“In those days, we finally chose to walk like giants and hold the world in arms grown strong with love

And there may be many things we forget in the days to come,

But this will not be one of them.” - Brian Andreas

Life was good.

Hard, but good. The difficulties were new; one’s we had never seen. Which roads can we travel safely, dragging along that 26 foot home on wheels? Where can I find water when we are 40 miles down a dirt forest road? When the batteries die, when the truck starts making ungodly sounds, when we get a flat on a no-shoulder two-lane, when the money runs out, if we can’t find a place to park for the night, what do we do? Can we be self sufficient? Can we make it out here? On and on, etc., etc., etc. Most of our problems could have been solved by money, if we’d had any, consistently. But others, the others were matters of the heart and soul. How can we heal these weary hearts?

Ellen and I, you could say, are the sensitive types. I say that with levity and humor, but it’s true. We didn’t realize until that first year on the road how deeply we needed to do this. Living like gypsies, or perhaps hippies. Immersed in the beauty of nature and the quiet solitude. It healed our minds, exhausted by the hurried, impersonal drone of surviving the modern city life. A simple existence, drinking deep the offerings of a natural kind; long hikes, sleeping under the stars, reconnecting to the circadian rhythms, simply observing creatures for hours, breathing in the clean air and natural beauty in which we were surrounded and embraced. It gave life to these bodies of death.

For at least four years, I grew professionally as I photographed every nook of beauty I found. I witnessed nearly every sunrise and sunset, hiked thousands of miles through our country’s pristine landscapes; refuges for the creation that God once called “good”.

But somewhere along the way, perhaps in year 5, after finding immense healing and growth, different longings began to creep. We yearned for the support of humanity. Deepening friendships, regular church attendance, family time, a release from the physical hardships of self sufficiency. A community. We still needed peace and solitude, but the desire for people grew strong. What a cruel paradox. How can we possibly “have it all”? How can we find balance?

I’m not even sure I can sum up such a deep well of experiences. I won’t pretend that I can. I do however plan to debrief and deconstruct much of what we did, saw, and felt over those rich years on the pages of my new substack, “Wild Mercy” (coming very soon!). I invite you to follow along, if you find that interesting. I will share my journal entries from those years, photographs, thoughts on the past, present, and future, and more. My purpose is to share the Beauty I came to know, the Truth I sought and found in measure, and the Virtue cultivated and revealed.

But for now, I return to the terrifying months leading up to our journey, when we peered tentatively over the ledge, not knowing how long we would make it or what we might encounter from this leap. Many of our friends, family, and interested acquaintances participated in a distinctly human activity to send us off; patronage. So many poured out their support over us on that first kickoff print sale to help us make reality of our dream. It was surprising and overwhelming. But it helped make our decision feel “right.” We had no money saved when we decided to go 8 years ago. But our community came together, buying hundreds of prints, as if to say, “go in peace”.

It’s been many years since I’ve offered new prints on a massive scale. So I thought it time to put together a retrospective of images, commemorating our time on the road. Not the end of a dream, but the beginning of a new season. I hope you find peace, solitude, and healing in these scenes, as I did standing there in awe. There is much more to come from us, but hopefully now more rooted, mature. I have no idea how this experiment in returning to a “normal life” might go. I won’t pretend it’s been easy or without internal struggle for me. But what I know is that it is good, and necessary, for now. We settled in Chattanooga, TN, near family. We are making friends, being restored in a church community, deepening our relationships, finding routines again, and relearning to cope with the noise of the city.