It was in July of 2020 that Joseph and I decided we wanted to visit all 50 states. That is why, three years later, I woke up in a tent in the mountains of West Virginia to cross state number eighteen off our list.
Our campsite had was located on a small farm. On my way to the restroom to get ready, I was greeted by a black and white cat and three bleating goats who wanted all the head scratches I was willing to offer. After getting ready and cleaning up our campsite, Joseph and I drove through a misty morning in the green mountains to Cass Scenic Railroad State Park.
I had booked us one of the longest train rides offered, which would take us to the summit of Bald Knob, the tallest mountain in Pocahontas County. We arrived early at the park, so we spent the next hour exploring the shops and snacking on homemade peanut butter and chocolate fudge. When the time for our trip finally arrived, we boarded the Shay locomotive, one of the original trains used for logging all the way back to 1901.
Trudging up the mountain to Bald Knob
I was filled with a childish glee when the trains whistle rang through the air and we began the slow chug up the mountain. Black smoke billowed into the sky above us as we sat on the wooden benches and watched the trees pass by the open air car.
I do not know why I was under the impression the train ride would be three hours, filled with gorgeous panoramic views the entire way. Mostly, it was trees, and what should have been a short afternoon became nearly five hours of sitting on uncomfortable benches as the train trudged up and down the mountain. We were rewarded at the top with a beautiful view of the Appalachian Mountains, but as we slowly made our way back down the mountain, I was beginning to think it would have been faster just to hike our way up instead.
It was supposed to be a relaxed day, but by the end of the train ride, our legs were aching from sitting all day, and neither of us were much enthused by the idea of going to our campsite. We were tired from a week of traveling and exhausted from a day that had been much less exciting than we had anticipated. With very limited wifi, we discovered we were not all that far away from where we had planned to go the following day. Ready for a little taste of adventure, we decided to move that hike to this evening and then drive home a day early, where we could enjoy the final day of our vacation in the comfort of our own house.
The final stop of our trip was Blackwater Falls State Park. As soon as we arrived, we were greeted by a black bear running across the road in front of us, and we took that as a good omen we had made the right decision.
We hurried down the slippery wooden stairs to the overlook of the falls — a gorgeous view of the amber colored water that spilled over the black rocks and pummeled into the river below. We stood in the cool spray of the water and breathed a sigh of contentment. It was a beautiful view, one I was glad we had not bypassed in our frustration with the day and sudden eagerness to return home.
We hiked a little farther to see the Balanced Rock, which was a large slate of stone balanced precariously upon a tower of boulders. Wet with sweat from the muggy, West Virginia air, we returned to our car just as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, and began the drive home.
As we drove the six hours home beneath the starry night sky, I gazed out my window in awe of red, blue and gold fireworks bursting overhead. We were just a few days away from Independence Day, and it seemed the nearby towns in West Virginia had decided this was the night to celebrate. I was reminded vividly of our trip to Colorado, when we had made the decision to spend a few days extra in the state to see the 4th of July fireworks in Salida. Sitting beneath that mountain on the hood of Joseph’s car, sipping wine as we watched the cyclists cruise down the mountain and fireworks burst overhead, is one of my most treasured memories. It was the beginning of a new season in our lives, and of so many adventures ahead.
I would not normally be one to so amicably agree to return home early from a trip, much less be the one to suggest it. Normally, I want to soak up as much of our travels as possible. But in the last year, I have begun living my life differently. Instead of waiting for our adventures, I have created ones in my everyday life. I have pursued the career of my dreams, and in my free time, I do the things I enjoy. I have focused my attention on being present and noticing the little joys life brings, instead of going through the motions. I have spent more time on self-care, so I do not feel as though I am sleeping through my days because of exhaustion and burnout. In the last year, I have, for the first time in my life, dedicated myself to creating a life I love. And that is a life I do not mind returning home early for, as long as my travel buddy is by my side.
Joseph and I sitting on his car waiting for fireworks on Independence Day in Salida, CO (2020)
It’s strange to think that, three years ago, in Colorado, we were living through a global pandemic. I had lost my business. Joseph and I had just gotten engaged, and we were ready to embark on wherever that adventure would take us. Little did we know, we would be getting married within a year. That we would restart the business together, and build a team of incredible people I enjoy working with every day. That we would already have crossed eighteen states off our list, with the plan to be halfway done with our goal of visiting all fifty by the end of this year.
We did not know what the future would bring. In July of 2020, we were simply content to be sitting side by side on Joseph’s car, watching the fireworks and knowing, whatever came next, we would be doing it together.
I smiled to myself and reached for Joseph’s hand beside mine as I watched the fireworks burst overhead. Despite three years filled with adventures, not much has changed at all, and I could not be more grateful.
The one thing I told myself not to forget for our hike in Red River Gorge was bug spray. After reading the reviews online, in which everyone mentioned the malicious nature of the bugs on the trail, I knew it would be a miserable hike without it. In the morning, I filled our waters, packed myself an extra snack, and even remembered to charge my Garmin watch so I could put my phone away and only need to quickly glance at my wrist to check the time. But I forgot the bug spray.
We were only a short distance into the trail when I realized my critical error. Joseph offered for us to turn back, but we were already running a little behind schedule, and I thought, how bad could it really be?
Bad. Incredibly uncomfortable. Every step involved swatting another bug away while I felt another bite me somewhere else. We were only a mile in, and I already wanted to be finished with the hike.
Thankfully, the bugs drifted away a little as the trees became thicker. We were greeted by new creatures instead — a long, black snake; a cute turtle that remained paralyzed with fear on the trail until we were out of sight; and little snails curled up in their shells. It was not until we were quite a few miles into the hike that we reached our first overlook at one of the arches.
Me looking out at the view of Courthouse Rock from an arch at Red River Gorge
The arches were amazing. The rock formations had naturally created archways on the edges of cliffs that overlooked the valley below. We sat in the shade of the rock balanced above our heads and gazed out at the lush green valley. It would have been a gorgeous view, had we not been dripping with sweat from the muggy air and being attacked by bugs now that we were out of the trees once again.
We continued our hike, which took us all the way back down into and across the valley to climb up Courthouse Rock, another large rock formation that rose overtop the trees like a gigantic monolith. From our vantage point, we could see the arches we had hiked to before. When we finally arrived back at our car, our clothes were soaked and skin was wet with sweat. I was beginning to wonder why I had ever decided it would be a good idea to visit Kentucky in June.
Showers, unfortunately, were a luxury we could not yet have, but coffee was thankfully within the realm of possibilities. We stopped for drinks and lunch and then began the long drive back into West Virginia to go to New River Gorge.
We crossed over the bridge that overlooked the peaceful river below. This was one part of the trip I had been nervously awaiting since planning. Within the hour, we would be strapped into harnesses and walking the catwalk beneath the bridge we were currently driving across.
We had arrived earlier than expected, so we walked around the gift shop and read about the history of the park while we waited for our tour. New River is one of the earliest rivers in North America. It was named a National River in 1978, and designated as a National Park and Preserve in 2021. It is wild to me to think that even after Joseph and I began our journey of crossing off all fifty states, new National Parks have been added to the list to visit.
When the time for our tour arrived, we joined the small crowd of people to learn how to strap on our harnesses and listen to the required safety rules and regulations. Then, we piled into a bus and enjoyed a quick, minute-long ride back to the gift shop we had come from to walk to the bridge.
Gazing out at the gorge and the white water rushing below, I felt my stomach sink. Heights are not normally a fear of mine, as long as my feet feel stable on solid ground. However, as soon as I feel my feet cannot safely carry me, I can send myself into a panic as I think through all of the worst scenarios. In this moment, I had an image of me crawling my way across the catwalk, and I wondered what I had gotten myself into.
Our group followed a dirt path down to the start of the bridge. Above us, the metal rattled and shook beneath the weight of the trucks and cars zooming across. The bridge sat 876 feet above the water. Before us, a half-mile long stretch of metal — the catwalk — loomed between metal beams that held the bridge in place.
Joseph went first, and I followed close behind. At my first step on the metal, everything inside of me seemed to go quiet. The tight unease in my stomach loosened. I felt light and inexplicably safe. Standing so high, at a place not many people go, to appreciate a view so many drive past without even noticing, it felt I had been awarded an amazing gift.
The view was stunning. The blue water rushed below us and wound away in the distance through rolling hills and mountains covered with thick green trees. The evening summer sun bathed the valley in golden light. The catwalk left just enough room for our feet — at any moment, we could step our boots sideways and feel the drop in our stomachs as they hung over the edge. Anytime a smidge of fear drifted in, however, it was quickly abated by our tour guide, who kept us in stitches as we walked with stories from his many years living in West Virginia. Overall, it was one of the most beautiful views I have seen, on one of the easiest hikes I have ever done. It is well worth the experience for anyone at any age.
We finished sooner than I had hoped. Despite my unease about this part of the trip, I had wished it would not end. We drove into the nearby town to eat a quick dinner at Wood Iron Eatery, a small cafe with delicious, grilled sandwiches. Feeling satisfied, we drove into the setting sun for another night of camping.
We visited two gorges on day seven of our trip, and they were both incredibly different experiences. As I fell asleep, I found myself thinking back to our sweaty morning hike, which I had thought I would love and instead I could not wait to end, and then to our walk across the catwalk, which I had dreaded but then wished could go on forever. Both brought different levels of discomfort, but I realized I never really knew what an experience would bring, whether it frightened me or not, until I tried it for myself. You cannot know what life has to offer until you are willing to step outside of your comfort zone and truly experience it.
Sometimes, discomfort really is just uncomfortable. And sometimes, discomfort can be truly breathtaking.
It is the first thought I have when I wake in the morning, and one that plagues me throughout the day.
We got an early start to the sixth day of our trip when we were awoken by the roosters at our campsite screaming at one another. We packed up our campsite and got on the road, eager for our first stop of the day. As if we did not get in enough sugar the day before, we planned on stopping for some famous donuts for breakfast.
Unfortunately, the donut shop I had planned on us visiting was permanently closed, but that did not subdue our appetites. Instead, I did a little research as we drove, and we settled on visiting another donut shop on our way to Cumberland Falls. I was not at all disappointed with our decision.
Peace, Love and Little Donuts was founded in Pittsburgh, and now that I know that information, it is going to be rather difficult to sway me from taking a weekend trip just for these little treats. The shop offers a variety of donut flavors in mini donut form, and the option to make your own donut with your favorite toppings. To be clear, these are not donut holes – they are the traditionally shaped donut, just in miniature form. And they are delicious.
As soon as we walked into the shop, we were offered a fresh donut that had just come out of the machine. Who were we to refuse? The woman behind the counter handed us each a soft, warm donut to munch on while we decided what we wanted to buy. The sugared confection melted against our tongues and filled us with warmth all the way to our toes. I had never tasted a more delicious donut. It was light and soft, with just the perfect level of sweetness.
We each chose the flavor donut we wanted, and we watched as they grabbed a fresh, warm donut to adorn with the toppings we had chosen. Eager to enjoy, we rushed back to our car and drove a minute down the road to Starbucks, where we ordered coffees to enjoy with our treats.
Joseph had chosen a caramel macchiato donut, and it tasted exactly like the deluxe coffee drink – sweet caramel was drizzled over the coffee-flavored icing and topped with shaved chocolate. I ordered one of my favorite flavor combinations – lemon and blueberry. The delicious donut was slathered with a lemon icing and sugary powder and then topped with a spoonful of blueberry sauce. Every bite was the perfect combination of sweet and tart.
Now buzzing with a sugar rush, we jumped back in our car and drove the remaining hours to Cumberland Falls. On the way, we listened to the latest Noah Kahan album, Stick Season (We’ll All Be Here Forever), and marveled at how good every single song was and how together they created such a meaningful and relatable story of love, loss, mental health struggles, and the complicated feelings surrounding one’s home.
We arrived at Cumberland Falls just as it began to rain. We grabbed our packs and began the muddy walk to the overlook of the falls — a beautiful, roaring cascade that fell in a large semi-circle over the rocks. The shape and grandness of the falls was reminiscent of a smaller version of Niagara Falls. I later learned that it is for this reason that Cumberland Falls has earned the nickname, “The Niagara of the South.” We then continued the steep and moderately difficult trek to Eagle Falls, which was hidden in a small cove that reminded me of the mermaid’s lagoon from Peter Pan. The stream of water rushed down into a pristine, blue stream that wound through the rocks to join the Cumberland River. I sat on a rock like Wendy in the fairytale, gazing at the beauty before me while enjoying the spray of the waterfall.
All too soon, it was time to hike back to our car. The humidity of the air dripped sweat over our bodies, so by the time we got back to our vehicle, we were hot and soaked as if we had taken a dip in the water. We ate a quick lunch and then began the long drive to our campsite for the evening. On the way, we stopped at the grocery store for some Kentucky fried chicken and french fries to enjoy for dinner. Our campsite was a secluded spot with picnic tables and Adirondack chairs seated around fire rings. We made a campfire and then sat back to relax as the sky darkened around us and lightning bugs flew around our heads.
As the day drew to an end, I found myself thinking about the adventures of the past few days, and the few that we still had to enjoy. For the first time during this trip, I realized we had fewer days ahead than those left behind. Soon enough, we would be returning to home. Noah Kahan’s song, “The View Between Villages” ran through my mind as I thought of returning to our lives left behind. There is a comfort to being home, with the people we love and the familiar life we know. But as a traveler at heart, I feel like every time I return home, I notice the staleness in the air. The familiarity begins to feel like monotony. The four walls surrounding me, which should provide comfort, sometimes can feel suffocating. I find myself longing for views of mountains, for the hours spent in the car listening to music, for the fresh air to fill my lungs once again and the feeling of truly being alive.
But I know, if I were to stay out here forever, this, too, would become less exciting. The hours in the car would drone on. I would long for a real bed, for a temperature controlled environment, for clean clothes and showers. I would miss my family, my friends and my puppy. And as I have begun to create a life I love, I feel like I would miss the work I am doing, my community, and the team we have built.
I know why traveling feels more peaceful than home sometimes does – home is supposed to be filled with happiness and comfort, but it is also filled with all the struggles we have experienced, all the things we have lost and the memories long since left behind. Home, which should be our most peaceful place, is sometimes a bitter reminder of everything it is not.
Therefore, there is something exciting about the escape and the adventure that exists outside of home. I find a sense of familiarity in the mountains that call my name, and with Joseph by my side, I do wonder how long I could go without missing what I have left behind. But like anything else — the adventure, the holiday season, the people we love — it is the finality in them, the tragedy of endings, that makes the time sweet.
I hear the lyrics run through my head – The car’s in reverse, I’m gripping the wheel, I’m back between villages and everything’s still. I gaze around the beautiful, still night around me, close my eyes, and take in a deep breath of the sweet air. The adventure is almost over.
No, I tell myself, reversing the direction of my mind. I look to Joseph and grip his hand in mine. Life is about more than road trips and exploring new places. It’s about love, connection and the imprint we leave behind, and that, I realize, is more than enough reason to return. The adventure has just begun.
As someone certified as a nutrition coach, I know how important food is to our physical health. The phrase “food is fuel” is a frequent one in my industry. I know how many servings of carbohydrates, fats, proteins and vegetables a person should have in a day. I know how the micronutrients of different foods affect our health, and which foods to eat for different nutrient deficiencies. I know the power food has in our body, that it can be used as medicine for a number of different ailments, and it can also be a catalyst for a number of diseases.
I also know that food is more than just fuel. Good food is made with passion and love. Our sense of taste and a certain food can take us back to meaningful moments in our lives. Food plays a role in culture, family, holidays and special events. Food can be comforting. If we are honest with ourselves, our most favorite foods are most often not the foods that are the healthiest for our bodies, but rather evoke feelings and memories that are meaningful to us.
When planning our itinerary, I had not meant to create a day of our trip entirely dedicated to food, but day five was exactly that – no hiking, no boat rides through caverns, no long drives. Just food experience after food experience for an entire day. And to be honest, it was one of the days I was most looking forward to.
We began our morning with a short drive back into Louisville and then a walk under the hot sun to the Angel’s Envy distillery. As I mentioned in my first blog post for this trip, I had planned this road trip for Joseph’s birthday, and this tour was included just for him. Joseph’s drink of choice is bourbon, and his favorite bourbon is Angel’s Envy. I will admit, bourbon has always tasted, at best, like hand sanitizer to me, but I was still very excited for the tour because I knew Joseph would love it.
When we walked in, an older gentleman behind the front desk greeted us as Sir and Lady Mauler from Maryland.
“Do you know what the state sport is in Maryland?” he asked. Both Joseph and I looked at each other blankly. “This will be important for the tour later.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised. The older man’s eyes twinkled.
“Yes, jousting, remember that.” He looked down at his computer. “And I see this is a special occasion, a birthday.” I grinned as the man reached into his desk and then handed Joseph a silver Angel’s Envy lapel pin. The gentleman told us to meet him back in the lobby at the time of our tour, and then directed us into the adjacent gift shop. Joseph and I perused the items until the time came, when we joined our group.
The older gentleman introduced himself as our tour guide, and then went around to ask where everyone was from. When he got to us, he paused after we said our state, and then asked again,
“What’s the state sport in Maryland?”
“Um, I think it’s…jousting,” Joseph said, feigning a faint memory.
“Neither did they,” the tour guide said, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
Our tour guide lead us into the first room, where we were greeted with a wall of photos. He told us about the history of Angel’s Envy – how it was started by a father and son, both of whom were distillers. We learned about the strict laws surrounding bourbon – that it must be made in the United States; made using at least fifty-one percent corn; aged for at least two years in new, charred-oak barrels; must not be distilled higher than 160 proof; and must not contain any flavorings or colorings, among other strict guidelines. Angel’s Envy, apparently, made quite a stir when it hit the market because there is a special flavor to it that is unlike other bourbons. The bourbon policers (whomever those people may be) said it could not be a bourbon because they must have added some sort of flavoring. But, in fact, no flavoring had been added – after doing all the necessary requirements for it to be bourbon, Angel’s Envy distilled their bourbon a second time in a port wine casks, which gives it its distinct flavor. To avoid any grumblings, they labelled their product as a “finished” bourbon.
We were lead through the distillery to see how the ingredients are milled and fermented, and we were given the opportunity to taste the bourbon at all different phases. We first tried the fermented corn mash, which had the texture of porridge and had a sour taste. We were then given the opportunity to taste the bourbon in its purest form, when it was still clear, before being poured into barrels to age. It was poured into our hands, and we were encouraged to splash a little on our cheeks and take a small sip, if we dared. The liquid burned against my skin like aftershave and stung my brain. I was left gasping for air, both from the burning shock and surprised laughter.
We watched workers bottle the brown elixir, and learned that the company just recently received a machine to label the bottles. Until about a month ago, every bottle was labeled by hand. We were then lead into a beautiful, wooden room, where upon a long table two snifters filled with brown liquid and two chocolates, one dark and one white, had been placed at each seat.
“I’ve had many people, mostly women, come up and tell me before the tour that they don’t like bourbon,” our tour guide said. “Most of them bought this tour as a gift for their husbands.” I glanced at Joseph with a stifled laugh. “And I tell them that’s fine. But I’ve had a lot of converts in this room.”
Our tour guide lifted a glass and swirled the drink. He taught us how to gaze at the amber color, how to sniff with our mouths open so we could taste the fumes. And then, we each took a sip and were instructed to hold it in our mouths, to swish it around with the “Kentucky chew” to coat each part of our mouths, and then swallow to let it burn all the way down. It rested warm in my chest, what our tour guide called the “Kentucky hug.”
Our delicious pairing of bourbon, whiskey and chocolates
The burn from drinking whiskey is from our brains panicking when alcohol is consumed. Our brains turn off our taste buds in an effort to protect us. But after a moment, our brain realizes the experience was not as bad as it originally thought, and it turns everything back on. And since everything has now been coated with the liquid, we have acclimated ourselves. Now, we can taste the actual notes and intimate tastes of the bourbon.
I took another sip, and my eyes widened in shock. It was sweet like maple syrup and finished with a bitter aftertaste reminiscent chocolate and vanilla. The burn was entirely gone, and I was left instead with one of the most delicious drinks I had ever tasted. We paired the drink with the dark chocolate, which had been infused with orange, and it literally tasted like a bite of fruity pebbles cereal.
Our guide served us next with the same drink on ice, or “on the rocks.” The cold enhanced the flavors and made the drink more aromatic. We were then encouraged to try the drink in our second sifter – a rye whiskey finished in a rum barrel. This drink, too, was smooth and subtly sweet – I could taste the sweet rum notes balanced by earthy undertones. When paired with the white chocolate beside it, a gorgeous cinnamon and maple flavor emerged that tasted like pancakes.
I had not expected myself to be so easily converted. Joseph literally jumped for joy when I told him how much I loved the bourbon, and as we walked the Louisville streets to get some food, we talked about all the delicious ways we could now enjoy this drink together.
For brunch, we went to Con Huevos, a fast-food Mexican breakfast and lunch spot. Joseph ordered carne asada tacos, and I ordered a muchos huevos sandwich as a salad. The food was fine – nothing to call home about, but it was warm, tasty and filled our stomachs, and that was all we needed.
We walked the local shops, all of which were much too far out of our budget, and then strode back to our car to drive to Schimpff’s Confectionery, a candy shop in Jeffersonville that is one of the oldest, continuously operated and family-owned candy businesses in the United States. Open since 1891, this candy shop located in downtown Jeffersonville offers not only a wide array of candy, but also a 1950s soda fountain, a room dedicated to candy-making memorabilia, and a long counter separated by a class partition where customers can watch the candy be made just as it was a hundred years ago.
Schimpff’s Confectionery
When we arrived, the next demonstration was forty-five minutes away, but we had nothing important to get to, so we decided to stay. I was so glad we did. We walked the shop, perusing the candies and old equipment. We were surprised to find a cast used to create root beer barrels just like the ones Joseph bought from the historic candy shop we went to in Harpers Ferry just a few days before. We came across wooden machine with levers, and an older gentleman walked up and told us it was the first vending machine. He asked if we had any coins. Unfortunately, I did not, but I told him it was still cool to see it. The man looked around, and then he reached behind the machine for a small bowl filled with coins. He handed one to me with a wink.
Excitedly, I entered the coin and chose a peanut butter flavored candy. I pushed the lever, and a panel of wood dropped down to reveal the candy I had chosen on a small shelf. I cannot even describe the amount of childlike glee that filled me when I saw it happen. Joseph and I walked back to the counter to watch the demonstration that was about to begin, and I was surprised to see the gentleman who had told us about the vending machine was the candy maker! It was his family who had owned this shop for over a century.
His wife, an older woman with grandmotherly presence, sat in a chair beside him, and she explained the process as we watched her husband pour the red candy; fold, massage and pull it to the consistency and and shape he wanted; cut it to size; and then roll sheets of the candy through a press to create rows and rows of square-shaped mounds. He took the sheets of candies and dropped them onto the counter, where they broke apart and scattered into perfect little cubes of bright red, cinnamon candies.
The candies were placed in each of our palms, and I was surprised to find they were still warm to the touch. Red Hots have never been my favorite candy, but when I popped this one in my mouth, I was immediately whisked away to the flavor of Christmas morning. The cinnamon was subtle, sweet and warm, more reminiscent of a cinnamon roll than a Fireball shot.
After the demonstration, we bought a whiskey truffle to enjoy on our way back to the car. Our next stop was the Mainstrasse Village in Covington, KY, a German-American village and a historic district in the National Register of Historic Places. It was a little difficult to find, but once we did, we were greeted with a large mural of Frida Kahlo and charming buildings that looked like they jumped off the page of a storybook.
We chose to go to Bouquet Restaurant and Wine Bar for dinner, one of the most highly-rated restaurants by Cincinnati Magazine. We decided to splurge a little and treat ourselves to a tasting menu, which gave us the option to choose one dish from each section of the menu, and we enjoyed it with their offering of wine pairings for each dish. Normally, Joseph and I do not share dishes – our taste in foods is quite different. But we were each feeling a little adventurous, and Joseph shocked me by thoroughly enjoying every plate set before us. He is normally a much pickier eater than I am, but tonight, it warmed my heart to be able to share my love of food with him in a way I never had been able to before.
Each dish was elegantly prepared. We began with a strawberry salad drizzled with balsamic reduction and topped with spring onion pesto, pepitas, and Kentucky rose cheese. For our second course, we chose the wagyu beef meatballs, which were served on top of a earthy butternut squash and black garlic puree, drizzled with a balancing herb gremolata and topped with a spicy chili crisp. Our third course was the famous maple leaf farms duck, which was served with a medley of mushrooms, roasted carrots, kale, and smoked grapes, served on top of an earthy parsnip purée and drizzled with a tangy balsamic gastrique. For dessert, we shared the coconut cake, which was dusted with a coconut snow and toasted coconut flakes and topped with a scoop of sweet and citrusy mango sorbet. For each dish, we savored each note and shared what we loved most and of the memories the flavors evoked.
After our meal and far too many glasses of wine, we walked the shops and savored the sweet evening. Our stomachs were still far too full when we decided to head to our next stop – an ice cream shop. I thought I would burst from the amount of sweets I had eaten already, but we were told by locals we could not leave without trying the famous ice cream from Graeter’s. Joseph ordered a scoop each of Dutch chocolate and coffee chip. I went for something a little lighter to round out the evening and ordered a scoop of lemon sorbet. We sat outside to enjoy our treat under the warm glow of the evening sun, our frozen treats melting in the warm air and against our tongues.
My love for food was something that inspired me to get certified in nutrition. In my own journey, which, as it is for most, has been filled with both negative and positive relationships with different foods, I have learned how much of a role food plays in our lives. Food is fuel, and it is also so much more than that. Food is medicine, and it is also art. Food can be comforting, off-putting, healing, or sickening. It can be new and exciting, or cultural and familial. Food can be used to learn more about new people and places. How exciting is it to go share your favorite food with a new friend? How familial and possibly annoying can the question, “Where do you want to eat tonight?” become among couples? How comforting is a warm bowl of soup when you are sick, or your mother’s cooking when you just feel homesick? Would life be as sweet without the first refreshing, juicy bite of watermelon in the summer, or the first sip of thick, hot cocoa during the holiday season?
Me popping the champagne when we opened our new Evolve Wellness office
I tell my clients that food is, in fact, fuel, but to think of fueling more than just their physical bodies. Food also fuels our minds and our souls. Eating mindlessly does nothing for us, but mindfully eating a scoop of ice cream and savoring the creaminess on our tongues as we watch the sunset and savor summer? I think that does much more good than it does harm. Yes, we should take care of our physical bodies, and food plays an enormous role in that. But I do believe taste is one of our main senses for a reason, and it’s not so we can punish ourselves by eating celery all day.
Taste is meant to remind us of moments we have left behind, and to savor the ones we have now. We use the phrase “I can almost taste it,” for something exciting that is coming. We reserve our lips and tongues only for the sweetest things in life, and there is something beautiful in that. So, fuel your bodies, eat from the earth, and heal yourself with food, movement and love. And then, when you want it, give yourself a big scoop of ice cream and savor it in the summer sun’s glow. And if you feel like that’s the wrong thing to do, remind yourself just how much you loved ice cream as a child, how much that little one deserves this scoop of joy, and that your friendly, traveling nutrition coach told you eating ice cream for your inner child is even more healing than eating the “healthier” alternative.
The fierce and hot Indiana sun awoke us as it streamed into our tent, baking us inside. We unzipped our tent door and gratefully gulped in the fresh air on the other side. The day had only just begun, and already, there was sweat dripping down my forehead and back.
Today’s plan was to drive south to Mammoth Cave in Kentucky. We stopped for coffee on the way and listened to our book on tape. When we arrived, we found the parking lot filled almost to capacity. I highly recommend booking your tour ahead of time, which, thankfully, I had the forethought to do before our trip.
We ate a quick lunch at our car and then walked around the air-conditioned discovery center and shop. I particularly enjoyed learning about how the caves formed and the other life forms that live within them. Mammoth Cave was formed naturally through karst topography, or limestone erosion. The caves have been forming since 10,000,000 BCE, when rainwater first began to dissolve the limestone and form the first passages of the cave system. The caves were first explored and mined by Native Americans 5,000 years ago. There are multiple wildlife species that live in the caves, including crayfish, bats and, my personal favorite, the eyeless cave fish. These fish have evolved to the lack of light in the caves by ceasing the growth of their eyes. White in color and only a couple inches in length, these fish can go months without eating and live thirty to forty years! Considering the lifespan of this fish, the amount of time it can go without eating, and its lack of sight, I still find myself thinking about them and wondering how they spend their time.
When the time for our tour arrived, we gathered with our group at a pavilion outside, where we were given our safety instructions and a lantern with a flame dancing inside. We walked down a steep, paved slope together to the mouth of the cave.
The air cooled around us. I pulled on my jacket and held the lantern a little closer. The light faded away, leaving only the artificial lights that had been placed around the cave and the lanterns we held in our hands. We passed by other groups gathered in the cave, who watched with interest as we passed. I had signed us up for the Violet City Lantern Tour, the only tour in the cave that is done entirely in lantern light, just as early explorers would have seen the caves.
As we delved deeper into the cave system, all other lights faded away. We walked with our lanterns held at our sides, our eyes flitting around the dark cave walls as they adjusted to the dim light. We could see very little than the few feet around us, lit by the warm glow. The wide trails narrowed into winding dirt paths, the same historic trails early explorers followed. While we walked, our tour guide told us more about the history of the caves. We passed small, stone huts, and our guide told us about the tuberculosis patients who were “treated” here because it was believed there was something special about the clean and cool cave air. We learned about the dangers early explorers faced and the Kentucky Cave Wars, when developers and promoters of the cave fought over tourists to show them their section of the cave system. We peered at ancient drawings and gaped down at steep drops beside our feet that seemed to end in nothingness.
The tour lasted a total of three hours, but the time passed quicker than expected. I was shocked by the sticky warmth that greeted us when we emerged from the caves at the edge of a road surrounded by thick, green foliage. A tired bus chugged up the hill to meet us.
We rode back to the visitors center and then hopped back into our car to drive to the edge of Kentucky and Indiana, where our first and only Airbnb of the trip was located. I am always surprised at how luxurious showers feel after days of going without one. Despite the heat outside, I could not help myself from turning the water to scalding and relaxing in its spray.
We dressed in clean clothes and drove to Louisville, KY, where we strode across the Big Four Pedestrian Bridge back into Jeffersonville, IN. As we walked, we watched the orange sun dip behind the clouds as we listened to classical music playing from speakers overhead.
In Jeffersonville, we decided to dine at Harry’s Tap House, where we could sit outside and watch the bridge light up as the sky darkened. We were served by a young, blonde woman with a thick Kentucky accent. To drink, I ordered a summertime sangria made with peach schnapps and sweet peach puree. For an appetizer, we chose the pretzel and beer cheese – the fried Klaus pretzel, made by a renowned local baker in Louisville, was served hot with a creamy house-made beer cheese dip. I am sorry to say this, because I have visited Pennsylvania on numerous occasions and always ordered a famous Philly pretzel, but I think it was the best pretzel I have ever eaten. Crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, with the perfect, mouth-watering amount of salt, it melted against my tongue and felt warm in my chest. I wished I had ordered three more and just had that for my meal.
For dinner, I ordered the mango bourbon salmon, a chilean salmon served with refreshing mango salsa. It was served with a sweet Thai broccoli smothered in sauce, and in place of the rice, I ordered a side of Brussels sprouts that were also drenched in an Asian sauce. Joseph ordered the smokehouse burger, which was a half pound burger served with crispy bacon, smoked cheddar cheese, beer battered onion rings, and tangy barbecue sauce.
Stomachs bursting, we walked back to the Big Four Pedestrian Bridge, which was now lit up against the night sky. I savored the walk across, taking in the view of the skyline beneath the white moon and the blue lights of the bridge that glittered against the black water below.
It was amazing to go in one day from marveling at the walls of a cave to gazing at the tall buildings of a city – a wonder created by nature, and another created by man. Our travels have not yet taken us outside of the United States, and I find myself often wishing to see something truly old. Most of what we have seen in our travels has been created within the last couple hundred years, whereas, in countries like Europe, you could marvel at a building that is centuries old. Today, however, I was reminded that, even if our buildings had not been erected that long ago, we still have structures here that are just as ancient – mountains, rivers, trees and caves. And that made me wonder just how many parts of nature I see regularly, even around my own home, and take for granted. I wonder how long the trees in my backyard have stood there, how long the rivers gushing around my home have existed, how many others have walked this land before me, and how different it must have looked then.
There is something amazing to be seen anywhere, if only we take the time to look. And sometimes, we may be surprised to discover the wonders we are looking for are actually hidden beneath our feet.
What about your life excites you? What makes you get up out of bed in the morning and stay motivated during your day? For some of us, it’s simple, like our morning cup of coffee, followed by an afternoon cup later on. For others, we are inspired by our work or our families.
I realized on my very first trip with Joseph that exhaustion does not quite hit the same way on the road as it does at home. Excited for every day and the new experiences it would bring, I could survive on limited sleep and caffeine for days. Back at home, I require a full eight hours and some activity requiring me to pull myself out of bed early, or I will sleep even longer.
Today, after two very full days and nights with little sleep, that exhaustion was beginning to rise, but we still rose with the sun, packed up our car, and drove to our first stop as if we were much better rested than we were. We started our day at Cataract Falls, a recreation area with the largest waterfall in Indiana. Technically, it’s two waterfalls that create one big waterfall – the upper falls has a fall of twenty feet, while the lower falls (half a mile downstream) has a plunge of eighteen feet. We started at the upper falls, where we held ourselves up on the railing to avoid stepping onto the flooded wooden platform. The sound of the rushing water was deafening. The falls glided over the rocks and plunged into the water below. Lush greenery surrounded the water and sparkled with water droplets.
We walked through the woods to the next set of falls, which flowed down into a river where children were splashing in the water. Despite having traveled and fallen so far, the water was surprisingly calm, and that peace seemed to emanate into us as we gazed at the gorgeous cascades.
Upper Cataract Falls
Our next stop was Indianapolis, another surprisingly clean city. Our plan had been to go to the City Market, which was similar to yesterday’s West Side Market, though it seemed there were many more ready-to-eat food options available. However, we arrived a little too early and found most of the shops were not open yet. Stomachs grumbling, we decided to hunt for food elsewhere. After a quick search, we settled on a local brunch chain called Wild Eggs, which was only a half-mile walk away.
From the eclectic and bright, egg-themed decor to the variety of tasty menu options made with fresh and local ingredients, it was clear why this spot was so highly rated. Joseph and I sat at a booth and pointed and laughed to the many different paintings featuring eggs on top of mushrooms, arranged to look like flowers, inside avocados, and more.
For our meal, we ordered one of their special appetizers, breakfast popcorn, which was thick cut bacon drenched in syrup and served with a spicy dipping sauce. As someone who does not eat a lot of meat, it was not my favorite dish, but Joseph would have eaten the entire plate if I had not reminded him he still had his meal coming. Joseph ordered chicken and waffles, which were perfectly crispy and fluffy and tasted the perfect blend of sweet and salty with some syrup drizzled on top. I ordered the farmers market skillet, a blend of bell peppers, zucchini, yellow squash, wild mushrooms, broccoli, oven-roasted tomatoes, and home-fried potatoes, topped with melted cheddar cheese with two basted eggs like little suns sitting in clouds, all served in a white skillet serving dish. On the side, I received a homemade blueberry muffin that was so delicious, I couldn’t help but eat despite my stomach being close to bursting. To drink, Joseph ordered the chocolate kiss, a hot coffee spiked with coffee liqueur, Irish cream and creme de cocoa, topped with a generous dollop of whipped cream. There were a variety of mimosas also available – I chose the orange pineapple mimosa, which was a bright sweet and citrusy treat.
Stomachs groaning from the amount of food, we decided to walk around for a little while. We stopped for coffee at Starbucks, where we also purchased our first Been There series mug of the trip, and then perused the shops. We took note of the colorful streets adorned with flags of all colors of the rainbow, which I was surprised to see considering the conservative lean of the state. However, I learned later that Indianapolis is a dark blue section of the state surrounded by much more red. Therefore, pride flags were everywhere to see, and they were, well, proud of it. One of our favorite shops was Silver in the City, an unconventional gift store that sells jewelry, clothing, bags, books, and more. I am not sure if the store was just in Pride theme for June, or if it always has a similar collection, but Joseph and I both dragged each other around the store, smiling and laughing at the creative, funny and affirming items for sale.
Our stomachs now a bit more comfortable, we drove to Bluespring Caverns. The park does not take reservations for their boat tours, so we needed to arrive early enough that we would not miss our opportunity, and hopefully at a time where we would not be waiting too long for the next available tour. We pulled in just as the next tour was about to leave. We hurried inside, paid for our tour, and joined the group descending down the slippery sidewalk into the caverns below.
Even while we could still see sunlight, the air grew cold around us. I slipped into my jacket and stepped carefully down the steep decline to where boats were tied to a pier built beneath the ground. We sat on the benches in the boat, and our tour guide sat at the back to guide us through the caverns in the longest navigable underground river in the United States.
The caverns grew dim and quiet. The motor of the boat was so soft, we could still hear the occasional drip of water or scuttle of a cave fish below. The walls were slick and glinted in the boat’s light, although we were told not to touch them. The oils on our hands would immediately cease the growth of these formations. We floated through, gazing in wonder at the limestone formations. We learned on our tour that Indiana is known for its minerals, particularly limestone, which has been used in the capital in DC and the Taj Mahal in India. For this reason, anyone who owns land above ground also owns anything underneath their property.
As we reached a larger room where our boat could rest, our tour guide gave us the unique opportunity to experience the complete removal of our senses. First, we were given the opportunity to experience total silence – everyone was instructed to be quiet. Immediately, the caverns fell silent around us. There was not a single sound – not a drop of water, not an animal scuttling along the walls, not even my own heartbeat. For the first time in my life, I truly understood the phrase, “silence is deafening.” Faced with such a complete lack of noise, my ears strained hard to hear anything, and they seemed to create almost a faint ringing in my head, reminiscent of the way it sounds after a loud concert.
After this, we were plunged in total darkness. Our tour guide instructed us to put away all phones and cameras and turned off the lights of the boat. Darkness more complete than I had ever experienced encased us. It felt thick and suffocating. I could not even see my own hand in front of my face. I had thought before, on dark nights, I knew what darkness was, but this, underneath the ground and away from all forms of natural and artificial light, was like something out of a nightmare.
With the lights back on, our tour guide gave us one last experience of cave thunder. She took a seat cushion in her hands and, after instructing us all to remain silent, banged it against the benches. The resounding echoes through the caverns ricocheted off the walls, creating a sound reminiscent of thunder slowly rolling across the landscape. I smiled at the sound, remembering humid summer nights with lightning streaking across the sky and rain throwing itself against my windows as I sat curled with a book, watching the storm.
Joseph and I left the tour, both marveling at the unique experience – it had truly been unlike anything we had ever done before. Our travels often take us to places high in the sky, but never had we traveled so far below the ground.
Our next stop was Santa Claus, IN. Despite the time change working in our favor, we still arrived at the town much later than we had hoped. After checking the clock, we realized most of the town’s attractions were closing in just five minutes.
Joseph, who knows just how much I love Christmas and was looking forward to visiting, did not want us to miss our opportunity. He pulled the car onto the road fast and sped to the Santa Claus Museum, just two minutes before it closed. We found the door to the museum already locked, but lights were still on inside. I gave a tentative knock, hating myself for doing so – I remembered all too well my days in customer service, and the feeling of closing up shop when no customers were in the store, only to have someone arrive a few minutes before I was able to leave.
The door opened, and we found two women inside.
“We know you’re about to close, but can we just have a quick look around?” Joseph asked. The woman behind the desk smiled at us and gestured for us to come in.
“I’ve got this,” she said to the woman at the door. “You can go home.” She turned on the lights for us and asked if we had ever been here before. When we said we hadn’t, she explained the layout of the museum to us – where we could learn more about the history of the town, read letters written to Santa Claus all the way back to the early 1900s, the gift shop, the model train room, and Santa’s office. She seemed disappointed we would not have the entire experience, and after a while, she ended up turning on Christmas lights and music for us to enjoy while we perused.
“Take your time,” she repeated to us multiple times. “Enjoy it.” As I gleefully skipped to another room with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning, I heard Joseph tell the woman just how much I love the holiday and how special this was.
We read about the history of the town – originally called Santa Fee, the town applied for a post office in the 1850s. Its application was rejected because there was another town called Santa Fe in Indiana. According to legend, it was Christmas Eve, and the town was gathered to discuss new possible names. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew open the doors to the church, and sound of sleigh bells drifted inside. The children ran to the door shouting, “Santa Claus!” And thus, the name of the town was decided.
For over a hundred years, letters have poured into Santa Claus, IN from children with their Christmas wishes. Every December, letters have been written back, by the volunteer “elves” or even the ultimate postmaster, Santa Claus himself.
We read through the letters, which brought us both to laughter and tears at the childhood love and innocence captured inside. It was neat to compare the wishes of children in the early 20th century to now, and surprisingly, they did not seem all that different. We watched the train circle the track and turned the globe on Santa’s desk. When we were finished, the woman handed us a set of keys and gave us the opportunity to go into the historic church and post office, where we would have the opportunity to write a letters of our own.
The church was as it was years ago, with a partition as soon as you walked in to separate men and women. At the front, an almost life-size nativity sat. I sat down in a wooden pew and was reminded vividly of a field trip when I was in elementary school to a one-room schoolhouse. This place was just as old and filled with memories.
We met our guide at the post office, where we were given papers and pencils to write our letters. We sat in desks designed for much smaller people and, after a moment of thinking, began to write.
The post office in Santa Claus, IN where we got to write our letters
We thanked our host profusely before we left – she had given us almost an hour of her time, when she should have been home by now. She informed us this was her job after retirement, and she does it simply because she loves it so much. It had been a truly heartwarming experience for us, and multiple times I was brought to tears by just how grateful I was that we had not missed it.
We stopped by the store for some more wine and charcuterie (we had not had our fill the night before), and drove to our campsite. There, we started a fire and sat beside a lake as we ate and watched the sky slowly dim from blue to pink to indigo.
Christmas means quite a lot to me. There was a period in my life when every day, the first thing I did when I woke up was check how many days there were left until the holiday. Until this day, I still start planning my gifts in July. Joseph and I do activities all December long to celebrate advent, and we most likely will be celebrating Christmas in July as well. The thing that got me up in the morning, for many years, was just that one special day.
It seems silly, but for me, Christmas was something to look forward to when there was not much else in my life to be excited about. I had a very long hospital stay in the month of December when I was in high school, and I got out just in time for Christmas. Still frail and very dejected, I remember, in the middle of Christmas baking at home alone, climbing onto the counter to be closer to the radio so I could listen to Christmas song playing as tears streamed down my face. It felt like Christmas had almost been stolen from me, and I vowed to never let that happen again. As my health worsened, I looked forward all year to the holiday season, which was so filled with love and joy that it spilled light into what was the darkest time in my life.
I am grateful now to have so much more worth waking up for. I do not remember when I stopped checking the Christmas countdown daily – it probably faded to every couple days, to once a month, to now the occasional check every couple months and the stir of excitement I still feel when I see the numbers tick down. And as my need for Christmas cheer year-round faded, I filled that space with joy from other areas of my life – strong friendships, sharing my writing, my career, my ever-improving health, my adoring husband, traveling the country, my sweet puppy.
Christmas may seem to be an odd thing to motivate someone, but for me, it quite literally saved my life in a lot of ways. And when I think about it, it does not seem to me to be such an awful thing to rely on. It is dependable – it comes every year, whether we want it to or not. It is filled with family gatherings, normally whether we want that or not, too. And no matter what, it has a crisp air filled with hope, a joy that warms even the frostiest hearts, and a love that surpasses understanding. For me, as I have found hope elsewhere in my life, I have tried to carry those values with me, so maybe I can bring a little of that spirit anywhere I go. After all, I think we all could use a little more joy, love and hope.
No matter what it is that excites you to wake up in the morning, the glimmers you find throughout your day, the hope that keeps you alive, embrace it. Others may find it strange to find an adult running through Santa Claus, IN with more excitement than any child visiting, or, as I have encountered more often in my life, people unfortunately often chastise others for talking too much about their passions, for being “obsessed” with the things they love. There is nothing wrong with enjoying this life, with noticing the little things others take for granted, for being excited about something that brings you joy. Embrace your glimmers and hold them tight to your heart.
And if you want to share them with someone, I’m always here with a cup of coffee and an eager ear. More than anything else, my biggest glimmer has become listening to others speak about what they are passionate about, even if it holds no interest to me. I love seeing that light brighten in someone’s eyes, to listen to their voice pick up speed and pitch and watch as their hands start move enthusiastically as they speak. I love just being human with someone. It gives me hope to listen to other people’s stories and to encourage their passions.
There is something nostalgic and comforting about waking up surrounded by baby Christmas trees. The sun’s golden light was just beginning to peek through the trees, bathing them in a gentle mint green color. The campsite was quiet as Joseph and I packed up our car and headed to our first stop of the day.
Cuyahoga Valley was established as a national recreation area in 1974 – this land was protected to give residents of Ohio the opportunity to enjoy nature and outdoor recreation, even in such a short distance to nearby cities. In 2000, the park was re-designated as a national park.
We decided to hike the Ledges Trail and Pine Grove Trail Loop. As the hike began, I found myself wondering what was so exciting about this highly rated trail. It had been rated as moderately challenging, but there was less than 300 feet of elevation, and all we could see were the expected trees that adorn the edges of most trails.
I became very excited when we came across a patch of little mushrooms in a row. With them being all different shapes and colors, it looked like a little fairy village. It was at this point, as I watched the mushrooms glisten in the sun’s light, that I told Joseph about what I had recently learned about glimmers.
Glimmers are the small things in life that bring you joy. Working in holistic health, we talk a lot about triggers – the things in life that bring up trauma or difficult feelings. Triggers are often unexpected, but by working with a licensed therapist, you can begin working on identifying, dealing with and, when possible, avoiding triggers. Glimmers are the exact opposite. Like triggers, we can track them and identify the things that bring us joy, and this can increase mindfulness in the moment as we notice them, or we can purposefully bring more glimmers into our daily lives. For me, on a trail that looked like something I probably could have walked close to my own home, these little mushrooms brightened my entire morning.
Shortly after this, we finally stumbled upon what was actually supposed to make this trail special. Tall, stone ledges stretched above our heads, forming valleys and caves that, when we traversed inside, were wet and chilly. We found ancient carvings in the rock and wondered how long these formations had been here and how many people had walked through them. According to the National Park Service website, these geologic formations were part of the Sharon Conglomerate, which is made of sandstone and expands into Pennsylvania and Maryland. It was formed millions of years ago.
The ledges in Cuyahoga Valley
After our hike, we jumped back into the car and drove to the West Side Market in Cleveland. The city was bright and clean, a surprise to me after having walked through many cities that were the exact opposite. The West Side Market included an open-air market with fresh produce, and an enclosed space filled with butchers selling meat and cheese, a smelly fish market, and glass cases filled with mouthwatering pastries.
There was not much of a selection of ready-to-eat food, so out of necessity, Joseph and I got in line at a stand where we could buy coffee from City Roast Coffee and Tea and crepes from Crêpes de Luxe. We ordered our usual latte and americano, and then I ordered a crepe filled with fresh spinach, egg and cheese, and Joseph ordered his first crepe ever, filled with an assortment of meats and cheeses. We watched as the crepes were made in front of us, cooked on a steaming hot plate.
We were handed our crepes wrapped in paper and placed in cardboard cones that still felt too hot to hold. With our food in one hand and coffee in the other, we walked up the stairs to a narrow platform with a bench that overlooked the bustling market below. We bit into our crepes and each gave a resounding, satisfied sound of approval. It was the most delicious crepe I have ever tasted. The crepe itself was light and fluffy, and the flavors inside were perfectly balanced – the earthiness of the spinach delicately interplayed with the salty egg and creamy cheese. We didn’t even mind the scalding butter running down our hands as we savored every bite.
Before returning to our car, we stopped at another stand to try Ohio’s famous treat – buckeyes. Buckeyes are balls made of peanut butter and sugar and dipped into chocolate, creating something reminiscent of a Reese’s cup but with at least four times the amount of peanut butter. Joseph surprised me by stating he had never tried a buckeye either! I had never had an authentic one from Ohio, but I had made them homemade many Christmases ago. The two of us sat on a bench outside the market to enjoy.
Immediately upon biting down, I felt a rush of sugar to my head. The peanut butter was thick and overpowering, laden with literal chunks of white sugar. The chocolate melted beautifully against my tongue. I took a sip of coffee and savored the the bitter taste that felt quite needed after such a sweet bite. Joseph enjoyed the treat, although he mentioned dark chocolate would have been a better choice, which I had to agree with – a little bitter to counteract all that sweet would have been a much more balanced bite.
Now practically buzzing from caffeine and sugar, we forced ourselves back into the car and drove farther north to Huron. We parked at a beach alongside Lake Erie, where, despite the gray clouds above, families gathered in the warm sand and children splashed in the shallow water. The two of us walked down to the end of the wooden boardwalk, where a long row of rocks and choppy waters separated us from the Huron Lighthouse. Before us stood a sign detailing the history of the site and a tower viewer to look more closely at the lighthouse.
The base of the white lighthouse was cube shaped. It then angled upward, like the roof of a house, and from the top sprouted a tall, rectangular tower, like a very tall chimney. The current Huron Lighthouse was actually the third one made. The first one was destroyed by a storm, and the second one had to be replaced when the pier was extended. The current lighthouse was constructed in 1939, and it was one of the first lighthouses in Lake Erie to provide an electrically powered beacon, which can be seen for over twelve miles. From our vantage point through the tower viewer, we watched as seagulls flew around the tall tower and rested on top.
I was still riding my sugar high, but Joseph, it seemed, had crashed during the drive, so we stopped for an ice cream cone before getting back in our car and driving to D&D Smith Winery, a small winery run by a family of four and located in an unassuming house right off the road. When we arrived, there were many jovial customers gathered inside for a local wine competition, for which many had brought their own homemade wines for customers to taste and rate.
The tasting process was unlike any I had before. We were given a tray with a dry erase sheet and a marker. On the sheet were over thirty circles, and written inside each was a different kind of wine. We marked the ones we wanted to try, and then little cups filled one-ounce servings of the wine indicated were placed on top of each circle. Joseph and I sat at a picnic table outside to sample our wine.
One thing I learned about Ohio wines is that they are sweeter than the average wine. At first, I thought maybe it was just my taste, or this particular winery, but upon further research, I found this was actually true. Ohio uses a variety of hybrid, non-vinifera grapes that tend to create sweeter tasting wines, and many wines are also made with a blend of grapes and other fruits and extracts. Lastly, because of the grapes used and whatever distillation process is favored, there is more residual sugar in Ohio wines than the average wine on the market, which means even the wines marketed as “dry” or “medium bodied” are sweeter than their average counterparts.
Sweet wines are not normally my cup of tea (or “glass of wine” – get it? Okay, never mind, moving on). However, I still enjoyed tasting all the different flavors and trying some I normally would not buy. The Blissful Ignorance was exactly as it was described – a crisp, medium-bodied white wine with fruity tones. The Cabernet Sauvignon was also good – not the best cabernet I have ever had (although, a cab enjoyed in the Dutch town of Solvang in the middle of California is hard to beat), but it was thick on my tongue and had a delightful flavor. The 401 W, a dry blend of red wines, was also decent. The Strawberry quite literally brought a smile to my face – it tasted just like the strawberry jam of my childhood. I had to fight off the urge to make a peanut butter sandwich and dip it right into the cup. The This n’ That, an award-winning wine, was unfortunately not my favorite – to me, it tasted very much like grape medicine. But, I have to admit, my parents force fed me grape medicine as a child, and now I have an aversion to anything that tastes remotely grape-flavored besides literal grapes. Our final taste of He Said She Said, a raspberry/blackberry wine, reminded me of one of my favorite wines served at the Renaissance Festival and made me all too excited for the coming fall season.
The afternoon was slowly fading into evening, and we still had a long drive ahead of us. We bought a bottle of wine and some charcuterie to go and hopped back into our car to drive to our campsite in Indiana. As we drove, we listened to an audiobook on tape (one of my favorites – 19 Minutes by Jodi Picoult) and watched as the sky darkened ominously around us and then went back to sunlight as we crawled our way through a tornado watch. We held hands and chatted, and I was reminded of our first road trip to Colorado, newly engaged, hours spent in the car, filled with excitement and love.
I took note as we drove to how late the sun remained in the sky. We were getting close to a time zone line – tomorrow, it would be an hour earlier in Central Time. But even as 9:00 approached, golden light still spilled across the fields of tall grass and crops. Swarms of birds sat on power lines that bobbed across the landscape and disappeared into the blushing sky beyond. Fluffy, cotton candy pink clouds floated lazily above us as we drove on empty roads. I began counting to see just how many cars we passed, and I was amazed by just how few were out. Despite the late hour, I could not imagine any time of day in Maryland when I would ever be on the road alone for so long. Life seemed to pass by a little slower and taste a little sweeter out here.
The world faded to a gentle peach haze as the sun dipped away. I smiled at the beauty around me, and one word came back to my mind: Glimmers.
It’s quite easy to find glimmers on vacation or on a lazy weekend day. It gets much harder when life is filled with challenges and, well, triggers. But glimmers can be as simple as watching the setting sun, enjoying your favorite book, or holding a loved one’s hand. It can be the taste of your favorite food, or even seeing something seemingly ordinary in a new way. This evening, for me, it was the beauty of the setting sun; the glint in Joseph’s eye when I know he, too, was savoring the moment; and his hand wrapped around mine.
There are glimmers everywhere to find, from tiny mushrooms to baby Christmas trees to big open skies. All we have to do is look for them.
I fumbled for my phone as the sound of my alarm ricocheted off the walls of our bedroom. My fingers pressed down on the volume button on the side, quickly snoozing it. I ran my hand over my face with a groan and looked up at our ceiling, savoring the last few seconds of comfort before I dragged myself out of bed. Excitement bubbled in my stomach like champagne. After months of planning and waiting, the day had finally arrived.
When I asked Joseph what he wanted for his birthday in early April, he had responded that he did not want anything. After a few times of receiving this answer, to which I frustratedly finally replied that if he continued to say that, “nothing” was exactly what he was going to get, I suggested we cross off a couple more states on our journey to visit all fifty. We always gift each other experiential birthday gifts, and a road trip sounded like the perfect way to celebrate his birthday and get away from our busy lives for a few days.
For this year’s trip, we decided to visit West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana and Kentucky. I must admit, when I began planning, I was nervous I would not be able to find much to do. It was easy to think of attractions and magnificent places to visit in California, Utah, Maine, and Montana – these states and many others are known for their fantastic national parks, good food, and fun things to do. But I could not think of much I knew about these states that bordered on the northeastern, midwestern and southern sections of the United States. Even after running across the country and visiting a few of them, all I really remembered was a lot of corn. But, visiting all fifty states means giving the same amount of planning, research and time to each one, and in order for us to cross off a state, we have a list of what we have to do.
For a state to be crossed off our list, we must hike in a national or state park, eat or drink something local, walk a main street, and do a tourist attraction. Only then can we say we have officially visited the state and collect our Been There series mug from Starbucks. After much research, I was surprised to find a plethora of fun things to do, and I planned a road trip that hopefully would not run us too ragged as we drove from one place to the next.
The car was already packed, so Joseph, Appa and I piled in and began the drive. Appa, being only seven months old, was not quite ready for the adventure, so we dropped him off to be cared for by our friend, Amanda. He would be picked up the following day by my dad to spend the rest of the week at our home. Since I now work mostly from home, it was odd and difficult to say goodbye to my puppy. He and I spend the majority of our days together – he follows me around the house as I do laundry, sleeps on my feet as I work, and goes on walks with me around our neighborhood and small town. But knowing he was going to be well cared for gave me the solace I needed to give him a pet and kiss goodbye before we began our drive to Harpers Ferry.
Despite being only two hours away from Harpers Ferry, I cannot remember ever visiting before. The small town was nestled between tall, forested mountains and the blue water of the Shenandoah and Potomac rivers. The street was lined with colonial style buildings that had been turned into shops and wound up a steep hill. Joseph and I parked and began our hike over a truss railroad bridge that is part of the Appalachian Trail. As we walked, we took notice to the many combination locks attached to the side of the bridge, which we learned later are love locks.
According to Only in Your State, love locks are “padlocks clipped to a fence or beam as a memorial to a loved one.” The idea is to attach the lock and then throw away the key, thus locking your love in place forever. Unfortunately, the National Park Service does prove the impermanence of these locks semi-regularly, when they take them down due to concern for the bridge’s structural integrity and the risk of it being weighed down by thousands of these little locks.
Due to the recent rain, the steep trek up the Maryland Heights via Harpers Ferry trail was slippery and even more difficult. The thick clay clung to our boots and made it difficult to grip the earth. For the first mile, we were able to maintain conversation and our jovial attitudes. But shortly after, I began seriously questioning my physical abilities as my calves burned hot and lungs gasped for air. One thousand feet later, we finally reached the top and stopped for a moment to catch our breath. Then we scrambled down the slick rocks to a breathtaking overlook of the valley below.
The shops, cars and bridge looked like a model town set up. Any moment, I imagined a fake train to run a track around the buildings. In the distance, mountains rolled over the landscape. Despite the sweat still pouring down my face, I couldn’t help but smile at the picturesque view.
The view of Harpers Ferry from the Maryland Heights via Harpers Ferry Trail
We slipped and slid back down the mountain. Our stomachs were grumbling from the morning’s exertion, and we were eager to sit down, preferably somewhere with air conditioning, to enjoy lunch.
We chose to eat at the Coach House Grill n’ Bar, a pub style restaurant that serves craft cocktails, sandwiches, salads, and a tasty variety of appetizers. The atmosphere was a little surprising. There were the things I expected – a rustic-style bar, paintings of soldiers and horses (this was Harpers Ferry, after all, a National Historic Park made famous from the Civil War), and televisions tuned to a sports channel. And then, there were colorful paintings of African elephants walking through a barren landscape. Despite this apparent incongruence in theme, I was delighted by the elephant paintings, as they are my favorite animal, and decided to sit somewhere where I had one in full view.
Our waitress was a sweet woman with a relaxed southern drawl and a cast brace on one ankle. She served us our drinks and recommended the homemade hummus, which was sprinkled with paprika and drizzled with olive oil and was served with pita so fresh and hot we could barely stand to hold it in our fingers. For lunch, I ordered a Greek salad with spicy pepperoncini peppers, creamy feta cheese and hot shrimp. Joseph ordered the classic cheeseburger, which was served with a delectable roasted garlic infused aioli, coleslaw, and potato wedges so good I could not stop eating them off his plate.
After our stomachs were full, our eyelids began to droop. We were in desperate need of a caffeine boost. As we walked down the street, we were drawn into a basement-level candy shop called True Treats Historic Candy. Here, we were lead through the decades as we walked through the store. Each section was dedicated to a different century or so, and on display were authentic candies from that time period, some still packaged the same way they were then. True Treats Historic Candy is the only evidence-based historic candy shop in the United States.
Joseph and I each chose a candy – for him, root beer barrels from the 1900s, and for me, Gibralters lemon candy from the 1800s, the first candy sold commercially in the country. The packaging read, “Not less than 1/2 ounce, still manufactured in the original way by Ye Olde Pepper Companie Ltd. Salem, Massachusetts.” The front of the package bore the quote “It gazes upon Chocolate and Sherbet, and says, ‘Before you were, I was; after you are not, I shall be,” by Eleanoro Putnam, and on the back, it included a paragraph about the history of the candy. It began with the Spencer family, who lost all of their possessions when they came to Massachusetts from England. The members of the town offered to help them, and when they found out Mrs. Spencer was a candy maker, they donated a barrel of sugar, which helped the family start the Salem Gibralters candy business. Gibralters became famous, not only in Salem but in the surrouding towns as well.
We decided to save our candy for that evening as a special treat. We headed next to The Coffee Mill, a crowded little shop that served coffees and ice cream. Still feeling a little warm, I ordered an iced latte, but Joseph, ever the purist, ordered a steaming hot americano.
We had promised ourselves we would get some ice cream after lunch, but our stomachs were still a little uncomfortably full as we made our way back up the street. It was when we decided to skip dessert and head to our next destination that disaster struck.
I heard Joseph’s yell from behind me, and turned, stunned. He was currently crouching down toward the ground, precariously balancing his camera in one hand as he set his coffee down on the brick sidewalk.
“What is it?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“My coffee,” he managed. “It’s burning.” My eyes widened and I quickly rushed forward to grab the cup from him. Joseph sucked in air through his clenched teeth as he shook out his reddened hand.
“What do I do?” he asked.
“Let’s run it under cold water,” I said. Now carrying both of our coffees, I rushed with him to the station beside the town railroad. When Joseph emerged from the bathroom, his hand was still bright red and it seemed he could not clench his fingers.
“Do we need to go to the emergency room?” I asked.
“No,” Joseph said with a scoff. “I’ll be fine.” We headed to the car, when I suggested we put his hand on some ice. As he sat in the car, I headed to a nearby pizza restaurant with a plastic bag, which I asked if they could fill with ice.
“Oh, that feels much better,” Joseph said when I handed it to him.
“Why don’t you let me drive?” I suggested.
“I can drive,” he said indignantly, but after my insistence, he relented, and I had the rare opportunity on our trips to sit in the driver’s seat.
We chatted as we drove, Joseph’s hand still clenched around the ice. Our next stop was Berkeley Hot Springs, where I had scheduled us a couples massage at the main bathhouse. By the time we arrived, Joseph’s hand was still warm but thankfully feeling much better. The town was currently in the middle of their Pride in the Park event, with live music and local vendors. We walked as we listened, waiting for our appointment time.
I have received massages before, but never have I had such a luxurious experience. We were lead first to a locker room, where we were told to place our clothes in a provided locker and change into a thick and comfy, white bathrobe and padded sandals. We were then taken to our own private bathing room, with a Roman-style bath filled with water piped in from the local hot springs. The woman who had taken us there encouraged us to soak in the water at least above our shoulders to gain the full effects. Already hot from the day, Joseph and I gulped down multiple cups of the provided, tepid drinking water while we floated around. Despite feeling a little overheated, I felt my muscles and mind relax. I ran my fingers through my hair and over my skin, now soft and smooth from the minerals in the water.
Our guide knocked on our door, and once we emerged from the room, we were lead to a curtained area with two massage tables across from one another. We slid under the thin, white sheets and then were treated to hour-long massages to work out the remaining knots and tenderness in our bodies. By the end, I felt like I was floating on air.
Now fully relaxed and pampered, we were ready to drive to our final destination of the evening – Cuyahoga Valley, which was four hours away. Because we wanted to arrive as soon as possible, we made ourselves sandwiches and then began the drive. Despite the length of the drive, which put us a full eight hours away from home within a day, and the hike, massage, and hand-burning incident, we were in high spirits the whole way there. It felt good to be on the road again, like a breath of fresh air after days spent cooped up inside.
It was after dark by the time we arrived at our campsite, a Christmas tree farm with spots left clear near the baby trees for tents. We set up our site as quickly as we could, and then sat across from each other to unwrap our candies and enjoy.
Inside the paper package, I found a parchment wrapped white, diamond-shaped candy that barely fit inside my palm. I could not recall ever eating a piece of candy so large. After a moment’s hesitation, I bit off one end and crunched it between my teeth. A sweet and gentle lemon flavor caressed my tongue. I closed my eyes with a smile. For the next bite, I let the candy melt on my tongue, and I was reminded of the buttermint candies I loved so much as a child.
We had been away from home for less than twenty hours, and already I felt the difference that made me fall in love with traveling years ago. The sweet excitement on my tongue, the awe and wonder from experiencing each new place, and the feeling of familiarity as I discover that it is not so different from the life I already knew. The wonderful thing about traveling is experiencing new things, visiting new places, and talking to new people, and realizing these things are not that different from what you know, that people are people everywhere you go, no matter where they come from, what they believe or how they were raised. And for me, everywhere I go, I am grateful to be going there with the love of my life and my home, no matter where we may be.
I snatched my phone from my bedside table as my alarm blared. 5am had come far too soon. I pulled myself out of bed & dragged my tired body into the bathroom. It had been a long week. There was an air of heaviness hanging over me & my loved ones. And with impeccable timing, Joseph had given me his cold the day before we left for our trip, and I had not been able to shake it off yet.
My Uncle Gus passed the month before, & we came to Arizona for his funeral. We arrived nearly a week early to be able to spend time with family we hardly ever get to see – the past five days of the trip were spent visiting & reminiscing with loved ones. On this day, however, Joseph & I had different plans. While budgeting & planning for this trip, we made the decision to take one day to ourselves, & we would spend it at Antelope Canyon. The timing seemed a bit insensitive, & I felt guilty for taking any time away that should be spent with relatives. But Antelope Canyon was a bucket list dream of mine, & as a more private person who internally processes their thoughts & feelings, I knew I would need a day away to process everything that had occurred. What better place to do that than in the spiritual, colorful canyons in Page, Arizona.
By this time in our lives, Joseph & I seem to no longer be dissuaded from adventures because of long drives. It was for this reason we climbed into our rental car before the sun had risen for a four-hour drive to Page. We queued up our regular “Let’s Go” playlist & began the long drive in higher spirts. It felt good to be on the road again.
So far, all we had seen of the desert was orange & tawny. However, as we climbed up into the mountains, we were surprised to see our first sight of snow all winter. I never thought I would see snow in Arizona before I saw it in Maryland. As we climbed, the landscape faded from tall cacti to snow-capped pine trees. Halfway through our drive, we carefully pulled through the snow into a Starbucks parking lot for a much-needed caffeine boost.
We returned to the familiar, sun-scorched landscape as we descended into Page. I booked us two tours to see both the upper & lower sections of Antelope Canyon. Our morning reservation was at the lower section. After a little mix-up trying to find the right tour company, we finally arrived at Ken’s Tours. We waited with the small queue of people & looked around, trying to catch sight of where the canyons were, but all we could see was flat, red rock.
Our tour guide led us across the desert to where a rickety & narrow flight of stairs descended into the earth. We were instructed to walk down one at a time to reduce our risk of falling. With bated breath, we traversed down into the canyon, where each of us collectively gasped in awe.
Lower Antelope Canyon
The canyon was just as I had dreamed it would be. Strips of colors brushed across the rock that curved & bent like the waves of the ocean. Sunlight streamed down inside, catching small crystals that shone like diamonds on the rock walls. Our guide led us carefully through the canyon, stopping frequently so we could take photos & marvel at the sight. Regularly, we had to stoop to avoid hitting our heads on the protruding rock & twist our bodies to squeeze through narrow spots. As we walked, I brushed my hand along the rock & felt the rough stone beneath my fingertips. This place had a magic about it. All I wanted was to stay longer to sit with it & learn from its wisdom.
According to Navajo tradition, Antelope Canyon was formed by Holy People as a place to connect with nature & the spirit world. It is a sacred place where they believe the physical & spiritual world intersect. Because of the great power held within the canyon, the Navajo people believe it must be approached with respect & humility. It is said if you are not of sound mind before entering, it can be detrimental to your spirit. However, the Navajo elders have a traditional blessing ceremony performed regularly to protect the people who enter.
As it is for many of our travels, I wanted to venture into the canyon to connect more deeply to myself & this world around me. Antelope Canyon, for me, seemed to be a place that was calling to me, & for every layer of colorful rock I saw, it seemed there was a deeper layer of wisdom & history hidden inside.
Lower Antelope Canyon
When we exited the canyon, Joseph & I were beginning to feel a bit peckish. We made a quick stop at an overlook on our way into town, where we found two restaurants that piqued each our fancies beside one another: Desert Nutrition (an açai & smoothie shop) for me, & Slackers (a burger joint) for him. We each gave our orders & then sat beside one another while we ate. Our energy was already draining, so we stopped for more coffees & spent the remainder of our free time caffeinating ourselves before the next tour.
To get to the upper section of the canyon, we piled with fellow tourists onto a bus that bumped across the desert landscape. We were collectively thrown into the air as our tour guide calmly talked to us about the local species of animals & the history of the canyon. By the time we arrived, I think each of us had a bit of nausea & the faint yearning to pee after having our bladders tossed around.
Me in Upper Antelope Canyon
Instead of cutting into the rock, this canyon jutted up from the earth. A narrow opening lead the way inside to what was nearly a cave. The only thing that distinguished it as a canyon was the thin space between the rock at the top, which let in only a faint amount of sunlight that dimmed even more the farther in we walked. At some points, it was almost too dark to even see the rock we bumped into. Using our hands to guide us, we shifted carefully through the sand beneath our feet, catching sight of sunbeams that shone against the purple & orange walls of the canyon. We gazed up the high walls & marveled at the beauty of this place. From the outside, you never would have guessed something so extraordinary was hidden within the rock. It was clear why Navajo people believed this to be a spiritual place – it was too perfect & unique to be a chance part of creation.
The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky as we exited the canyon. After a bumpy bus ride back to the Antelope Slot Canyon Tours center, we hopped in our car & drove just a few minutes away to another natural beauty – Horseshoe Bend. We just managed to find a parking spot in the crowded lot and we joined the throng of tourists hoping to see this beautiful spot in the golden light of sunset.
As we approached the overlook, I let out an audible gasp. Horseshoe Bend was so much bigger and more magnificent than I had imagined. Standing at the edge of a thousand foot drop, I had the familiar plummeting feeling in my stomach as I became all too aware of my humanity. But the view was worth it. Settled on top of deep green trees and surrounded by blue water, the sandstone reached up toward the orange sky with an unassuming beauty. As the landscape darkened, Joseph and I remained at the overlook, marveling at its grandeur, until the sun disappeared entirely behind the distant red rocks. Only then did we trudge back to our car, with another four hour drive the only thing we had to look forward to.
As we drove home, we gazed at the purple & orange streaked sky with satisfied smiles. It had been a perfect day, filled with incredible sights and new adventures. It was everything I ever want from my life – exploring and appreciating this beautiful place I have been given to live my lifetime, with the person I was given to spend it with.
“This Beautiful Life” by Colony House began to play, and Joseph turned up the car’s speakers as we drove in silence. I was reminded of why we had come to Arizona – the loss we had experienced, and the pain and grief that comes with life. But in this moment, all I felt was peace. Life is short, & you never know when your time is up. But the canyons had been the spiritual experience I needed – their grandeur has been here for millions of years, and it will remain for many more lifetimes after mine is over. My place in this world is fleeting, & yet, that makes it no less beautiful & meaningful. There is something more to this life, & I will spend the rest of my existence chasing that meaning in the stripes of color in sandstone, from the tops of mountain peaks, and the feeling when Joseph slips his hand in mine.
As the song says, “Maybe I’m a part of something that’s bigger than me, like I’m a page in a book in a library, & inside my heart there’s a dying part that’s always searching, ‘cause I know that there’s a place where I belong.”
I will never stop searching this world because there is more to this beautiful life, & I want to experience as much of it as I can before I am called home for the last time.
P.S. Here is the Let’s Go playlist so you can listen on your next adventure 🙂
