After my brother died when he and I were both young, I found footing in my formative years by spending time with my cousin. He was about a year older than I was, and we lived near each other. Like me, he was an only child, but for a different set of circumstances.

If we were in a buddy sitcom, I'd be the straight-laced one and he'd be the wild card. Looking back on it now that I'm a father, I realize that I was shell shocked and he was what you might call a troubled kid. But we both found peace in the outdoors through hunting and fishing.

We hiked mountains in the Rockies in Montana to drop flies for trout. We helped a charity in Minnesota put disabled veterans in deer stands and venison in freezers. We tracked feral hogs in Oklahoma through clay slick with rain up and down rugged hills. We camped next to glaciers, dodged grizzly bears, hitched plane rides to islands in the middle of nowhere, took just about every stroke of bad luck you can imagine on the nose, and we lived to tell about it.

But we grew apart as we entered our 20s. I found my way with writing, and he eventually found his way to alcohol and pills. He did some bad things, but he's still here, although I wouldn't ever say he's the same person I grew up with.

I miss him terribly.

I suppose that's part of where A Glow in the Woods comes from. I saw the glow, and so did he, in the literary sense. And after you see it, you can't go back. Light doesn't work that way.

You may not understand this story right now, but you might someday. Everyone sees the glow eventually.

~Ben