Dear Road

Leaving Yosemite for the Central Valley, one downhill road in particular was so steep, I thought I might accidentally drive off a cliff.

I walked to the Merced River and waded in its waters, one of many waters I’ve stood in across America. They all feel different.

There I was in my little tent, next to a saguaro that must've been 150 years old. It stood like a guardian, watching over me that night.

There is so much silence, so many days and weeks filled with its lush richness, that I begin to notice how frivolous people are with words.

Life on the road is accelerated, a tightly-bound series of vignettes, strung together within a matter of weeks.

My time at Oregon Inlet National Park this past week was the most intense, exhausting camping experience of my life.

After 18 months of living in Baltimore, it's felt good to get back to the earth.

I arrived at Earthaven, deep in the wilderness of the Blue Ridge Mountains, around 8 p.m. on Friday, just in time to pitch a tent before...

When you’re living out of a bag, moving from place to place, you can't be on autopilot anymore—whether it’s making tea, doing laundry,...