The Hamburger Stand. In which I build an open-air nursery barn for growing vegetables, flowers and shrubs.
"Dream Encounters" When I help my mother to typeset, publish, and publicize "A Memoir Based on One Woman's Dreams over a Period of 50 Years."
COVID-19. When I put in a Victory Garden, am blessed with a bountiful harvest, and teach myself pickling, canning and preserving.
Medium. When "Full Stack Pronounced Dead" is a viral success, which encourages me to continue writing.
Read Write Serve. When I perfect an HTTP/2 server with security, caching, content negotiation, compression, charsets, logging, and monitoring.
Read Write Tools. When I develop a suite of Electron-based desktop apps for working with Blue Phrase manuscripts.
Symbolic Endophrasing. In which I specify, using formal EBNF notation, the patentable claims related to Blue Phrase.
Tubbs Fire. When I finish installation of 5000-gallon emergency water tanks just in time for the worst wildfire in California's history.
Blue Phrase. In which I compile twenty years of experience with HTML and XML into their tightest possible form.
Petaluma, California. When we move to a rural homestead, raze out-buildings and rebuild retaining walls.
Novato, California. When I sift through sixteen years of accumulated stuff, stage our house for sale, and begin camping out in Marin County.
Larkspur, California. When I drive five days a week, miles and miles to get to work, turn around and drive miles and miles to get back home.
Sebastopol, California. When I pause to look back upon life events, and organize my world travels.
“There's a God for That” In which I compose thoughts about a hopeful revival of the Shinto faith in the wake of the disastrous earthquake, tsunami and meltdowns in Tōhoku.
Shimane Prefecture, Japan. Where I learn about the Shinto origins of kagura and accidentally become an anti-nuclear activist.
The “V” language. In which I create an interpretive, declarative, nullipotent programming language for computer system administration.
Columbus to Bryn Mawr. Where I join Melodee Kornacker on a 600-mile cycloventure to attend her 50th alumnae reunion.
Yountville, California. Where Hiroko sponsors the California tour of Hiroshima's Taiko Honpo Kaburaya, and the veterans of war join the ambassadors of peace on stage.
Grandview Heights, Ohio. When I attend the funeral of a childhood playmate and closest cousin, Paul Damiani.
Cincinnati to Cleveland. Where I bicycle the 321-mile Ohio to Erie Trail, championed by my late father Edward F. Honton.
Boston, Massachusetts. Where we cruise the harbor and witness an international regatta of tall ships during the Sail Boston 2009 festival.
Pueblo, Colorado. When I sit bedside with my mother, not knowing whether the Grim Reaper would pass her by.
Mt. Shasta, California. Where Hiroko and I visit Panther Meadows with its cushion of dainty flowers, and see the world's most beautiful, and very secret, curtain of falling water.
“Another New Year's Eve Freshet.” In which I publish data collected during a great storm over the Laguna de Santa Rosa and map the extent of its floodplain.
Toyama & Gifu Prefectures, Japan. Where I am enthralled by the gassho-zukuri houses, and the deep community traditions of the local rice farmers.
Yakushima, Kagoshima, Japan. Where I walk under a thousand-year old canopy of sacred cedars, wade in tide pools of black pumice, and beach comb the white sandy shores of a fabled island.
Manitou Springs, Colorado. Where red sandstone hogbacks stand sentinel, while my brother Stephen and his fiancée Judith receive family blessings on their forthcoming marriage.
“Redbud.” In which my latest artwork, “Russian River Geography of the 18th Century” gets a surprisingly high price at a silent auction!
Sierra County, California. Where Hiroko and I meander through alpine meadows in late bloom, and where nothing seems to break the hushed tone of the high mountain air.
“Enhancing and Caring for the Laguna.” In which Anna Sears and I publish a wildlife/habitat restoration plan for a Wetland of International Importance.
“Gallinomero.” In which my cartographic recreation of 19th century Livantuhyumi uses the words of missionaries, soldiers, explorers and pioneers to paint the landscape.
Yufuin, Oita Prefecture, Japan. Where we enjoy a second honeymoon in this quintessential onsen resort, with lazy afternoon walks leading nowhere.
Columbus, Ohio. When my father's struggles with leukemia are finally over, and he is reunited with the mother he never knew.
California to Ohio. Where my wanderlust tour crisscrosses nineteen states, from the northern prairies to the southern barrens, seeking out National Wildlife Refuges, before saying goodbye to my father.
Atascadero Watershed. In which I create a topographic map of the Atascadero-Green Valley basin and its natural features.
“Laguna Tales.” In which I use my new docent training to create a leader's guidebook to the Sebastopol Wetlands Preserve.
Pueblo, Colorado Where a Yuletide visit is spent quietly reading.
“Compleat Botanica.” In which I create a software application for gardeners to catalog their plant collections.
Traverse City, Michigan. Where our grown-up family gets back together for a week of handicrafts and fireworks, and where my father entrusts family keepsakes to the next generation.
Glacier Bay, Alaska. Where I join my brother E.J., walk in the footsteps of John Muir, and see the salmon spawn and the eagles soar.
Hocking Hills, Ohio. Where we bicycle in sweltering heat, and canoe in cool waters, while Tecumseh defends his sacred homeland.
Prineville, Oregon. Where I vigilantly count down towards the new millennium, ensconced in a high desert cabin, far from the Y2K hullabaloo.
Forestville, California. Where the Russian River winds its way to the Pacific, and we splash in our canoes until we get sunburnt.
San Juan Islands, Washington. Where Karen Burch shares her island home, while rambunctious 8th graders go sea kayaking, whale watching and camping.
Park City, Utah. Where the Olympic Park was gearing up, and we skied like pros.
Sebastopol, California. Where we buy the cheapest house in the best location, and begin the endless task of renovating.
Catawba Island, Ohio. Where everybody does their own thing and I play Yahtzee.
Onna, Okinawa, Japan. Where we are treated to sunny beaches, orchids and tropical fruits.
Turlock, California. Where I try to pass my love of cycle-touring on to my two young children, but Texas tacks and flat tires spoil the adventure for everybody.
California to Colorado. Where four squished adults, one Jeep Cherokee, five national parks, and too many Indian trading posts, are a good definition of «road trip».
Gulf Shores, Alabama. Where our deep sea fishing trip hauls in six different species, and grouper makes for good eating.
Rochester, New York. Where we investigate molecular quantitative structure-activity relationships with an eye towards de novo drug design.
Lost Coast, California. Where we listen to stories under a canopy of Douglas fir and countless stars, while engrossed 6th graders pay no attention to the creeping undergrowth of the forest.
Ochoco Forest, Oregon. Where a spur of the moment day trip, a late season patch of snow, and an isolated forest service road, strands improvident young men twenty miles from warm beds.
Crater Lake, Oregon. Where we peer into the depths of a collapsed volcano, and the blue, blue water of its caldera.
Covelo, California. Where 3rd graders visit a biodynamic farm and we scythe, and compost, and plow the earth with draft horses.
Uwajima, Ehime Prefecture, Japan. Where I naively think that my nine-year-old son can be my translator, and instead rely on strangers to help us through.
Prineville, Oregon. Where I help E.J. to establish base camp for his Long Hollow ranch.
Columbus, Ohio. When a small family gathers, with only two youngsters to dote on.
Malvern, Pennsylvania. Where we control a robotic wet-lab bench for chemical analysis.
Mt. Aso, Kumamoto Prefecture, Japan. Where we visit an active volcano just before it explodes, and my sister Cathy joins the fun as we boil eggs over steam vents and kettles.
Tijuana, Mexico. Where reckless coworkers persuaded me to walk across the border and go barhopping in the seediest of places.
Mt. Gilead, Ohio. Where we play volleyball until it hurts.
Kokura, Fukuoka Prefecture, Japan. Where hot summer nights, the back-beat of drums, street vendors grilling squid, and light cotton yukata, means it must be Gion Matsuri.
El Cerrito, California. Where sisters and aunts and mothers, a tiny guest room, and too many gabby moments, leave a strong impression.
El Cerrito, California. Where we buy our second house, and fix it up, learning how to do everything ourselves.
Sharon Woods, Columbus, Ohio. Where another Honton Family reunion occurs, with all eight children present!
Anaheim, California. Where a swimming pool, a momentary lapse of attention, and a three-year old son, bring panic to young parents.
Boston, Massachusetts. Where I accidentally trigger a bomb scare, a dozen fire trucks, a building evacuation, freezing cold patrons, and a very public announcement “Is there a Joe Honton here today?”
Munakata, Fukuoka Prefecture, Japan. Where our prayers for peace and safety are offered on New Year's Day.
Columbus, Ohio. Where a room full of adults solve all the world's problems, while two toddlers grab all the attention.
Manchester, Connecticut. Where I run 10K, much to my own surprise.
Nagano & Gifu Prefectures, Japan. Where I walk the Nakasendo Route from Tsumago to Magome, and ski the bunny slopes near Matsumoto Castle.
Hartford, Connecticut. Where we've accumulated too much stuff, and it no longer fits in the back of our pickup truck.
New Haven, Connecticut. Where young parents attempt to go camping with a newborn infant, and learn that some things are better left for later.
Hong Kong to Tokyo. Where the subways, and the tall buildings, and the hubbub of people and commerce, feels like Manhattan — except for the flashing neon kanji and the Oriental eyes.
Bombay to Pokhara. Where we cross the burning plains of Maharastra and Madhya Pradesh and Rajasthan, to the roof of the world, and the Nepalese version of torture called trekking.
Nairobi to Lake Turkana. Where anyone with an old Datsun can stuff a dozen passengers in the truck bed, call it a jitney, and traverse the open savanna to the end of the world.
Cairo to Khartoum. Where the tombs of the Pharaohs, a muezzin's call to evening prayers, the endless Sahara, and a magical moonlit oasis, are worthy additions to Scheherazade's anthology.
London to Athens. Where the train through Yugoslavia is filled with heavy smokers, black marketeers, smugglers and thieves, who figure we are too gullible to see what's really going on.
California to Ohio. Where we quit our jobs, pack everything into the back of a compact pickup, and pursue our travelling dreams.
Half Moon Bay, California. Where I push my young wife too hard, too fast, too soon, and my attempt to turn her into a cyclist backfires completely.
Rancho Palos Verdes, California Where we have another wedding – American style – just for good measure.
Washington DC to San Francisco. Where my bride and I drive from coast to coast, arrive with the shirts on our backs, take stock, and start a brand new life.
Kitakyushu, Japan. Where our honeymoon romp across Japan's southern island includes hot springs, hot lava, and hot nights.
Kitakyushu, Japan. Where I nervously meet my future in-laws, and the “photography studio picture-taking” actually becomes a Japanese-style wedding at the local Yasaka Shrine.
New Orleans. Where USAir summertime fares makes hopscotching fun, and I visit the Cajun hotspots of New Orleans.
Washington, DC. Where two young globe trotters cross paths, are pulled by love's gravity, and begin to orbit the Earth in tandem.
College Park, Maryland. Where I borrow a big moving truck, sneak into my dormitory when no one is around, flee a Korean cult, and let God decide what I should do next.
Chevy Chase, Maryland. Where I become a disciple of Jesus, join a Korean cult, dispose of my possessions, and use my new-found enthusiasm to annoy lots of people.
Washington DC to Easton, Maryland. Where I nonchalantly ride to Annapolis, hitch a ride with an 18-wheeler across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, and pop over to a sweetheart's summer home.
“Washington International Youth Hostel.” In which the DC metro area is mapped — using Letraset and India ink on vellum — and my first two-color map is published.
Florida Panhandle. Where I grow up in a hurry leading a bicycle tour with too much sun, too much sand, a gummed up radiator, and a junk-yard mechanic taking me for a ride.
Chesapeake & Ohio Canal. Where I ride the bumpy, muddy, mosquito infested towpath from Georgetown to Cumberland, with Liz Burden and her two-year old daughter.
Bikecentennial. Where fourteen strangers come together as TAEK528, ride 4250 miles from Virginia to Oregon in 89 days, and celebrate America's birthday with two thousand other like-minded bicyclists.
Columbus to Portsmouth, Ohio. Where five young men who don't know any better, complete the 105-mile TOSRV bike ride in just four hours and fifteen minutes.
Tupelo to Jackson, Mississippi. Where we cram seventeen bicyclists into two motel rooms, only to get caught cooking dinner inside, when we ask the proprietor if he has a salt shaker.
Red River Gorge, Kentucky. Where Ron Eisele takes us on a week-long backpacking trip through the sugar maples, white pines, hemlocks, oaks and hickory of Daniel Boone National Forest.
Pippa Passes, Kentucky. Where Dick Seebode, Frank Seebode and I attempt to scout a safe route through the coal tipples, but instead are driven out of the county by the Knott County sheriff.
Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Where a Ford van with eight bikes on the roof and a camper-trailer in tow may be the weirdest thing these New Englanders have ever seen.
Higginbotham Cave, Tennessee. Where Ron Eisele leads us to the “Hall of the Mountain King,” a confusing breakdown chamber where we are lost for hours, and where I fall down a hole trying to find a way out.
Mammoth Cave, Kentucky. Where I join National Speleological Society members in an epic 28-hour crawl, and where we pose for snapshots next to Floyd Collins' underground coffin.
Ohiopyle, Pennsylvania. Where I join Columbus Council AYH members on a rafting adventure down the Youghiogheny River.
Holmes County, Ohio. Where we visit the Amish country of northeastern Ohio, and our bicycles mingle with horse drawn buggies on roads too narrow for either.
Ohio to Utah & Wyoming. Where my father plans his grandest expedition yet, and takes the family on a three-week, twelve-state camping trip to see ten National Parks, all for 36¢/gallon.
Orlando, Florida. Where riding the Disney World monorail through the Resort and into the Magic Kingdom has us all singing “Where Dreams Come True.”
Lancaster, Ohio. Where my brother and I make our first bicycle tour: one-way, 33 miles to Burnside's campground, and “the rest is history.”
Cape Canaveral, Florida. Where we visit JFK Space Center at the peak of its Apollo missions, then see flamingos and alligators in their native Everglades habitat.
St. Augustine & Tampa, Florida. Where our long drive to Florida takes for...ever, and mom flips burgers in the camper-trailer while dad inches the car forward, and we all can't wait until the Interstate is complete.
Niagara Falls, Canada. Where the Welland Canal and its huge seagoing ships is more impressive than Niagara Falls.
Grand Rapids, Michigan. Where grandmother and grandfather are stern disciplinarians, and I discover that girls are not the same as boys.
South Bend, Indiana. Where I fall out of a bunk bed and learn about butterfly band-aids.
Columbus, Ohio. Where WBNS Radio welcomes its newest listener with, “Proud Parents Announce New Addition! 1958 Baby is Big Hit!”