Blog
Mass on the Banks of Inks Lake
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” we begin. I feel the Holy Ghost breathe through the quivering arms of the sycamore, whose foliage betrays the dawn of autumn. As a monarch butterfly dances through the falling leaves, the Gospel reading warns us: you know not the hour. I close my eyes and wonder: will I be ready if, today, death calls my name? The breeze gently draws my long, golden hair into its rhythm, as the Lord of the universe tugs on my heart to return.
Untethered as the Birds: Zip Lining in the Smoky Mountains
I feel giddy as they lead us higher, higher, higher into the sky, leaving the lush green trees that once surrounded us at our feet, and at the feet of the rugged blue peaks I now spot in the distance, shrouded in wisps of fog. The most biodiverse National Park in the United States, the Smoky Mountains smell of mist, clay, and clouds. I inhale the trees’ breath and relish the tingle of minuscule rain droplets that litter my skin, no longer fighting the inevitable merging of my once-clean body with Earth’s fingerprints.
A Stormy Night Upon The Porch
My dirty bare feet are curled beneath me on a mildly damp patio bench. The porch shelters me from the night storm, but exposes me just enough that my arms are sprinkled with water. In a nearby pond, a duet of rippling chirps is sung back and forth between two frogs. They are hidden by the blackened sky until it is split by purple lighting.
Swaddled in Color: A Walk Through the Rainforest Pyramid at Moody Gardens
We descend through a tunnel to the lower level of the pyramid, where we no longer see but glimpses of the white beams that hold up the glass sky. Ripples of light bounce from water onto the underbelly of the bridge we were just on. We walk through drapes of hanging moss that tickles my head, and I admire the vibrant orchids that have been carefully placed among them. We are swaddled in color: purple plumes and magenta foliage, yellow fans and peach-colored palm stalks, scattered throughout every shade of green in every possible shape. Long whistles, raspy trills, and the stuttering cry of loons are joined by the sound of rushing water, and something like the croak of a frog—or perhaps a monkey. Was that an elephant I just heard? The jungle plays tricks on my ears, and holds its secrets from me.
Window To The Sky: Arches National Park
The postcards do not show the smooth crater like a black hole threatening to suck the arch away into the center of the earth; nor the breathtaking and treacherous view beyond its keyhole. A rounded frame, it holds within itself the desert’s deadly beauty, which—akin to Galadriel in Lord of the Rings—bellows, “All will love me and despair!” My awe is tempered by caution as the empty deadness warns us of what we’ll become should we get lost or misstep.
A Grove In A Graveyard: Capitol Reef National Park
Travelers named this desert Capitol Reef before they’d known water once dwelt there. As we drive between the towering red cliffs that once barred ancient wanderers passage, I imagine marine wildlife swimming alongside us through the mummified ocean. Our campsite lies nestled against lush fruit orchards planted by Mormon settlers—an unexpected oasis amid the scorched, dry land; a grove in a graveyard. I smile at the familiar agricultural sight, as a horse trots picturesquely around the pioneers’ historic barn—so out of place against the copper desert backdrop.
Bryce Canyon Trail Ride
We descend into the spindles, gradually transforming what seemed a distant painting into walls that tower over us. At every turn, we discover new castles, monuments, windows, and valleys, all reaching their blood-orange fingertips toward the periwinkle sky. Can we really be just miles from where we started? For I feel as though I’ve been transported to Mars.
A Mortal Among Seraphim: Hiking Angel's Landing in Zion National Park
The hot desert sun and thin mountain air have made good on their reputations long before we’ve even reached the base of the fin-like formation that juts 1,500 feet out of the canyon. I gasp for breath and wipe sweat from my brow, trying not to think about the sign we pass that warns me not to be the fourteenth fall since 2004.
There’s Something About Zion
There’s something about Zion National Park. It is the something that I saw in your eyes, glazed over with longing. Something that hugged your heart like the comfort of a mother’s bosom and whispered, return to me. I didn’t understand it, until she embraced me herself. Now I know.
Fossilized in Time: Petrified Forest National Park
We hike a jet black trail into “Blue Mesa,” eroded hills layered in shades of muted mulberry and maroon, lined with vein-like cracks. Now, surrounded by dunes, all is quiet. You take my hand as we wind down switchbacks between the smooth-sided slopes, whose creases hold glittering fragments of petrified wood that wink at us like jewels in a mine.
Chasing Ghosts on Skyline Drive to Shenandoah National Park
I drive alone on black roads coiling like a snake ‘round misty blue mountains, rendered flat by haze, with nothing and no one for company but the blissful expanse of nature. I emerge from my parked vessel to stand in the middle of it and stare down a long, echoing tunnel that splits the cliff, tempting fate as the tremendous roar of an oncoming car reaches my ears. As I sprint to safety, the sound fades into the distant calls of crows and miniature waterfalls trickling down the mountain’s face.
Florida Fishermen
A hazy fog has settled upon the endless line of ocean, chasing away the bikini-clad tourists and leaving only fishermen; the same fishermen, who appear like dew upon the rocks every morning before anyone can wake up to see how they got there. A light drizzle patters against the yellow raincoat of one. Five men cast their lines from every corner of their boat by a post in the bay, the same spot they fished yesterday; and I marvel that the aquatic occupants there haven’t learned to find alternative residence yet.
Fleeting, Yet Forever: Hiking Millbrook Mountain in Minnewaska State Park
By the end of today I will say to myself: “Why did I have to climb so high?” For my ambition will end in stinging blisters and aching arches as I descend this mountain; but for now, I ignore the warning voice that tells of temperance, and I rise. I rise to where the sky is wide as the sea, where birds fly below me and treetops—speckled with every shade of autumn—look like shrubbery. Here, I can see my mortality in the treacherous edge of the cliff, and my spirit in the hazy blue horizon. We are both fleeting, yet forever.
A Delicate Dance of Death: Fall in New York
I let the nutty flavor of columbian coffee with a hint of cream and sugar linger on my tongue after I sip it. The mug containing it warms my hands as I take a happy step towards the scene. Dried, curled leaves drift silently toward the ground, light as feathers, in a delicate dance of death. They are remarkably fragile underfoot, crackling as I bend and break their thin frames, like the flakes of a croissant.
From Tree to Cobbler: Cherry Picking in Door County
In the Northeast of Wisconsin, where cheese squeaks and the beaches are free of salt or sharks, lies a peninsula called Door County. I’ve had my fill of wine tastings when my boyfriend, his parents, and I venture to a cherry orchard planted between green hills graced with flocks of black and white cows.
Copper Castles Without Kings: Luray Caverns, VA
Long shadows spread across the ceiling from the spears that peer down at me. The fingers of God and Adam touch as a stalactite kisses a stalagmite. Drapery of stone melts down in orange sheets like icing, transparently glowing from the lights behind them. Spongy coral-like rocks adorn the ground below me and the ceiling above, giving the impression of being submerged in the depths of an empty ocean. I look up and realize the outside world—present, modern day—is just above my head, oblivious upon the crust.
Sweet Briar College
Sweet Briar College is a private women's college in Sweet Briar, Virginia. It was established in 1901 by Indiana Fletcher Williams in memory of her deceased daughter, Daisy. The college formally opened its doors in 1906 and granted the B.A. degree for the first time in 1910.
Blue Ridge Parkway
The Blue Ridge Parkway is a National Parkway and All-American Road in the United States, noted for its scenic beauty. The parkway, which is America's longest linear park, runs for 469 miles through 29 Virginia and North Carolina counties, linking Shenandoah National Park to Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
Holding a Baby Alligator at Gator Country
Gator Country provides a fun and adventurous time for all ages, learn and interact with various animals large and small. There, I got to hold a baby alligator for the first time and saw the world’s largest alligator in captivity, measuring 14 feet in length.