The latest item on the Internet to catch my eye comes from a business in a town in Nova Scotia.

If I believe what I read, they want me to move there. If I do, they have a job already lined up for me.

There will be harsh winters, to be sure, but if I can make it through that and agree to take a significant cut in pay (the job will be in a “country market” which, best I can tell, is similar to a big general store), I’ll get two acres of land to use.

I would be responsible for putting a dwelling on the land, and the popular “tiny house” or a “quaint cabin” are suggested.

From the pictures I’ve seen, it’s gorgeous territory and looks like it would be heavenly in the spring, summer and fall.

After five years, if I like the job, and the owners like me, they will deed the land over to me.

There are some qualifications, such as attaining legal status to work in Canada, but if I can get over such hurdles, it appears the job and the land are mine.

But I’m not going. My wife would never agree to it. Our grown children and their spouses, although they don’t live in town, are within driving distance. Family is important and I don’t want to get too far away from them.

Had this come along 35-or- so years ago, I might have considered it.

You see, there is an adventurous side of me, but it is balanced with a large dose of risk management, mixed in with a splash of practicality.

The closest I ever came to chunking the conventional life was the year I finished college.

I pursued my higher education in north Louisiana, 55 miles from where I grew up in south Arkansas.

I got my degree in four years and worked summers at home. Early in my senior year, I took the LSAT. I was eventually accepted to law school and my path was set.

I had one more summer, though, and that’s when my longing for adventure finally trumped the more reasonable side of my personality.

I knew a girl in school who had worked the previous summer in Colorado. I asked her for information on the place she worked, which she gave to me.

I sent in an application and within a few weeks, I received an offer.

Other than what the girl from school told me, which was not much (she was an acquaintance, at best), I knew not one thing about what I would be doing. All I knew was that it was in Colorado, in the mountains, and that was enough for me.

The offer came based on the application I completed and some references I gave. There was never an interview, by phone or otherwise.

I think they hired people based on recommendations of former employees. Although she didn’t know me well, my acquaintance was kind enough to put in a good word for me.

My dad, who up to that point had pretty much told me what to do my entire life, was incensed that I would consider doing something so far away and about which I knew so little (and, truth be told, in which he had no part).

He fought me tooth and nail and told me it was against his better judgment.

But I did it. A week after graduation, I flew to Denver, and from there I took a bus to Estes Park, which is at the east entrance of Rocky Mountain National Park.

I worked in Trail Ridge Store, which is at the top of Trail Ridge Road in the park, the highest passable road in North American, open only from late May until early October. The store, the only private concession within the park, sits at an elevation of 11,798 feet and the views are breathtaking.

My first job was helping to dig the store out of the snow. After that I stocked shelves and ran a cash register.

Within a week I moved over to the town of Grand Lake, at the west entrance of the park, and lived at Grand Lake Lodge (which also had to be dug out of the snow before anyone could stay there), which overlooks the town of Grand Lake and the beautiful lake for which the town is named. We lived at the lodge and traveled through the mountains in a bus to the store every day.

I had the time of my life and met people from all over the country, a few of whom I still stay in touch with. I spent days off hiking, camping and exploring the surrounding area. Without a car, I even hitch-hiked a time or two.

That summer went way too fast and there were a few fleeting moments when I was tempted to defer (or ditch) law school and stay. I could have worked until the end of the season and helped close the store and lodge for the winter, which would have taken me to mid-October.

From there I could have gone to one of the ski villages, sought seasonal employment and continued the adventure. I also had a brief conversation with an editor at a newspaper who would have let me do some freelance work for him.

There were those who did stay, using that time in their lives to “find themselves,” grow up a bit or, for some, simply drift about.

But I dutifully went home and started school as planned. My parents never knew I had given any thought to staying, so I never had that battle with my dad.

I went back the next summer, after my first year of law school, and had a management job that year.

I hardly got it out of my system. In fact, it was more difficult to leave after the second summer than the first.

But with a year of law school under my belt, risk management and practicality won out and I continued my studies.

That fall I met my soul mate and two and a half years later we made it permanent.

During the summer of 2003, I returned with her and our three children to the area where I spent those two glorious summers. I don’t know that they ever really “got it,” but they were patient and kind as I recounted my days there.

Had I stayed that first summer, life would have likely taken a much different turn.

But I know I made the right call. Adventure takes different forms.

But if the aforementioned soul mate would like to talk about Nova Scotia …

Bob McKinney is a longtime Brentwood resident, husband of one, father of three and father-in-law of two. Email him at bmac1018@yahoo.com.