Coffee, Woodsmoke, and a Silver Ship in the Sky

Some mornings I wake up and swear I can still smell the woodsmoke from our old fireplace, the one that crackled like it had opinions about the weather. It’s funny how a scent can pull you straight back into a moment you didn’t even know you’d saved. I was thinking about that today while I waited for the coffee to finish, watching the steam curl up like it was trying to tell me something.

When I was a kid in the late 80s, mornings felt slower. Not better, not worse, just slower in it’s own way. You didn’t roll out of bed and check a phone. You rolled out of bed and checked the sky. If it was gray, you grabbed a jacket. If it was clear, you grabbed your bike. And if it was Saturday, you grabbed the remote and prayed the antenna didn’t betray you before the cartoons came on.

I remember one morning in particular, sitting cross‑legged on the carpet with a bowl of cereal that was mostly marshmallows, waiting for Flight of the Navigator to start its umpteenth rerun on the Disney Channel. I didn’t know a thing about time travel or alien ships, but I knew what it felt like to want to be somewhere else for a little while. That movie gave me a ticket out of our valley without ever leaving the living room.

But the truth is, even when I wanted to escape, I never really wanted to leave. Not for long. There’s something about growing up in the South, especially in the folds of the Appalachians, that settles into your bones. The way the hills hold the sound of a train whistle. The way the porch light flickers when its supper time. The way neighbors wave whether they know you or not. You carry that with you, even when you’re watching spaceships on TV and dreaming about far‑off places.

I guess that’s what I’m trying to say this morning. The older I get, the more I realize how much of my life has been shaped by two things: the place that raised me and the stories that carried me. One taught me how to stand still. The other taught me how to imagine moving. And somewhere between those two, I became whoever I am now.

The coffee’s ready. The day’s waiting. But for a minute there, I was back in that living room, and back in a world where a kid could believe a silver ship might land in the backyard if the timing was right.

And honestly, some days I still believe it.