, and the enduring human spirit amidst adversity. ​

Oregon

The River Why by David James Duncan (Fiction)
Gus Orviston, a young man from a fishing-obsessed family, seeks solitude in the Oregon wilderness to find meaning beyond the rod and reel. What unfolds is a humorous and heartfelt journey of self-discovery, environmentalism, and the quirks of human nature.

Pennsylvania

American Rust by Philipp Meyer (Fiction)
Set in a decaying steel town in Pennsylvania, this novel delves into the lives of two young men whose choices lead them down a path of crime and moral ambiguity. It’s a gritty, poignant exploration of friendship, loyalty, and the decline of the American industrial heartland.

Rhode Island

The Maze at Windermere by Gregory Blake Smith (Historical Fiction)
This novel weaves together five narratives spanning centuries, all set in Newport, Rhode Island. From a British officer’s romantic pursuits during the Revolutionary War to a modern-day tennis pro’s entanglements, it’s a tale of ambition, love, and societal expectations. ​

South Carolina

The Water Is Wide by Pat Conroy (Non-Fiction)
Conroy recounts his year teaching on a remote island off the South Carolina coast, where he confronts educational disparities and cultural isolation. It’s a memoir that highlights the power of education and the challenges of bridging societal divides. ​

South Dakota

Dragon Teeth by Michael Crichton (Historical Fiction)
Set during the 1870s Bone Wars, this adventure follows a young Yale student who joins a fossil-hunting expedition that eventually leads the main character to the Badlands of South Dakota. Amidst rival paleontologists, Native American conflicts, and treacherous terrain, it’s a thrilling tale of discovery and survival. ​

Tennessee

Bear in the Back Seat I: Adventures of a Wildlife Ranger in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park by Carolyn Jourdan and Kim DeLozier (Non-Fiction)
A lively and often hilarious account of Kim DeLozier’s experiences as a wildlife ranger in the Smokies, filled with adventurous encounters with bears, elk, and tourists. It’s a lighthearted, fast-paced read that brings the wild beauty and quirky challenges of the park to life.

or

Sergeant York: A Biography of an American Patriot and World War I Hero by John Perry (Non-Fiction)
Before he became a war hero, Alvin York was a quiet, sharp-eyed marksman from rural Tennessee. In his own words, he recounts his journey from a pacifist mountain farmer to a reluctant soldier navigating the mud and fire of World War I. Rooted in the woods and values of home, his story is one of grit, faith, and quiet heroism stretching from Appalachian hills to the battlefields of Europe.

Texas

Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry (Fiction)
I mean, c’mon. This Pulitzer Prize-winning novel chronicles the epic cattle drive from Texas to Montana led by two retired Texas Rangers. It’s a sweeping saga of friendship, love, and the harsh realities of life on the frontier, filled with unforgettable characters and vivid landscapes. Epic.

Utah

Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey (Non-Fiction)
Abbey’s memoir of his time as a park ranger in Utah’s Arches National Park is a passionate defense of the natural world. With sharp wit and lyrical prose, he captures the stark beauty of the desert and critiques the encroachment of industrial tourism.

Vermont

Crossing to Safety by Wallace Stegner (Fiction)
A quietly powerful novel about friendship, marriage, and ambition, set partly against the beautiful, pastoral landscapes of Vermont. Stegner’s storytelling and love of the natural world shine through in this reflective, deeply human story. Any Stegner novel is all about the language.

or

Where the Rivers Flow North by Howard Frank Mosher (Fiction)
Set in Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom, this collection of stories celebrates the rugged land and the fiercely independent characters who inhabit it. Full of adventure, nature, and old Yankee spirit, it’s a tribute to a vanishing way of life.

Virginia

Bearskin by James A. McLaughlin (Fiction)
Deep in Virginia’s Appalachian wilderness, a former drug runner turned wildlife researcher battles poachers threatening the black bear population. It’s a gritty, suspenseful tale that delves into the complexities of man versus nature.

or on a lighter note…

The Bad Naturalist by Paula Whyman (Non-Fiction)
A darkly funny, poignant novel about a troubled botanist returning to her Virginia roots, blending mystery, natural exploration, and emotional depth against the wild backdrop of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Washington

The Boys in the Boat by Daniel James Brown (Non-Fiction)
This inspiring true story follows nine working-class boys from the University of Washington as they row their way to gold at the 1936 Berlin Olympics. Set against the backdrop of Depression-era Seattle and the Pacific Northwest, it captures both the rugged spirit of the region and the determination of its people.

West Virginia

Rocket Boys by Homer Hickam (Memoir)
In a small coal town, a group of boys inspired by the launch of Sputnik set out to build their own rockets. Hickam’s memoir is a heartfelt tale of ambition, family, and the pursuit of dreams against the odds. Also a great movie.

Washington, D.C.

Founding Brothers by Joseph J. Ellis (Non-Fiction)
An engaging narrative of America’s early leaders, focusing on their relationships, rivalries, and the founding of the nation, with much of the story centered around Washington, D.C. (Even with a wild story about how Washington D.C. was placed where it was!)

Wisconsin

The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by David Wroblewski (Fiction)
Set on a remote farm in Wisconsin, this atmospheric novel reimagines Hamlet through the life of a mute boy and his bond with a special breed of dogs. With vivid descriptions of the rural landscape, it’s a moving story of family, loyalty, and survival.

Wyoming

The Last Ranger by Peter Heller (Fiction)
A Yellowstone park ranger wrestles with protecting the wilderness he loves while facing threats from poachers and developers. Heller’s writing captures the raw beauty of Wyoming’s landscapes and the deep solitude of life on the frontier of the wild.

Whew! If you made it all the way down here, I applaud you. I’ll mention this one more time —

Also, I am a writer and author of books (or book) myself. My own fictional novel which traverses many of the wild lands of the United States will hopefully be coming out next year.

If you’d be kind enough to sign up for updates on my writing here it would mean the world to me (and help me gather up publishers!). I won’t spam you hardly at all.

• Ross Gentry

The Best Adventure or Travel Book to Read in Each U.S. State. All 50+ of them. was originally published in Books Are Our Superpower on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

There’s a certain thrill in landing somewhere new and laying out a carefully color-coded itinerary: sunrise hikes, midday museums, the restaurant a friend insisted you have to try, and the waterfall just over the ridge — “you’ll regret it if you miss it.”

It’s the kind of trip we’ve all been trained to crave — to consume a place like a checklist. See it all. Do it all. Squeeze it in before Sunday.

But there’s another kind of travel — one quieter, slower, more attuned to the rhythms of the land than the guidebook. And it starts with letting go of the pressure to capture a place, and instead allowing yourself to simply be in it.

Sometimes the richest moments of a trip come not from seeing everything, but from choosing to see something — really see it — more than once.

My Story: Yellowstone

My wife and I travelled to Yellowstone National Park a few years back. We had only 2.5 days there. We did not love those first two days in the park, but adored the last half day.

The first two days could be defined as “Drive here, wait in a line — now look at this! Now drive there, wait in a line — look at that!”

Don’t get me wrong, the things we were looking at were really amazing. Geysers, water falls, hot springs. All great. But the process of quickly moving from one to the next and keeping ourselves in this constant hurry up and wait frame of mind wore us down.

Now, what I’m about to write is not why the first two days of the trip weren’t as great…but during those days we were with my in-laws (who are great adventurers in their own right). On the last half-day my wife and I broke off from the group.

We got up early and set up camp chairs by a river and watched the sunrise. My wife made us tea. I got some fun photos. We set up our hammocks between some trees and then we just…stayed.

For hours. Talking, watching the light change, hoping to see a bear pop out from the woods (a safe distance away). It was incredible. But it was also ordinary. All we really did was exist in one spot for awhile. But the ordinary became extraordinary because of the extraordinary place we did it in.

How to Travel Slowly and See Deeply

You don’t need to abandon all plans or go full off-grid to experience what we did. The shift is simpler — it’s about leaving room for repetition, presence, and the small rituals that make a place feel lived in, even just for a few days.

Start by choosing one thing to return to.
That could be a short trail by the river you walk each morning, a particular overlook where you sip your coffee, or a café tucked down a quiet street that becomes your go-to. Instead of chasing novelty, make a habit of returning.

Allow yourself full days with no big goals.
No summits, no scenic drives, no checkboxes. Let the day unfold around simple rhythms — waking slowly, reading on a porch, following a trail just to see where it goes.

Talk to locals — and listen longer than feels necessary.
A chat with a park ranger, a bookstore owner, or a barista can reshape your entire sense of place. Ask them where they go when they want to unwind.

Notice what draws you in, then stay there.
If your feet keep pulling you toward the same creek, or the same ridgeline view, don’t resist it in the name of “more.” Staying still in a place you love is a kind of devotion.

And finally, trust that less really can be more.
Skipping the biggest landmark might feel counterintuitive at first, but you may find that the smaller, quieter moments are the ones that stay with you — the hammock by the stream, the dogs you passed every morning, the wind moving through lodgepole pines.

Because in the end, the landscapes we remember best aren’t always the ones we rushed to photograph. They’re the ones we gave time to. The ones we let change us. The ones that inspire us to pray and to reflect.

Please let me know about your similar experiences!

I’m writing a novel about hiking, adventure, history, and the stories we leave on the trail. Want updates?

You’ll get those along with a list of my own favorite books below:

📚 Want to Bring the Right Books Along for the Journey?

If you enjoy reflective travel and the kind of adventures that linger long after the trip ends, I’ve put together a curated list of 33+ books perfect for hikers, campers, nature-lovers, and slow travelers.

From immersive fiction to inspiring nonfiction — all sorted by setting and vibe — these books are meant to be read under trees, in cabins, or next to quiet mountain streams.

Get the free book list here
📬 When you download it, you’ll also be added to my email list where I share similar posts and occasional updates on my own upcoming novel — inspired by hiking, history, and the open trail.

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Ross Gentry