An ongoing documentary portrait series photographing people whose lives are shaped by outdoor spaces. 50+ subjects. Northeast Ohio and beyond. Still figuring out what the project is - and that feels important to say.

Jim and Chris are training for a backpacking trip this summer, loading their packs with water to simulate the weight. But watching them, it became clear that the experience isn’t just the hike itself—it’s everything that happens before it.

I expected to hear about trail maintenance—clearing paths, marking routes, keeping things intact. But what kept coming up instead was people. Volunteers giving their time not just to protect the trail, but to make sure someone else can find it, step into it, and keep going.

Sometimes adventure isn’t about finishing the trail.

I met Janet while she was meeting her family between the places they now live. They chose a trail for a hike together, but an unexpected climb changed the plan. They never reached the waterfall — and it didn’t seem to matter.

How often do we return to a trail we’ve already hiked? This reflection explores revisiting the same landscape across seasons and decades, and what returning reveals about time, memory, and our place in the lifespan of a place.

Two months after moving from Korea to the United States, Haley and Brad found a trail that felt familiar. This post reflects on how landscape shapes us, and why we instinctively search for recognizable terrain when everything else in life has changed.

Most of us didn’t decide on our own that walking into the woods was normal. Someone invited us first. In reflecting on a couple working toward visiting every national park together, I began to notice how often adventure is learned relationally. The places matter, but the shared experience may be what allows them to last.

On a wet, cold, muddy day when most people stayed inside, Eric went hiking anyway. There were no perfect conditions and no audience, just the quiet rhythm of steps on an empty trail. This reflection explores how we define adventure when the weather turns and why those gray days may matter more than we think.

I met AJ and Kristen on a trail they don’t usually hike. They were visiting family, had a game later that night, and chose to spend a little borrowed time walking a nearby trail. The moment didn’t ask for much, and that’s what made it stay with me.

I went into the hike already frustrated. The trail wasn’t giving me what I expected, and I was halfway back to the car when I crossed paths with David and Dawn. We walked together for a stretch, talked about where they were in life, and eventually made a portrait. The image exists because I slowed down long enough to let the day become something other than what I planned.