Post 15: Will vs. Train

Introduction:

Yep, you read that right Will got hit by a train. We’re almost 20 years to the date (July 24, 2005). And no, this isn’t just a crazy story; it’s a life-altering moment that reshaped everything. What follows is Will’s personal account of what happened, how he survived, and how it changed his outlook on life. His therapist actually recommended putting it out there—writing it down, sharing it, and letting it go. And with a remake of the exact movie he saw that night being released this month, the universe is making it impossible to ignore.

But let me say this upfront I don’t want this to be a sad blog. This isn’t a “whoa is me” moment. I want this to inspire you. Even when life hits hard, even when it feels like there’s no way forward, you can still flip that moment and create something better. Use the hard times as your reason to chase the thing you’ve never had the nerve to do.

South Dakota inpsired artwork of the corn fields we lived by.

The Night Everything Changed:

I was 23, living in South Dakota, going to school in Brookings, a small college town with about 10,000 people, a Perkins, a Walmart, a movie theater, and not much else. It was the kind of town where grain silos outnumbered nightclubs, and Friday plans usually meant grabbing Taco John’s or catching a late show with roommates. That night, we had gone to see the Fantastic Four movie at the local theater. It wasn’t anything special, but it was summer and we were bored, so we went.

The movie let out close to 11 PM, and we piled into our Saturn SUV to head home. Our rental house was out on the lake quiet, dark roads the whole way. I took the passenger seat, like I always did. Everyone was a little tired, half-laughing about something from the movie, and we were just cruising down the sleepy downtown streets of Brookings.

Here’s the thing about that town: there weren’t any crossing arms at the train tracks. No gates that come down. Just flashing red lights and maybe a faint bell. In a lot of ways, it felt like the town itself was stuck in a simpler time. At night, when you came up to those tracks, you’d glance left, then right like you’re trained to do, and keep driving. Half the time there was a train sitting there, but it was usually parked, filling up with grain cars. Static. Normal.

We were about to cross the tracks, and I did the usual look: left nothing. Then right and that’s when I saw it.

A train.

But this one wasn’t parked.

It was moving.

I didn’t even have time to shout. Just two sharp blasts of the train horn cut through the night, and then a light. A blinding, white, impossible light.

Then everything went black.

The train hit us hard, smashing into the SUV and nearly tearing the front end off. My head slammed through the passenger-side window, and I was knocked out cold on impact. The next thing I remember, I wasn’t even in the car anymore. I was lying on the pavement, outside, on the ground—dazed, bleeding, and sobbing uncontrollably. Two hot EMTs were crouched over me, asking questions I couldn’t answer. I remember crying and saying my arm hurt, but it wasn’t just my arm. It was everything. I couldn’t think straight. Nothing made sense.

And in true broke-college-student fashion, I refused medical care right then and there because I didn’t have health insurance. I didn’t even think about my brain or my safety. I was just thinking about bills. That was my reality at the time.

Eventually, I made it to the hospital with the two other passengers who took the ambulance. Somehow, I had no broken bones.

Surviving and Recovery:

Physically, I looked fine, maybe a little banged up, bruised, scratched but nothing on the outside showed what was happening inside my head. And for a long time, I didn’t even realize how bad it was. I mean, I had a severe concussion. The doctors warned me not to fall asleep the night of the accident, but that was just the beginning of what would turn into a years-long recovery.

The trauma wasn’t just in my skull it was in my bones, in my dreams, in everything. For months, I couldn’t sleep without seeing the train again. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in that passenger seat. The horn. The light. The screech of metal. It never went away. Eventually, they put me on sleeping pills just to shut my brain down long enough to get through the night.

But I didn’t have time to rest. I didn’t have the luxury of healing. I was a broke college student with bills to pay and a kitchen crew to manage. I was the line cook manager at Perkins in Brookings, and I think I only took three, maybe four days off after the crash. That’s it. Then I went right back into the heat and chaos of the kitchen.

I remember walking into my shift like a zombie. My head felt like it was full of fog and static, but I kept telling myself I was fine. I had to be. I clocked in at 5 PM. About 15 minutes later, I walked up to my coworkers and asked for a break, what felt like hours to me had barely been moments. They looked at me and said, “Will… you need to go home.”

They could see it, even if I couldn’t. I didn’t know what day it was. Time didn’t make sense. I didn’t feel like myself and truthfully, I wasn’t.

That head injury erased almost everything from the first 23 years of my life. I remembered who my parents were. I remembered I had a sister. But holidays? Birthdays? Christmas mornings? Gone or really blurry. Whole stretches of childhood, blank. My mind had turned into a photo album with missing pages and faded prints. Sometimes a photo or smell will spark a flicker of something, but it’s like looking at someone else’s life.

And that loss didn’t just affect me. To this day, I think some people in my extended family believe I just stopped calling, stopped caring. But the truth is, I can’t remember what those relationships even were. I don’t remember the bonding moments that built them in the first place. And that’s something I’ve carried with a lot of shame. For a long time, I was too embarrassed to admit it. How do you explain to someone, “Hey, I don’t remember your wedding, or the trip we took together, or the summer we laughed for hours”? It sounds made up, like you’re dodging responsibility. But it’s real.

Even high school? A total blur. I know I went. I know the building. But I couldn’t tell you what lunch table I sat at or what my favorite class was. College was barely better. The years from 22 to 24 are like static. I know they happened. I know I lived through them. But it’s like watching someone else’s movie with the sound turned off.

And socially? It made me feel awkward. Like… deeply awkward in ways I still carry today. I’ve learned to live with it, but it’s real. I’ve never been someone who enjoys being the center of attention, and even as a DJ, standing in a booth with all eyes on me it feels weird. Unnatural. I’ve just had to push through it because I loved the music.

The truth is, that train didn’t just hit my body. It deleted my foundation. And it gave me no choice but to start over.

Back then, before all this, I was a different person. I was Mr. Abercrombie. I worked there. Wore all the clothes. I even have the moose tattooed on my leg. My whole personality was fashion, popularity, money, being cool. I didn’t think much beyond myself or the next trend.

The train changed all that. It stripped me down and rebuilt me from scratch. And what emerged… was someone I honestly like more. Someone more grounded. Someone who gives a shit. Someone who wanted to live differently, live better.

That was July 2005.

And everything since has been because of that moment.

How It Changed My Outlook on Life:

After that night, everything shifted. You don’t just walk away from something like that and go back to business as usual. Life suddenly felt paper thin. And I realized this was it. No more someday. No more waiting for the “right time.”

I had always wanted to move to California. That was the dream: finish school, save up, get my ducks in a row, and make the big move by 30. But after the accident, that plan felt ridiculous. What if I didn’t get until 30? What if there wasn’t some neat little window later on?

By August, just a month after the accident, I dropped out of college. Part of it was practical my brain was still foggy, my memory shot, I couldn’t concentrate. I literally couldn’t do school anymore. But the other part? That was fire. That was urgency. I had this gut-deep feeling that I needed to go now, while I still could.

A friend from work, Justin, had an aunt in California who agreed to co-sign an apartment. That was all I needed. By February 2006, I sold almost everything I owned, stashed $6,000 in my bank account, and hit the road. California or bust.

And yes it pissed off my parents. They didn’t understand. How could they? I knew who they were. I knew our family ties. But I didn’t have the emotional memories to anchor me to home. I wasn’t leaving behind 23 years of connection. I was leaving a blank space & the stupid cold which I hated with a passion. So it didn’t feel like a loss. It felt like a beginning.

People told me they’d see me again soon. That was 19 years ago.

Still here.

Still standing.

Still building.

Relationships? They got weird. That might be the easiest way to say it. I knew I had friends. I still hung out with people. But nothing felt familiar. Conversations about the past made me feel like I was the only one without a script. Birthdays, inside jokes, stories people swore we shared it all felt like secondhand smoke. There but hazy.

Even now, so many people in my life don’t realize how much I lost. How deep the blank spaces go. This past spring, I had a conversation with my dad that gutted me. He said, “It’s been almost 20 years. Get over it.”

And I wanted to scream. You remember your life. I don’t.

You have life of memories. I lost more than half of mine. It’s not something you “get over.” It’s something you live with. You adapt. You fake it. You try to smile through stories you don’t recall. And when people respond with rudeness or coldness, when they brush off your loss like it’s no big deal, you just… pull back. You stop trying to remember. You stop reaching out. You protect what little you do know.

But even with all that maybe especially because of all that I came out of the accident with a new kind of clarity. I don’t waste time anymore. I don’t hold grudges or at least try. I don’t do small talk that leads nowhere or faking it for no reason. If you’re in my life, it’s because you matter. If I love you, you know it. If something makes me mad, I say it. If something brings me joy, I hold onto it.

I stopped hiding. After the accident, I had already faced death. I wasn’t afraid of rejection. I wasn’t afraid of what people would think. I had already been broken down and built back up.

And in that rebuilding, something new emerged. A drive. A purpose. A fire.

That’s probably why Out at the Fair exists today. That’s probably why I do what I do. I wanted to create something bigger than myself, something joyful, something proud, something that gives other people a place to belong. That drive didn’t come from nowhere. It came from wreckage.

These days, I try to let the universe guide me. I really believe life has a plan. I don’t think I’d be here if that wasn’t true. My grandfather worked for the railroad. After the accident, he told me, “If that train had been going just three miles per hour faster… you wouldn’t be here.”

Three miles an hour.

That’s how close it was.

And that’s why every day now? I treat it like a gift.

Lessons Learned & Final Thoughts:

Time is wild.

I still can’t believe I’m 43. It feels like I blinked and the years just evaporated. But maybe that’s the point. Life doesn’t wait for you to figure it out. It moves fast and if you’re not careful, you’ll miss the whole damn thing stressing over stuff that doesn’t even matter.

So here’s my truth: slow down. Breathe. Love the people who matter. Love yourself, too. Take the trip. Say the thing. Laugh a little louder. Cry if you need to. We’re all just out here trying to make sense of it. You don’t need to have it all together to live with heart.

And take the risk. Please, take the damn risk.

If I hadn’t gotten hit by that train, I honestly don’t know if I ever would’ve left South Dakota. I don’t think I would’ve had the nerve. But that accident shook something loose. It woke me up. It made me chase the dream. California. A new life. New love. If that train hadn’t come, if my life hadn’t been derailed, I never would’ve found Caleb or Daniel. I wouldn’t have the life I have now. And I love this life.

So yeah, I don’t see the accident as a bad thing anymore.

It’s the reason I became the man I am.

Have you ever had a moment that changed you? Like truly changed you? A near-death experience, a betrayal, a heartbreak, something that shook your soul so hard it rearranged your entire perspective?

If you haven’t, maybe one day you will. And if or when that day comes, don’t let it break you.

Let it build you.

Let it light a fire. Let it clear the path you never had the guts to walk before.

I know I wouldn’t be here if things had gone the way I planned. And I sure as hell wouldn’t be the person writing this if I stayed in South Dakota pretending that train didn’t happen.

So I’m grateful.

Grateful it happened.

Grateful I left.

Grateful I lived.

Because life is wild, y’all.

And sometimes the worst thing that ever happens to you is actually the beginning of your best next chapters.

– Will

Life Update – Almost Summer, Kinda, Sorta

We’re not exactly sure how it’s mid-July already, but here we are clinging to iced coffee and optimism while trying to remember what a full night of sleep feels like. Life has been full-speed lately, but let’s start with the most important update:

Rigsby Watch: Week Whatever This Is

Our little guy has officially entered his “you can’t hold me down” era. After weeks of constant care like, around-the-clock, full-blown nursing shifts he’s starting to push through. Yesterday, he stood up and put weight on his right side. Not for long. But long enough to make us scream like we won the lottery.

He wants it. So bad. And honestly, that drive is what’s carrying us all forward.

We’ve rearranged our lives, canceled summer plans, skipped parties, and basically turned the house into a doggy ICU for weeks, and we’d do it all over again. Seeing him try reminds us that the little victories are what matter most. And according to the vet, he’s weeks ahead of where he should be. So yeah, we’re tired. But we’re also hopeful. The adventures will be back. We’ll hike again. We’ll travel again. For now, we just wheelbarrow him to the back yard and cheer like maniacs when he doesn’t pee on you.

The Fair Life (and the Finish Line in Sight)

Somehow, in the middle of all that, we’ve managed to pull off two more Out at the Fair events. And now it’s time for the big one, California State Fair is this Saturday. The 7th annual. A milestone. And probably the hottest one yet but we are hoping for only 94 while trying to manifest shade and stronger fans.

After that? We get a 3-week break before OC Fair. That may not sound like much, but in our world, that’s like summer vacation. It also marks the beginning of the end of Fair Season, this year wraps in early August instead of dragging into September. It feels a little weird, honestly. But maybe that just means we’ll finally swim in our pool for the second time this summer. (Yeah. We’ve only used it once. And that was the weekend before Rigsby’s curb incident.)

New Chapters—Literally and Figuratively

With OATF winding down, we’re shifting focus back to the things that light us up. DCW Grows is getting a major boost—we’re prepping for a full-scale refresh, adding more inventory, and dreaming big about where the plant shop could go next.

And this week? We took a huge step toward that dream. We officially leased our land in Hawaii to OutAt Inc to help develop DCW Grows into something much bigger. This opens the door for grants, state write-offs, and long-term growth that could actually plant roots on the island. So yeah… we guess we’re officially landlords now. (To ourselves. 😂) But seriously, it’s a major move and one we’ve been working toward for a long time. The vision is finally taking shape.

Meanwhile, Caleb is studying his butt off for his home permit test so we can officially launch CDawg’s Snack Shack. Cowboy candy, cookies, treats, the works. The goal is to be live by September, but anyone who’s dealt with the State of California knows… patience is required. Haha.

And YES…we started Book Two!

It still feels surreal even typing that. We weren’t even sure the first one would happen, and now we’re outlining scenes for the continuation of Tres Amigos, Una Vida. Book 2 is planned for Holidays 2025. So if you haven’t picked up the first one, now’s the time. It’s free on Kindle Unlimited and signed copies on Etsy come with our favorite sticker. No excuses, y’all. Go grab it!

Garden Report: Jungle Vibes

Our garden is vibing hard this year. We’ve officially harvested about 10 ears of sweet corn, and let us tell you, nothing tastes better than corn you picked in the morning and ate by dinner. Only a few are left before the second batch starts growing, but we’re not mad about it.

And—drumroll—WE HAVE A WATERMELON. Just a baby one, but it’s growing! The pumpkins are being a little dramatic this year. Between thick morning clouds and the lack of early sun, they’re struggling. But we’re feeding them weekly and crossing fingers. Still, we’re not complaining. The garden is doing its thing.

OH, and maybe the most exciting part? Some of the tropical plants we fell in love with in Costa Rica are sprouting! We’re like new parents checking for a new leaf every 20 minutes. It’s honestly the happiest little miracle watching them grow.

So What’s Next?

Honestly, we’re just hoping to join you all in summer mode soon. July’s flying by, and while we’re still knee-deep in Rigsby’s recovery, fair prep, and business building, we see the light at the end of the tunnel. We’re almost there.

Until then… deep breaths, stay hydrated, and keep the energy high. We hope your July is going great and your tomatoes are thriving but if they are not the Garden Wizard on DCW Grows can help you out. We’ll join you in the pool in August.

We love you, Rigsby.

With love,

– DCW