Josh Ritter again

by Anton Zuiker on May 24, 2026

Josh Ritter is one of our favorite singer-songwriters, and I’ve seen him perform at least six times, often with Erin but also with Oliver and Malia. Earlier this year, Ritter was scheduled for two nights at the Haw River Ballroom, where I’d last seen him. But Erin and I had plane tickets to St. Croix and we were going to miss his shows, and then a big winter storm came through North Carolina so we pushed our travel out, we hunkered in our warm house, and Ritter’s second show was canceled.

So, I bought two tickets to the final night of Ritter’s tour at the famed Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, Tennessee. I invited my college buddy, Mark Schreiner, to join me in early May. Mark lives in Raleigh and he worked at Duke University until last summer. Now he’s a part-time announcer at The Classical Station and I get to listen to him talk about classical music when I’m driving to the Wednesday evening pick-up soccer game. Mark and I connect every few months for lunch, and we’ve hoped for years to take a trip together. But life got busy and I didn’t even think about the Nashville details. With airfares and AirBnB prices a bit much, we decided instead to drive to Boone, visit a couple of the breweries, and hike Grandfather Mountain.

Still, I was holding two tickets to the Ryman show. I asked around and found a Vanderbilt colleague whose parents live in Nashville and was happy to be introduced to Josh Ritter. I transferred the tickets to them from the cabin in Boone. The night of the concert, Mark and I sat at the cabin’s kitchen table to record a long conversation about our memories of John Carroll University and how our we reconnected in North Carolina and on the Duke campus. (I posted one segment over on Wan Smol Blog.)

Here’s a video from Ritter about that Ryman show:

Ritter’s tour was over but he’d committed to a make-up date for that canceled Haw River Ballroom show. Erin surprised me with tickets from a local friend, so there we were with Oliver (and Mary and Ginny) last Tuesday for his stand-up standout solo performance. It was awesome: nearly two hours of Ritter singing his stories—Truth is a Dimension is both funny and deep—filling the old textile factory with his exuberance.

Good friends. Good music. Good travel.

Island hopping

by Anton Zuiker on May 7, 2026

Last night, I finished reading The Wayfinder, a novel by Adam Johnson. I had started this book on Christmas Day (I give books to each of my family, and when I saw this on the table at Flyleaf Books, I took it home and put it under the tree with my name on the tag), and I took my time reading the 713 pages. Savored them, really.

I thoroughly enjoyed this story of Tonga and the royal intrigue that sends princes and storytellers and poets and fefine girls and a talking parrot on journeys throughout the South Pacific. It’s Polynesian magic realism (written by a Stanford University professor who is an enrolled member of the Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe). I read this here in North Carolina, but what made it especially personal for me was my own connection to the Pacific: my time in Hawaii, where I briefly studied the Hawaiian language, and my Peace Corps service in Vanuatu, where I drank kava (“bitter like puddled water” writes Johnson, just as I remember it). Through the years, I’ve also read with interest about the knowledge of traditional navigators, such as this 2016 NYTimes feature and this 2025 science story, both about the Marshall Islands.

What might a nomadic life look like? Consider Vaha-loa. Cradled by wave troughs and weaned on limu, this maritime vagabond had, before his first whisker, felled a man with a Tahitian sling, shared breath with a volcano in Vanuatu, and seen the seas luminesce against submerged reefs. His father taught him the arts of barter and ransom. His mother, stealth and evasion. And he had a third parent: the vastness of the sea, whose tutelage remediated all other lessons but one: a human’s lowly place in the oceanic scheme.

I liked that line about sharing the breath of life with a volcano—I had breathed in the vapors of Benbow, Yasur, and Lopevi, all volcanoes in Vanuatu (and Kilauea in Hawaii).

Earlier in the novel, Moon Appearing, one of the heroines—there are many strong and wise girls and women in this story, in which the king and other men wreak havoc across the seas—“finished her chores, her hair had fallen and she smelled like pond water. It was evening, and the light from the west lit the thorny ribs of palm fronds and set the pale green ferns aglow.”

As I read that, I remembered swinging in my hammock in Liro Village in the late afternoon as I looked across the village through “a green and liquid light that I swear I could just about swim through.”

Reading this book was like once again swaying in that hammock, swimming in the glow of the islands, floating in the poetry of village life and sounds of tropical birds.

Kōrero is another heroine, a girl storyteller who connects all the threads of this story. Her name is the Māori word for talking and conversation, much like the Bislama yumi stap storian and also talk story that I learned in Hawaii. Both of those phrase have been important through my 25 years of blogging and community building and influenced my decade of narrative. I’ve been thinking about ways to keep up that focus, and The Wayfinder pointed the way.

“Kuo pau ke ke ‘alu,” she said to him. (You must go.)
“Pea ko koe e nofo,” he responded. (And you remain.)

That’s a refrain throughout the story. So good.

This was quite the reading experience. Thank you, Adam Johnson.

Gift bags

by Anton Zuiker on April 28, 2026

Another text message from my local bookseller, Flyleaf Books, came in today saying my order of Unreasonable Hospitality: The Field Guide was in. So, at the end of the day — after annual performance reviews for three of my colleagues, and a group meeting for a project I’m on — I drove over to retrieve two copies of the handbook. I also picked up a copy of the original book by Will Guidara, since I’d given away my last copy just yesterday. It must be over 10 copies that I’ve gifted, because this bestselling book is meaningful to me and I want others to be inspired by it, with the story of Eleven Madison Park and how Guidara and his team found ways, both simple and over the top, to acknowledge their restaurant’s guests.

I’d given that copy of Unreasonable Hospitality to a colleague yesterday at the end of our day-long team retreat. We’d spent the day looking back on a year’s goals and challenges and results and accomplishments. We’d also heard from a couple of the leaders with their historical perspectives and guidance on what’s important to focus on in the months ahead. I had prepared handwritten notes and gifts for each of my colleagues, and the two leaders. This is part of my goal for 2026 to become a better gift giver, inspired in part by Guidara but also Erin and Edwin and others in my circle.

“I like that you’ve reused gift bags, which we do at our house,” said one. I was about to hand her the bag with Unreasonable Hospitality. Perfect, I thought to myself, and out loud I said, “Yes, thanks for noticing! I dug into the box of bags at home and this is what was left.” I’d felt bad about the bags not matching or being pristine, but this comment and the team’s chuckles told me this was even better. I’ll probably write a version of this blog post into the notes pages of the handbook.

Oh, and I gave copies of The agile comms handbook to other members of the team.

The easy postcard

by Anton Zuiker on April 10, 2026

Uncle Larry's postcards to Jenny, collected

My uncle, Larry Zuiker, founded a hikers club in Arizona and wrote a book about his treks throughout the western United States and our national parks, and he once lead me on hike near Phoenix when I was there for a conference.

Over the last 20 years, Larry has been sending me postcards about his adventures, including in Zion National Park. When we saw him in Boulder for Uncle Denny’s funeral, Larry had given me and Erin tips for our own trip to Zion, including to get up to Walter’s Wiggles and Angel’s Landing; he followed up by sending his own photos of the canyon’s hikes, simply writing on the back of each photo, adding our address, and affixing a stamp. As I blogged last week, I only made it as far as Scout Point, but on my way down the trail, I paused at the top of the Wiggles to record a short video message to Larry that I texted him later that night. I also sent him a Zion postcard once I returned home to North Carolina.

In Boulder, I also had learned that Larry’s been sending postcards to some of my other cousins. Jenny had her collection on a ring so we could turn through them all. I was impressed that Jenny had presented them this way, and I had even more admiration for my uncles.

Coincidentally, the same day that I was hiking the wiggles, my friend Karyn Murphy, who lives in Homer, Alaska, was telling her own story of a postcard collection. Alloted just five minutes to show and tell (it’s a format called PechaKucha), she explained how her mother had sent simple-seeming postcards to her when she was living on the island of Molokai and how, in the final year of her mother’s life, she returned the favor. It’s a heartwarming story and, given Karyn’s artistic and curious nature, an inspiring one: listen and watch. (Karyn told a version of this story in one of the Talk Story sessions I hosted in 2012. Watch here and read the News & Observer report.)

And yesterday, at a perfect vineyard wedding in Lovingston, Virginia, I was invited to do just that. Instead of a traditional guestbook, Agustin and Maya invited us to pick a postcard from the rack—cities, states, countries, and national parks—write a message, and drop it into a metal lunchbox. Zion was there, and many other places I’ve visited or hope this lovely and talented couple may one day visit, but instead I selected Big Bend National Park, which reminded me of my sister-in-law’s art about the Rio Grande and the rafting trip in Big Bend that Katherine had taken us on in 2015. ‘May you have wonderful adventures!’ I finished my note to the newlyweds.

Here on my desk is a stack of unused postcards, which I’ve ben collecting since my childhood and that I dug out of a storage box. In another box, I’ve saved the cards I’ve received through the years; it was fun and emotional to reread these. Last year, I wrote about the collection of postcards that Malia had written to me and Erin during her studies in Madrid and tour through Europe. Her messages made me proud and happy.

Giles Turnbull recently wrote a blog post about How to write more postcards — “Make it easy, like texting is,” he wrote, along with advice that “you don’t have to have a lot to say. It’s fine to just send a single question, or a sentence or two.”

Thank you, Larry and Karyn and Agustin and Maya and Giles, Malia, and so many others.

It's good to be outside

by Anton Zuiker on April 5, 2026

From the Watchman Trail, Zion National Park

As I noted in Shows I attended in 2025, my personal five-year plan, under the question “What is my state of mind [in 2030]?” says I will find awe, beauty, and wonder from nature and spend 5 full days outside each year.

I’m glad to have just done that with the family. Our trip to Zion National Park was spectacular.

Sure, I had moments of impatience and frustration and worry—a work stress was particularly hard to shake—but being able to slow down, breathe deeply, and look up and around and into the eyes of my loved ones confirmed that this outdoors goal is right to be at the top of my ‘vivid vision’ document.

Spring hiking in Zion

by Anton Zuiker on April 4, 2026

Snow Canyon State Park, Utah

Late in the day on Wednesday Oliver and I met up above Walter’s Wiggles at the top of the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park. We were in Utah for a spring break adventure with Erin, Anna, the Claffey family (Erin’s sister, Mary), and Tom and Katherine (Erin’s other sister) from Boise. Our group had won a morning permit to crawl out to (death defying) Angel’s Landing, but the overnight rains kept us away (great excuse to skip the danger) until late afternoon. After hiking other parts of the park (muddy Lee Pass Trail in the Kolog Canyons section and then Watchman Trail in the main park), most of us took up the challenge to hustle up to Scout Point, just before Angel’s Landing, and then down again in time for the last shuttle down to the visitor center.

While I waited for Erin to arrive at the trailhead, Oliver and his cousins started up the steep trail. Eventually, Erin urged me to go ahead, so I hiked fast, barely stopping to catch my breath and not even enjoying the cool beauty of Refrigerator Canyon. I met Oliver at Scout Lookout, snapped some photos, and used the toilet. Yes, there is a set of pit latrines up at the top of the trail.

“Toilets at the top!” I said.

“That’s funny,” said Oliver.

“It could be the title of a blog post,” I replied. [I tried to use it as the title for this post, but it just doesn’t work. I clearly was tired from the hiking when I had that bad idea.]

Down the trail we went, pausing every few minutes to watch the growing shadows on the canyon walls. So late in the day meant the crowds were gone and we were basically alone on the trail. We didn’t make it to the iconic Angel’s Landing but we did get to enjoy the park in a memorable way.

Other hikes we did: Weeping Rock, Riverside Walk (along with hundreds of families in their waders on their way into the Narrows), and Kayenta Trail to Upper Emerald Pools. We took hundreds of photos along the way, and I stopped even more to just look up and marvel at the expanse and scale of the rock cliffs.

A birthday

Thursday was my birthday, so in true Zuiker fashion we started the day at River Rock Roasting Co. for breakfast and giant cinnamon rolls. We sat outside on the veranda that overlooks the Virgin River, which comes out of Zion Canyon. (Another family walked by, one girl wearing a Carolina shirt, so we chatted with them to find out they, too, were from Chapel Hill.) Around the table, we discussed our itinerary, which needed to end in Las Vegas for our final night. Since it was my birthday, I got to decide, and since there were Mojave Desert tortoises to be seen, I opted for Utah’s Snow Canyon State Park. This park is just outside of St. George, and near the BLM’s Red Cliffs National Conservation Area, and I was surprised by how much there was to do. Alas, we did not see a tortoise, but we hiked for more than three hours amid the beauty.

Glamping

Erin had made most the trip’s arrangements months before, and when she suggested we sleep in the heated tents of Under Canvas, I gave an enthusiastic yes. This was a fun place, set on a beautiful hill at the very edge of Zion National Park, with an on-site kitchen and family activities and plenty of dry firewood for the stove inside the tent (and a heated shower, a sink, a toilet). We’d been promised stellar views of the Milky Way but rain clouds and then a full moon kept the heavens away. Still, a very enjoyable way to visit the area.

Las Vegas

We flew in and out of Vegas, stayed two nights at the Bellagio and then a final night at the Palazzo at the Venetian. The lights and noise and crowds of the strip were exciting, at first, but quickly unpalatable (having to walk through the smoky casino to get in and out of the hotel added to the discomfort). The highlight was pizza, gelato, and espresso at Eataly. From Vegas we took a day trip to the Hoover Dam and nearby Boulder City.

The Wayfinder

On the flight home, I read for hours, still only half through The Wayfinder, the 700-page novel by Adam Johnson.

On page 365, I read this dialogue, in which the young Kōrero answers that she had been lost when sailing on her own.

“When I focused on where I was supposed to go and how I should get there, I felt pretty lost. When I forgot all that and just sailed, I seemed to go in the right direction.”

There were moments on the trail, my phone away and the family spread before and behind, when I felt perfectly in the moment, the stillness of the desert or the strength of the canyon or the vastness of the universe taking me just where I needed to be going.

I want to go back, to Zion and St. George and everything else there is to explore in Southwest Utah.

Blown away

by Anton Zuiker on March 24, 2026

My friend Michael invited me over for dinner last night. “Bring a few of your albums that you’d like to listen to on my system,” he said. Over dinner last fall, I’d told him I’d started collecting vinyl records and the family was enjoying playing them in our big main room. I gathered up Simon and Garfunkel, Fleetwood Mac, Kurt Vile, and a couple of others.

I got to Michael’s house and he was grilling a sausage from Woodland Farm. We sat in the kitchen and ate the sausage and peppers and slices of baguette, drank the Great Lakes Dortmunder Gold I’d brought, and talked about our work in writing and websites, but also travel and next-chapter projects.

Then, we stepped into the music room. Michael’s audio system is miles above what I have. He had me sit in the center of the sofa in front of the tall speakers that were evenly spaced apart, but also the same distance from the room’s walls. We started with Bridge Over Troubled Water and I was immediately stunned by the waves of audio. The music was coming straight at me even though the speakers were spread in front. Wow. Rumours was amazing, the mixing of the voices and instruments so masterful and mesmerizing. I kept turning my head back and forth, my ears trying to make sense of this new musical experience. And Vile’s Wakin’ on a Pretty Day, a song I often play in the van when I’m driving to work, ended with a streamer of crinkling sound that I hadn’t known was there.

“Did you hear anything new?” Michael had asked me after the first few songs. He’d known I would. He has a very good sound system.

Michael also told me about the jazz kissa, or listening cafes, and the more recent American attempts to facilitate music appreciation in bars, and also about UNC professor Mark Katz, who is teaching a graduate seminar on Analog. (I told him about Craig Mod’s Kissa by Kissa, a book I wrote about as one to hold and enjoy.)

We listened to music for a couple of hours. After my records, we heard War on Drugs and Wilco and ended with the celestial Come Away with Me by Norah Jones. I was exhausted from listening so intently.

I also was energized with this new way of listening. Michael had encouraged me to listen to a full side of a record without speaking. This was hard for me, but I recognized the lesson. For much of my adult life, I’ve been told I’m a good listener, but even so in the last few years I’ve worked on my listening skills, especially on pausing a few seconds before I begin to answer or address someone. But here was a deeper and even more patient listening, a giving in to be attentive longer.

‘Meditate much?’ I can hear you asking. I’ve been trying, but my stamina in silence is not much longer than the side of a record. Meditation and music seem like good companions for me on my journey to being a better listener.

I’m grateful to Michael for this experience.

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