Once I learned how to walk, I’ve never stopped.
Not literally, of course, but using my own legs and feet as a means of getting from point A to point B, or just to meander aimlessly, feels as natural as a heartbeat to me. Even as a toddler, my parents would bring a stroller on long walks, but it remained empty as I stubbornly marched on ahead. As I grew up, this has morphed into a love of hiking. A college friend and I walked across England one Summer, following the Coast to Coast trail pioneered by noted British fellwalker Alfred Wainwright MBE. My cousin and I put one foot in front of the other on many of the peaks in the Lake District, a beautiful corner of northwest England, in the dead of Winter. At 40 years old, my aching feet took me to the top of Mount Whitney in the Sierra Nevada mountains.
When it comes to walking, I am infected for life.
Most of my wanderings these days are between the school my daughters’ attend and home. Rushing back and forth, feeling that I have no time to enjoy my surroundings, I keep my head down, and that has turned out to be more interesting than it sounds. My adopted town of Hoboken is rich in history, first settled back in the 17th Century, it became a resort before a township, and finally a city in 1855. The wealth of detail in the landscape beneath our feet here in the Mile Square city is vast, encompassing not only the usual urban suspects of concrete and asphalt, but also intricate tile work in shop doorways, cobblestones, wooden piers, splash pads and parkland, a broad tapestry of textures and colours. By bringing together my love of walking, and passion for photography, I have started documenting this realm.
Left, right, left, right…..