Baltimore: Final Sunsets

This is it. The end of my time at Hopkins, and our time in Baltimore.

I feel like I’ve been preparing myself for this day for weeks now, if not months (or practically the whole year, as I look back through this blog). And yet, down to the end, there are still goodbyes to be said, and all the anticipatory grief in the world hasn’t made them any easier. I guess this is how goodbyes are.

This past week was really, really hard for me. Cooped up in an apartment that less and less resembled home, working for hours to make our life possessions disappear out the front door, or into neatly piled boxes, I found myself desperately throwing the windows wide open, or lacing up my sneakers and running down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. Just to see, hear, and feel the city around me for a little while longer. To go walking - anywhere really - without a direction or a destination in mind. And it felt impossible to go more than a block, in any direction, without triggering an absolutely poignant memory from the past eight years: a particular tree or flowering shrub that I photographed in seasons past. Pawprints studded in pavement, which made me laugh when I first saw them years ago. The memory of a particular patient, or a particular shift in the hospital, which my mind had mysteriously linked (probably through another meandering, introspective walk in the distant past) to a particular alleyway, city block, or part of town. A fragment of skyline, or a passing summer rainstorm, that made the whole place feel familiar - like home. The sunset, shimmering over water. I wanted, badly, to not say goodbye to any of them. Quite unexpectedly and suddenly, I found myself in tears several times during the week, which is not typical for me (my line of work demands a lot of empathy but also a substantial ability for emotional compartmentalization. I’ve joked that I feel like the world’s most emotionally available robot). Yes, it’s been that kind of a week. To be honest, I think I’ll be processing it for awhile.

We’re moving up to Boston, which means that the Mid-Atlantic blog will now officially, finally, come to a close. I’ll pick back up on one of the other pages (haven’t decided yet whether to make a separate entry for Massachusetts, or append to our Maine / Adirondack trips). So, until next time - which will not be long, I’m sure. For now, I’ll share the photos here, including many taken on the fly with the phone camera. These are the record of my final days and sunsets in Baltimore - and the incredible people that I shared them with. I will forever treasure them.

Baltimore: A Farewell Tour

The woods in May are undeniably pretty. The weather is warm and mild, the air is not yet buggy and humid, and the foliage is green but not yet fully grown, allowing for beautiful views into the forest. We’ve taken two trips in the past week - a Memorial Day jaunt to Loch Raven for walking and boating, and a morning visit to the Lost Pond Trail beside the Gunpowder River.

Both of these locations are quite special to me. The Sweathouse Branch of the Big Gunpowder Falls was the first place that Jane and I ever truly hiked in Maryland, when we were trying to get to know our natural surroundings better. We’ve since returned to the area multiple times, exploring and photographing the woods around the Lost Pond, the Pot Rocks, and that 2-mile stretch of the Gunpowder River in all seasons.

As for Loch Raven, Jane and I (and I alone, especially) have explored its shores and surrounding woodlands too many times to count. We first visited the area during our hiking tour in 2014, and subsequently walked the length of the Merryman Trail in 2015. I’ve since been back multiple times to photograph the lake shore, kayak the reservoir’s southern reaches, and complete a seasonal series of photographs at Dead Man’s Cove. I’ve probably spent more time perched in the water or walking the fire road to Dead Man’s Cove than just about any other location here in Maryland (though it may be quite a toss-up with my “special sunrise spot” at Liberty Reservoir).

This year, Jane and I visited the area with my palliative medicine co-fellows (Elyse, Lindsey, and Mike), walking a stretch of the Merryman Trail in the morning (to the old creek and waterfall where we first took a tripod selfie in 2015), then renting solo kayaks and paddling the reservoir in the afternoon. We capped the day with a vegan strawberry cheesecake - an early birthday celebration for Lindsey. All in all, a lovely holiday by the water and on the water.

It’s really hard for this not to feel like a farewell tour of sorts. Whenever I travel for photography, especially to far-flung places like the Faroes, New Zealand, and the Hebrides, I’m acutely aware that I may never see a given place ever again - at least for years or decades. But that comes with the avocation. We’re only human, and in our time on earth, we can’t be in love with every place at once.

Maryland has been different. This has been our home for the longest, most meaningful portion thus far in our adult lives. After we leave, even if we return for a weekend visit here or there, things will never be quite the same. It has been unexpectedly emotional for me to re-visit these places, reflecting on what’s past and knowing that I am figuratively saying goodbye.

This is how goodbyes work, though. All I can do is enjoy what we have in the moment, capture some memories on camera, and take comfort in knowing that these beautiful woodlands and waterways will still exist after we are gone. And that, hopefully, with a bit of faith, hard work, and luck, they will be enjoyed and cherished by others for years, decades, and generations to come.

Baltimore: Something Ends, Another Begins

This is it. Our last spring in Maryland.

Jane and I are moving to Boston at the end of June. With that move comes the end of many things: the end of eight years of living, growing up, photographing, and exploring in the Mid-Atlantic. The end of this page of the blog (at least for now). I won’t lie - it’s been a strange few months. I wish I could have done more, made more memories, said goodbye to a few more familiar places. But goodbyes have a way of sneaking up on you, even when you see them coming from light-years away. This one is no exception.

Unexpectedly, I spent the past month away from Jane, and away from our home, in order to self-isolate while working a nursing facility during the COVID pandemic. “Long-distance” again. Lots of quiet nights spent thinking, writing, and reflecting. I emerged from that motel room with a pile of new poems, and a renewed appreciation for what the word “home” means - and what we owe a place when we call it home. In a way, it made for a fitting end to my years of training in Baltimore - a touching bit of symmetry.

The pandemic, however, did not stop me from taking photographs. On the weekends, cloth face mask in tow (sewn by Jane from dress pants that I, uh… outgrew), I managed to spend some precious afternoons walking around my favorite park in the world. Spring this year was just as beautiful as every other year - maybe even more so. The vibrant procession of colors; the radiant flower crowns over the pagoda and the park house; the fine textures of bud and leaf and bark - they’re still here. And I will miss them.

———

This won’t be the last post on the Mid-Atlantic blog. I’m in the process of preparing a final video, assembled from eight years of footage throughout Maryland and across the Chesapeake region. That will be the last. For now, I’ll end with a pair of poems from my upcoming collection, Leaving: Poems of the Chesapeake, which I think complements these photographs well. I will leave a link below once the book is available to order online.

Something Begins

On the lawn, the cherry trees will be in blossom
and the wind, warm with pollen, will ripple
across the koi pond in the courtyard.
From the tower, the sails will flutter like banners
to the west, they’ll shimmer, filling the harbor.
And in a quiet place – it could be this room, or another –
a dying boy will sleep, surrounded by love,
his lips dabbed with chocolate milk by his mother.

 Something ends. Another begins.


Loop in Patterson Park

English oak, fountain rest
pagoda wears magnolia dress
cherry petals, hilltop breeze
daffodils by budding trees
henbits, nettles, playground carpet
creeping speedwell, azure pockets
ducks return, the green-winged teal
soccer cones set in the field
lonely willow, sakura tree
the smaller dog, the worse the greed
shade-lined path runs past the pool
morning bells, church by the school
back uphill, the steepest way
the skyline takes your breath away