Back in the fall of 2019, before all the craziness that was 2020, I found myself gathered with friends in my favorite town of Oxford, Mississippi. A group of special people who filled the formative years of my college life had arrived for an Ole Miss football game, and being like any true Rebel fan, we used it as an opportunity (or excuse) to celebrate with one another. The cocktail hour was filled with reminiscence and laughter of the “good ole days” that just so happened to be during the exciting football years of 2000-2004.

When you live in the South, you are used to all kinds of critters popping up around the yard. Whether it’s a slithery snake in the garden, a sneaky skunk spraying a nosy hunting dog, or a curious raccoon raiding the garbage, it’s just the norm around here. However, there is one creature I simply cannot and will not get used to- the opossum. Besides, who could ever trust something with a silent “O” at the beginning of their name. What even is that?

As this week comes to an end, I reflect on the past year of my life. You see, it was around this time, one year ago, that I set out on a journey to officially shift my life from burnt out, unfulfilled, unhappy healthcare worker back to the creative and mostly positive person I have always truly been. It was on September 14, 2021 (my fortieth birthday) that I launched my writing website, my Sunday short stories, and announced my upcoming book. Some call it a mid-life crisis while I like to call it a return to my true self. Goals were set- to highlight other fantastic, artistic creatives and write a short story every single week for the next year. I had enough stories to start and honestly wasn’t sure how long it would last, but with the quirky everyday-isms that occur and the hilarious people I have been lucky enough to collect as friends along the way, I was able to meet my goal. Today marks the 52nd Sunday short story.

Labor Day weekend in the South consists of two important cultural events: dove hunting and the start of SEC football. At times, a very serious decision must be made when planning the holiday weekend - attend the football game or attend a dove hunt. Now, depending on the team you cheer for or whether you are a hunter, the choice may not be too difficult. Or you could always hunt and simply watch the games on television. But for my family, it is a little tough when our team is hosting a season opener. Lucky enough for us, this year we will be doing both.

This past week, a childhood friend of mine lost his father. It had me reflecting on our time growing up together and how we have traveled together through this somewhat strange and magical journey of peaks and valleys that we call life. I have been blessed by some of the most wonderful friendships in this world. My girlfriends are all a Godsend, each in their own way. They help me navigate motherhood while not letting me forget myself and are always there to lend a supportive ear. I’m grateful for every single one of them coming into my life, and I have a very strong opinion that people should be leery of women who do not have many girlfriends because there is usually a reason why. But this is not a story about my incredible girlfriends. This is a story about my guy friends- the first and most important ones… the Sheffield Boys.

This past week has been a crazy one in our house. School finally started back on Wednesday with the dreaded, logistical nightmare of a half-day that sends parents scrambling for afternoon childcare and yet another lunch option. The afternoon of our particular half day, I found myself playing an intense game of basketball with my eight-year-old son (side note…I wouldn’t have practiced so much growing up if I knew I would end up in a daily pick-up game at the age of forty). Regardless, I placed my phone on top of my parked car, to keep it away from a random airball (not mine obviously) and still be able to hear if an important call came in. That is when my precious and beautiful bull-in-a-china-shop five-year-old daughter intervened.

This past week, my family and I ventured down to Orange Beach, Alabama, to soak up the last little bits of summer before school and all the extra extracurricular activities of fall start back with a bang. As I returned to the beach where so many of my life’s memories have been made, it got me thinking of certain moments and places that stick out. From the coastal restaurants that have come and gone, to the island adventures during college, there are almost too many to choose from.

If someone had told me I would write about the precarious, furry creatures with oversized teeth that are commonly referred to as beavers, I would have told you that you were crazy, yet here I am doing just the thing. My stories come to me at random times, and they honestly can’t be predicted. So, here we are. For whatever reason, I’ve realized the beaver has randomly popped in and out of my entire life, and my curiosity of the animal has recently piqued my interest. And I found myself asking: Beaver…friend or foe? I guess it depends on how you look at it.