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the cops at peace rallies. I became completely disillusioned with the idea of ever joining a society that behaved that way.
    I can’t remember finishing high school in 1967. All I wanted was out. At the first chance, with the ink barely dry on my diploma,I fled to the woods of Humboldt County in Northern California. It was a place where I could sink my fingers into the fertile soil, plant seeds, tend the earth, and grow my own food. I could spend days on remote, rocky beaches and never see another soul. I could canoe down wild rivers or hike into forests of virgin redwoods and just sit, listening as the quiet whispers of nature enveloped me. Being in this isolated area with nature’s beauty was like finding my true home. I was away from the racist remarks, the anger, the frustration of marching and protesting, and a world that seemed upside down and inside out.
    I loved the outdoors, working with my hands, and being self-sufficient. I bought an old truck and chainsaw, scavenged dead oak and pine trees from the forest, cut and chopped like a madman, and sold firewood. The smell of the wood splitting open mesmerized me. Oak had a light fragrance of vanilla and cinnamon. The pine resin had a minty aroma that flooded my senses. I also built a business restoring some of the region’s cherished Victorian homes, figuring out how to do the needed carpentry and painting as I went. This nourished and sustained me, but when I turned nineteen it felt like it was time to get serious about an education and I enrolled at a small college in the redwoods named Humboldt State University.
    I became fixated as I threw myself at my studies even harder than I had chopped firewood. I loved language and literature—from the classics of Shakespeare, Whitman, and Thoreau to the radical poets of the beat generation. I ate it all up like I was starving, finishing a degree in English Literature and earning a high school teaching credential in less than four years. It wasn’t from any inherent brilliance, and I had no career ambitions. I don’t even know why I got a credential. I never wanted to be a teacher. I just needed to prove something to myself and to the mainstream world I had left behind even though I still wanted nothing to do with society, the system, or the rules. I’d checked out of that scene long ago and, with my degree finished and the small savings left over from my firewood and restoration business, I was ready to head off for the unknown.
    I decided to leave my remote cabin on the edge of a village called Freshwater for a few months and see more of the world. I thoughtabout South America, New Zealand, or Africa. Or maybe I’d travel around Europe again on a shoestring budget like my trip there the previous summer. The destination wasn’t of utmost importance. Expanding my boundaries was. I longed to feel part of something bigger, explore what was unknown to me, and be a global citizen.
    In the end, I chose Canada. I could drive my old van there, explore Vancouver, then head farther north into the Yukon Territory and camp out in the wilderness, avoiding the costs of air travel and lodging. In preparation for my trip, I drove into the nearby town of Eureka to buy some supplies. As I was heading home to pack for my trip, the local television station caught my eye. The large cinderblock building had a neon sign facing the main road that flashed the time and current temperature right beside the station’s call letters: KVIQ-TV, Channel 6.
    I don’t know why I pulled into the parking lot and walked inside. I didn’t own a TV and didn’t care a thing about local news. I was hooked on The New York Times and enthralled by the major events shaking the world, always fantasizing I was the one on the scene of a great war or revolution. I never saw myself as a reporter. I just wanted to be a witness to that which was momentous and meaningful. Yet suddenly, there I was, strolling through the lobby of