Wild and Wonderful

Some places feel familiar long before we've ever stood in them.

While hiking the rail trail at Hawks Nest State Park in West Virginia, I found myself thinking about a fishing trip with my father many years earlier. We were standing in the Tallulah River in north Georgia when he paused and said, "This reminds me of West Virginia." At the time, I had only visited once as a small child.

Nearly a decade later, I finally understood what he meant.

I was told that Hawks Nest had been one of my father's favorite places, and during my winter residency I intentionally sought out landscapes that he loved. Standing beside the rushing water, I realized I wasn't just seeing the stream—I was seeing myself.

Unlike the ancient New River, whose course has been carved over millions of years, a mountain stream is constantly adapting. It tumbles over waterfalls, bends around boulders, changes direction, and quietly shapes the landscape one current at a time. It doesn't know exactly where it is going, only that it keeps moving forward.

That felt deeply familiar.

This self-portrait imagines me as that mountain stream. My hair becomes flowing water, while my face and body are formed from the rocks, cliffs, and waterfalls that shape Appalachian rivers. Rhododendrons bloom from the landscape, reminding me that even in rugged places, beauty finds a way to flourish.

Perhaps one day I will become a broad, ancient river, carrying the wisdom that only time can bring. Or perhaps I am meant to remain a mountain stream—always exploring, always carving a new path, and always discovering who I am with each bend in the journey.