As everyone in the world knows, we're right in the middle of a pandemic. Many people are falling sick, and some are dying. What is not killing us virally is killing us economically. I hurt for small business, churches, and every worker. What comes to mind for me, are the situations I heard about concerning the Great Depression. I pray this time is different. But even though it will be different and even though we will make it through, everything will change. We will change how we do business, church, and our own personal lives. And we will fi nd out what we can really do without. In the middle of this catastrophe, turkey season opened in my home state. It felt different. It felt good. It felt like something I could run to and enjoy, while making sure I was social distancing. And since we are quarantined, I plan on spending several hours a week matching wit with the toms who have no idea our world is upside down. What I'm taken back to right now is the simplicity of life as it is lived away from most manmade constructs. I have a gun, a few calls, and then I am in nature. I am wallowing in what is turning out to be the most trusted substance anywhere around. Dirt. Yes, dirt. No viruses. No unhealthy bacteria. Just dirt. What you and I are made of. For some reason, I trust most things untouched by human hands. I had rather be bitten by a spider in the wild, than in an abandoned old house. I had rather drop my bologna sandwich in a pile of leaves and still eat it, than drop it on blacktop, knowing I'll have to throw it away. I may be naïve, and I know I can't always trust these standards, but this morning, I can't imagine the Coronavirus being closer to me than about 15 miles. I run to the woods. Not only do I fi nd comfort in nature, but I also find the clutter between her and her Creator is minimal. The distance between dirt and Deity is only a starry sky interrupted on occasion by a welcomed gobble. I hope you have a place like this.