On Ducks, Stardust, and Unexpected Honors

I never forget about this blog. I know it’s out here. But like an old sweater in the back of the closet—fuzzy, familiar, and a little stretched out in the elbows—I often don’t know what to do with it. It rarely gets cold around here and I might need it some day even if it doesn’t fit the way it used to.

This space was (is) donkey-forward (as the name suggests) that returning to it with less…hoofed content…feels a little awkward. But a while back, I gave myself permission to keep writing here anyway…to let this be a place for updates, reflections, and the occasional existential spiral about ducks.

Which brings me here.

Earlier this month, my little family took a long, winding road trip. Somewhere between Michigan and Texas, we detoured to Memphis so I could witness, at long last, the Peabody ducks. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, picture five real ducks waddling a red carpet inside a grand hotel lobby, twice a day, every day, for nearly a century. It’s ridiculous. It’s delightful. It’s everything I needed.

Hundreds of people showed up to watch these five little ducks splash into a fountain. All ages, all backgrounds. No one asked why we were all there. We just were. Unified in our shared delight. A perfect, tiny absurdity in a world that often feels impossibly vast.

Meanwhile, during those long hours in the car, we listened to a podcast about the universe—hosted by author John Green and Dr. Katie Mack, a theoretical astrophysicist who somehow manages to make entropy feel poetic. I learned we’re not just made of stardust. We’re made of Big Bang stuff. Particles from the very beginning of everything.

So there I was, full of duck joy and cosmic perspective, both tiny and infinite, watching my son watch the sky, crying quietly over a poem we found in the final leg of our drive (Katie Mack’s “Disorientation”—you can find it here).

And then I got home and found out I’d won a book award for my recently released collection, Strong Heart: A Story of Coming Home.

Not just any award…an International Impact Book Award. A real one. With a certificate and everything.

Which feels…absurd. And wonderful. And somehow perfectly on theme.

I don’t always know what to make of recognition. It’s hard not to squirm under the light. But I’ve come to believe that writing is not a solitary act. Not really. It’s a reaching out. A ripple. A little quack into the void in case someone’s listening.

So when someone answers back with, Hey, your words mattered to me—that’s not a spotlight. That’s a constellation.

If you want to read the full story (ducks, stardust, poems, tears, and all), you can find it over on my Substack:
Stardust, Ducks, and an Award I Didn’t Expect

And whether you’re here for the donkeys, the feelings, or the absurdity of existence, thanks for reading.