From 2010-2012, I lived and worked in a tiny fishing village in Southern Japan. My town, Usuki, had a beautiful historic core, a lovely industrial waterfront, an old castle ruin and some wonderful restaurants. In the two years I was there, we even got a 7-11 and a McDonalds. I lived in a beautiful, old, to-big-for-me apartment a few blocks from the water. During the week, I taught English in rural Japanese public schools. I worked in three different Junior High Schools and seven Elementary Schools. It was tough to move around so much, but I did enjoy the variety of it. Sadly, many of my days I spent very few hours in the classroom and was absolutely bored to tears most of the time. On the weekends I would spend time with friends or traveling the countryside. Our little corner of Japan was very rural, but also beautiful - especially when the rice was being planted. I found small communities to join, like a dance class in my town and a scuba diving shop in the next town up. I went to the beach and climbed mountains and visited the major cities. I also bought my first DSLR camera - at a pawn shop about an hour from my apartment. I didn’t learn to use it very well when I was there, but I took my first steps into the world of digital photography. It was also in Japan that I conceived the idea for this project and began to work to build this website. I made some wonderful friends while I was there, one of whom recently asked me if I had any photos of Japan that she could use to build a website for her business. That had me do a deep dive into my photo archives and dig up these old pictures. Some of them are actually pretty good, so I thought I would share them, and this story, with you here. Sadly, after a decade, I don’t remember where many of them were taken so not many of them are captioned. But I hope they can give you a feel for the time I spent there and some of the beauty of the country. Enjoy!
It’s been a warm week here in D.C. – summer has definitely arrived. I’ve had some nice days to get out and explore the city this week, but also some hot and humid ones and a few epic thunderstorms as well. It’s been a long time since I’ve experienced summer in our nation’s capital, and there are definitely pluses and minuses. I will say that the lack of traffic anywhere at any time makes the heat of summer a little more tolerable. As I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, that lack of traffic definitely makes for cleaner air and clearer skies – something my camera sees even more than I do. That is one of the plusses of the situation. We’ve been enjoying some summer fruit too, which is one of the best things about summer anywhere. We’ve had beautiful cherries, watermelon, strawberries and others and I’m looking forward to peaches very soon.
Last Friday my stepfather made some wonderful homemade pizzas and we sat in the basement and played some games and listened to some music while we chowed down on a couple of pies. It was another great Forget-About-It Friday, which we are grateful for. This coming week we will tap our homebrew and see how it turned out, and begin our next batch as well – an American Cream Ale. I’m looking forward to having a taste and to keeping the brewing going while I’m home. It’s fun and there’s a (hopefully) fine finished product at the end. After the cream ale, I want to try something a little more complicated now that I’m getting my brewing confidence back up.
The rest of the weekend was pretty quiet. My mom spent Saturday cooking up a storm and we had a wonderful dinner on Saturday night as well. Sunday I spent some time reading my new (to me) book about the Gettysburg Address which I’m really enjoying. I also got some photos edited and published from our trip to Antietam last week, and got some writing done as well. It was a pretty relaxing weekend all around, but it felt good to accomplish a few things along the way.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. In this series I’ve chosen one picture per post which brings out strong memories for me and has a story attached to it. This picture is of the Santa Monica Pier in Los Angeles, California, the place I first watched the sun set into the Pacific.
I was as far from home as I’d ever been.
When I went to college, my goal was to work for the National Park Service. My major was Wildlife and Fishery Science with a minor in American History. I spent five years working on two degrees to prepare myself for my career, but in the days of the infancy of the internet I really didn’t know what that career would entail. While there, I worked in the banquet department at a beautiful resort hotel and golf course and made pretty decent money for a college kid. I was, therefore, pretty disappointed when I started looking for a real job only to find that the only Park Service jobs available to me were 3 month temporary positions in parks I’d never heard of making $8 an hour. I couldn’t believe it – after five years of good grades and two degrees from an excellent institution I was only going to make $8 an hour? That was significantly less than I was making in my current job. And in three months I’d have to start all over again?
I decided to think on it for a while and headed to my summer home of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. In my first “real world” lesson, I had to sign to a one-year lease to get a decent place to live, and went back to work at the restaurant I had worked at the previous two summers. Over the next year I worked a lot, drank too much and made some really good friends, some of whom are still my friends today, but didn’t make a lot of progress towards any career goals. I’d like to say it was fun, but looking back it just seemed like it was at the time. There were some great days, but life after college was supposed to be different.
After a year of spinning my wheels I found myself no further ahead than I had been when I arrived. I cut my losses, packed up my bags and headed north. I went back to Pennsylvania for a while, and then headed to Ocean City, Maryland for a few days to see what the work climate was like there. Nothing seemed to be working out, so I finally gave up and heading home to D.C
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. In this series I’ve chosen one picture per post which brings out strong memories for me and has a story attached to it. This picture is a homework assignment given the Friday before Katrina hit New Orleans.
It makes me want to scream and cry at the same time.
I had wanted to go to New Orleans for a long time, but it always seemed so far away. I knew that New Orleans and I would be friends before I ever stepped foot in Jackson Square. Gaslights still illuminate the streets and doorways, music fills the sultry air and the smell of red beans cooking on the stove is still a Monday tradition. New Orleans assaults your senses at every turn as there’s always something new to taste, smell, see or listen to. I once heard it said that the mere mention of the words “New Orleans” can bring a smile to the lips of someone who’s never been there. I know it’s true because it was just that way for me. I made it there for the first time in the summer of 2000, my first year on the road guiding tours and went there dozens of times in the ensuing years. I loved it. New Orleans is the most unique city in the country and a big part of the amazing patchwork quilt that is America.
I moved to New Orleans in June of 2007, having accepted a job as an 8th Grade Math and Science Teacher at Francis Gregory Elementary School. I was there as part of the effort to reopen the school district in the wake of Hurricane Katrina which had devastated the city and shuttered most of its schools for 2 years. New Orleans had had one of the lowest performing public school systems in the country before the storm, and Katrina had made it exponentially worse. Most students had been behind already and then lost two years to the storm. I was teaching 8th Grade, but most of my students were 15 or 16 and most were functioning at a 3rd grade level in math. They could add and maybe subtract, but multiplication and division were a problem much less the algebra and geometry they were supposed to know. 8th Grade is a “high stakes” year, meaning if they didn’t pass their state testing, they wouldn’t go to High School. We expect the best teachers in this country to raise their students one grade level in a year. I was expected to raise them five grade levels, and that was only the beginning of the challenges I would face there.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words and as a visual storyteller I usually tell stories through my photos. Since I’ve been sheltered in place though, I haven’t been able to get out and take as many photos as I’m used to. But I was recently reminded that after 20 years on the road, I have a lot of stories to tell. So here’s a crack at some of them. One photo and a thousand words (this is a big story - it’s actually a fair bit longer than a thousand words, but I was never much for rules). So here’s my first crack at this - it’s also a story I tell in Episode 0 of my podcast which you can listen to HERE.
When I was a teenager, I was standing alone one day in the rain, and in a moment of youthful angst I felt overcome with the feeling that I was never going to live to see 30. Through the years I have seen this is a fairly common teenage phenomenon, but I didn't know that at the time. Some of it came from the media, and the exposure to the James Dean and Jim Morrisons and Kurt Cobains of the world. All the cool people died young. And some probably came from anxiety about getting older and watching our youth and vibrancy disappear, becoming more like our parents and teachers. But no matter where it came from, it weighed on me and I set out to live a life with the time that I had, with a sense of purpose and urgency. And I did.
My youthful desires were actually pretty easy to fulfill. At 16, I needed a car and wanted an old Mustang, so I bought a 1968 classic 289. It was a beautiful car!. At 20, I wanted to live at the beach and see what that was like, so during my last two summers in college and for a full year after I graduated, I lived in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina and partied like a rock star. Perhaps most of all though, from the time I was a kid, I wanted to see America. Fulfilling this goal wasn't as easy as the others until, one day, it was. At 24, as I set off on my career running nationwide tours, I saw my dreams become reality. Once I had seen the major American landmarks I had always been enthralled with, I set out into smaller towns and rural communities.
Hello everyone, and welcome to another sheltering-in-place update from our nation’s capital. It’s been a tough week for me here personally, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m in a one-day-at-a-time kind of place right now. I’m grateful to have my family around me as we support each other through the highs and lows of this process.
My friend Ryan passed away over the weekend. Ryan was a part of my local hometown gang – a group of my closest friends that’s been hanging out together for more than 20 years. We’ve been through ups and downs, marriages and kids. Some of us grew up together, but we’ve all grown through adulthood together, and I’ve never doubted that I could call on any one of this group for anything in the world, even though my travel schedule makes me a recurring guest star more than a regular cast member. I have a photo of this group on the visor of my van, and when I’m feeling lonely, I flip down my visor and I’m surrounded by my closest friends. Ryan had cancer, and this wasn’t something we didn’t know was coming, but it still hurts to know he’s gone. I’m a hopeful person, and I never lost hope that he would come out the other side of it. He was my age, entirely too young to die. I’m thankful that we gathered the gang together over the holidays, some coming from as far away as California and Colorado, so that we could laugh and share and break bread and just be together. We knew what was possibly to come, and I’m glad that my friends made this gathering possible and that I was in town to be there for it. It was a wonderful weekend filled with warmth and love. Ryan’s smile, laugh and playful spirit will be missed. May he rest in peace.
Also this week, I got a text message from my ex-girlfriend telling me that she got engaged. This is, of course, happy news and I’m very happy for her and her fiancé. I am giving her the benefit of the doubt, as I have for several years now, and believe that she texted me because she wanted to share her good news with me and also wanted to be sure I heard it from her and not through the grapevine. It’s still incredibly painful news to hear though, although also not unexpected…
Happy Thanksgiving y’all. For all of my American friends and followers, I hope you are somewhere warm and welcoming with friends and family around you, or at the very least somewhere where you are comfortable and can find some joy in the day. For my international friends and followers, I wish you a happy Thursday, but hope wherever you are you can find some time today to count your blessings and realize how much you have to be thankful for. This is something I am trying to start incorporating into my everyday routine, not something I reserve for one day in November.
For those of you who have to work today, believe me - I’ve been there. I’ve spent many years working in restaurants on the holidays. It was never a bad thing, but I was always a little surprised that people didn’t tip more on the holidays. If you find a restaurant open, remember that someone has had to give up their holiday to take care of you and you should be sure you take care of them. In my career as a guide, I also spent many years on the road during the holidays. I’ve celebrated Thanksgiving on the beach in Key Largo, in the snow in Stowe, Vermont, at Grand Canyon, in San Diego and probably plenty of other places I’ve now forgotten about. I enjoyed having groups to share the day with and sometimes cooked a traditional American Thanksgiving Day feast if the facilities were available. Cooking that kind of a meal for 14 people is quite the challenge - and if you only have a camp stove and an open fire even more-so. It’ s nice to be able to share your culture with people from abroad though, and Thanksgiving is one of the best days to do that in America.
This year, I’m very thankful to be home with my friends and family and to be able to celebrate the holiday with the people I care most about. I’m also thankful to have some time and internet access to get some work done while I’m here. I’ve been enjoying playing a lot of catch-up these last few weeks, trying to get this site in order, complete some projects that are long overdue and start to plan for the future. One of the things I’ve really been working on is my Gallery pages. I’ve been able to clean up, organize and add to three of my photo galleries over the last week or so, and I’d love it if you wanted to pop over and have a look. Here are the links where you can find them:
Long time, no see. Today marks the 2nd anniversary of me setting off in my van towards Harpers Ferry, West Virginia and the beginning of my life’s greatest adventure. The next 18 months brought me to 10 states which I explored in great depth, trying to gain a better understanding of the people, culture and history that make each special and unique. I was able to travel thousands of miles, take tens of thousands of photos, record 20 episodes of my podcast American Anthology and generally get a better understanding of my country and myself. It was by no means a vacation, nor was it an easy ride. I found myself working long days trying to publish on this blog as frequently as I could while constantly researching my next podcast episode, trying to eat well and get enough exercise and have a little bit of fun along the way. I battled deadlines, weather, loneliness and serious bouts with depression and self-doubt. But I came out the other side a better person with a better understanding of myself and the country I call home. Looking back, it was a hell of a ride.
After 18 months alone on the road, it was time to take a break. While not gone, my savings were seriously depleted as I hadn’t been able to make as much money as I had hoped while on the road. In addition, I desperately needed some conversation and companionship - something more than the fleeting conversation of a roadside tavern could provide. I found during my 18 month stretch that it was often harder to stop and see friends than it should have been - that while it was always wonderful and joyful to catch up with them, it sometimes brought me back lower than I had been when I arrived at the thought of being on my own again. It was almost as if sharing time with my friends reminded me of just how lonely the open road is. I think anyone who has done some any long-term solo travel would agree with that. It’s not the external world that gets you, but the one that revolves solely within your own head.
Hello everyone, another week has past and it’s time for another edition of This Week on the Road. It’s been a pretty great week out here in Southern Alabama, beginning with a much needed and well enjoyed visit to the Gulf Coast and a few minutes on the beach. I also spent some wonderful time in beautiful Mobile, a city which I really enjoyed. The week ended with a long drive across the south of the state heading east, through rural farmland and quaint little towns. It’s been a great first week here in The Heart of Dixie, and I’m looking forward to everything the state has to offer in the coming few weeks. HERE is this week’s map if you want to follow along as we go!
When I finished posting my This Week article last week, I did, in fact, get out of town. I love New Orleans, and it’s always hard to go, and it was particularly hard with French Quarter Fest starting the following day, but it was way past time for me to get out of Louisiana. I scooted down to the interstate, and took Route 10 all the way to Alabama. I hate the interstate and its never-ending monotony, but it’s great when you have places you have to be and a limited time to get there.
When I got to Alabama, I headed southwest on 188 to beautiful Bayou La Batre. You may remember the name from Forrest Gump, as it is where Bubba was from and where Forrest went to start his shrimping company. It really is a shrimping town, and if you’ve been following along with me on this journey, you know I’m a sucker for old shrimping boats. The fleet there was really beautiful, and I stopped off to have a look and take some photos. While I was stopped, a young man of maybe 9 or 10 named Matthew pulled up…
This week has been a good one and a busy one and my last one in Louisiana. I traveled a bit across the North Shore area, north of Lake Ponchartrain and then ducked back to Baton Rouge for the wonderful 3rd Street Songwriters Festival. After a great weekend of music and new friends, I headed back to my former home city of New Orleans to get some work done and prepare to move on to Alabama, which I plan to do the minute this post is published. It’s been a great two months here in The Pelican State, but it’s long past time for me to be moving on, and I’m looking forward to it.
After I finished writing last week, I did indeed go for a couple of beers at the Abita Brewpub in Abita Springs. I had forgotten how cute a town Abita Springs is, and I enjoyed a little walk around before ducking into the brewpub. The bartender was Rita. Rita at Abita! She was very friendly and I enjoyed talking with her as I tried some of the Abita beers I haven’t had the chance to taste yet. When I was done there, I headed down the road and stopped by Ruby’s Roadhouse for a nightcap. This is a great old dive bar and music venue in Mandeville, and if only they’d make people go outside to smoke it would be even better. It’s a cool place though, and I’ll have to get back some day when they have live music on.
I woke up Thursday to torrential downpours and thunder so I made the command decision to stay in bed a little longer. I made a cup of coffee and watched some TV from the cozy confines of the back of my van. It wasn’t what I had planned, but that kind of weather isn’t great for taking photos or really much of anything, so I took advantage of it in the best way I could think of. I may have to do that more often…
Greetings from the Conch Republic, the farthest south you can get in the United States by car (or van). I’m writing to you this week from the wonderful public library here in Key West. It’s been a great week for me in South Florida, full of fun in the sun. It’s been windy but warm and I’ve gotten to see some really cool places this week. I had a few nice days in the parks south of Miami, and then made my way down the Keys. I’ve been on some great excursions this week, seen some beautiful sunsets and spent some great time with friends old and new. Life is good here in the Keys, and it would be hard to complain. In addition, the days are getting longer and spring is not too far away. Lots of things to be grateful and happy about this week.
After I posted last week’s This Week on the Road, I did indeed go to Coral Castle. Coral Castle is an astounding place - the product of one man’s dream, innovation and hard work. While “castle” may be a bit of a stretch in the literal sense of the word, the fact that every man’s home is his castle makes it okay to use the word in my worldview. My castle is 100 square feet on wheels. Built by Latvian immigrant Edward Leedskalnin over the course of many years, Coral Castle is a fascinating structure to visit. I don’t think it is worth the $19 entrance fee to be quite honest, but it is Florida and this is one of the area’s oldest tourism ventures. To see all my photos and learn more about Ed and his dream, see my full post HERE.
I had just finished my workout at the Planet Fitness in Lexington, Kentucky and walked back into the locker room to get my things and head out and face the day. When I walked around the corner, I found Bill Thomas sitting in his wheelchair directly in front of my locker. He was waiting for me. Although we had never met before, there is no doubt in my mind that he was waiting for me. He looked up when I walked over and asked me how I was. I told him I was doing well and asked him the same question. “Every day I wake up is a good day, a blessed day” he responded. He offered me a granola bar, but I declined. I was in kind of a rush, but for some reason I felt like what Bill had to say was something worth listening to. Over the years, I’ve learned to trust my instincts and that day, as usual, they served me well. He leaned back in his chair and looked up at me and told me this story:
It was Sunday, May 5th, 2013 and he was just waking up. At 57 years old, he had his aches and pains, but nothing out of the ordinary. He figured he’d get up, make some breakfast, have a shower and maybe watch his favorite church programs on TV. He sat on the edge of his bed and pictured his quiet Sunday morning unfolding as it always had. He went to stand up and begin his day when everything went blurry and lost its shape. He closed his eyes and tried to shake it off but when he opened them again nothing had changed. He went to sit back down and collapsed.
