Six Tōkaidō Moments
(By some weird quirk of exhaustion, this didn’t send last night; so sending now, after my last day of Tōkaidō walking.)
All of my word-energy is being poured into Pachinko Road.
Tomorrow’s my last day of walking. The bed calls. So let me keep this simple. Six moments from the last few weeks.
- Falling ginko leaves at Josen-ji
- A pirate boat on lake Ashinoko
- Walking a pine grove in Hara-juku
- Sitting in Seikenji in Okitsu
- Shinkansen hunting near Futagawa
- A suspension bridge near Seki
The next Ridgeline is number 100! Crazy. Thank you all for following along and your support these past few years.
More soon, more soon,
Grew up wandering, to my parent’s chagrin. Sneaking off to the woods behind the golf course in Virginia; once I had a car, it was hidden fields behind highway off ramps in North Carolina. Now a West Coast transplant, walking is still how I come back to myself but also the fuel for my painting practice. Abstract works that capture a glimmer of what it’s like to walk alone through the Southern California landscape.
On the 4th of July, when I was 16, I walked out of my summer camp and up a nearby mountain, down and into town for fireworks, and back. One of the first days that I spent only walking. My feet have lived, and were formed by walking paths in the forests by the Wissahickon Creek and Schuylkill River, the salt marshes of Cape Cod, and the White Mountains. Now, I walk city blocks when I need to clear my head, nostalgic for routes with no sidewalks and no roads.
(“Fellow Walkers” are short bios of the other folks subscribed to this newsletter. In Ridgeline 001 I asked: “What shell were you torn from?” and got hundreds of responses. We’re working our way through them over the year. You’re an amazing, diverse crew. Grateful to be walking with you all. Feel free to send one in if you haven’t already.)