
We have changed significantly since beginning this blog 5 years ago. Then we were a young couple, living in Europe exploring our world; now we are a family of 5, living in the South. Our adventures used to include exploring new cities, countries and sites, and now include living day by day with a desire to act justly, love mercy and walk humbly. This is a small window into our world, a journal of adventures that continue to shape our lives.




They came through on a whirlwind tour of Germany and England. While they were here we sent them to Trier and Luxembourg City. We also took them to dinner at Burg Lichtenburg, which is an old castle about 4km from our house. They have the best German food we have had since being here. 











I arrived in the Prestwick airport, which is small. Four rental car agencies, two of which were housed in the same kiosk. Avis, National-Alamo, and Hertz comprised the agencies at my disposal. But wait, I rented from Budget!!! Why was there not a Budget rental car company here!? I walked up to the airport information counter and asked if a Budget rental car company was there in the airport. No was the answer. I stopped at the Avis counter and asked if they had a reservation for McNay. No sorry, they replied. I knew I didn't book with Hertz because it was too expensive. Lastly, I sheepisly waddled to the National-Alamo counter and asked if they had a reservation for McNay. Jackpot. The only problem now was the language barrier. Yes, Scots are to speak English, but wow, what a difference. It was like the first time in Tennessee working to understand a teenager at a JCPenney customer service counter. Some words that I picked up were "oatside" "left" and "okeedokee". All I can say is "Thank God for keyless entry" as I roamed aboat oatside pressing the bu'un.
Now for the adventure of the car. The first night was a bit hair raising, as I moved about the roundabout in the completely wrong direction and then took the wrong exit, took a diversion because a highway exit I needed was under construction and ended up in the slums of Glasgow, ended up in the wrong spot as a tractor trailor took a 90 degree turn into my lane, and ended up on frozen frost-covered roads near my destination at midnight that same night, and parked my car in a pulloff so that I could finally go to sleep as the thermometer fell to 0 degrees Celsius. I did sleep well that first night in my car, but I must say by the third night of sleeping in the car, the new car scent spray isn't working too well anymore.
This is the famous Kinkell bridge. The stretch of river you see goes upstream about a half-mile and down stream about one mile. A man named Sandy MacKintosh controls the access to this group of "beats". The first day was Feb 1 and the official first day of salmon season. Most fishermen are here to have a day away from work and to down measurable amounts of their favorite blends of single malt whiskys. Not to offend I was offered a dram to start the day, and they were right when they promised a morning of warmth. At lunchtime one feller just didn't feel much like fishing so he stayed in the car and sipped all day. He came to lunch and was most interested in teaching me some off-color phrases in the local, but slurred dialect. His favorite was "Shawttinyerbricks" and another sounded like "Peeknyercrawlr". I didn't really understand him, but he was funny and all his buddies were laughing, so I went along. I fished here for two days in the river, working the morphology, searching for that hungry mongrel, but with no luck. On the second day, I broke out my REI water purification pump, walked down to the river and vigorously filled my water bottle with the cold home brew. Trusting that the filter did its job, I nursed my bottle all evening long. Note cow across river.
Overall, I had an awesome trip that allowed me to be alone, to pray, to flyfish, to repent and to prepare for the arrival of my little girl. To tie it all together, I returned home and slept perfectly the first night. The second night home, I kept having to get up to use the bathroom, and finally woke up sweating at four o'clock in the morning. My boxers were stuck to me all the way around and as I made my way to the bathroom I thought to myself "man I stink". The moral of the story is "Sometimes the most profound and truthful things come from the mouth of the drunk". Now I understand the first phrase.

















