Late Spring '23
Slowly building up my strength again, I hit the trails at dinner time to have the vastness to myself. The peaks in the far distance are over 40 miles away. Sometimes I see farther. The clarity cuts cleanly through the fog of thought and part of me is home.
WHEN I DROPPED OUT IN ARKANSAS IN ‘71, I never intended to come back either. I felt so close to secrets beyond my grasp and knew my path would open up in ways I couldn’t dream of. All I ever wanted was to drink from that clear stream forever. When winter came I realized I was unprepared and decamped for the thrills of pre-boom Austin, which I already knew quite intimately. But Austin proved to be too hot and bothered after several years—time to cut the cord again—so in ‘75 I packed up everything I owned and moved to Maine. I gave it a month, but it was cold and wet and everyone smoked cigarettes. Free housing at my granny’s place on the Eastern Shore of Maryland proved irresistible, however, so I headed south with welding gear, guitar, and faithful German shepherd to be a famous sculptor with no training. I soon fell in with local iconoclasts, met my future wife, and life exploded with a richness I’m astonished to recall. We moved down here in ‘99 and 22 years later she was gone. It still does not compute and I know less than ever. The only thing that sticks is that she told me “share the beauty and the joy” and this was after… Those obviously aren’t my words which makes them real and what a perfect mantra.
Some of these images will be available as NFTs or professional prints at big discounts for paid subscribers. I’ll let you know. That’s it for now, take care. - JHF
For someone with your photographic eye and lyrical skills with the language, I can no longer imagine a reason you might leave, unless the cold becomes unbearable.
Beautiful photos. Missing the high desert. There are a couple photos I’d love to get prints of! The death of a partner can reverberate for years. Walking helps--especially in lovely places.