The Journey
Welcome to The Journey, a space where Mary McKSchmidt shares her transition from business executive to advocate, photographer, poet, and storyteller. Here, she invites you to walk alongside her as she explores life in the Great Lakes region, its beauty and fragility, and the bonds that connect us all.
Interconnected
Like how the Red Admiral leans into the creamy white flowersof the ninebark, its tube-like proboscisprobing deep into the blossomto sip the sweetness, like howthe butterfly’s spindly legscan’t help but brush against the clusters of stamen emanating from...
Another Set of Eyes
The quest to provide shaded benches in public spaces for the people of Michigan is not easy.And yet, after walking with Mother the last eleven years of her life, presenting to thirteen audiences throughout west Michigan, meeting with book clubs, and hearing from...
Life and Death of Cottonwood Corner
Mother and I discovered the bench while on an adventure to the Heinz Walkway in 2020. Shaded by seven “immense cottonwood trees” alongside Lake Macatawa, the bench became one of our favorite destinations. Mother wrote a poem about it titled “Peace and Tranquility.” We...
Bookends
Between the emerging light of dawnand the evening’s disappearance,it is hard to choose a favoriteamidst so much bravado.
Among the Clouds
The first time I attempted the ascent,I turned back, the sleet and icy winds too formidable for one recently enlightened as to limits beyond which one should not hike. But the next day I trekked past the stone circle—a rare and ancient monument located in ankle-deep...
Breeze at My Back
Grief is like the wake behind a boat. It starts out as a huge wave that follows close behind you and is big enough to swamp and drown you if you suddenly stop moving forward. ~ Jimmy Buffett 1. I arrived in the countryof my ancestors with a listof questions about...
Chasing Irish Butterflies
The four eyes onthe flame-colored wings of the peacock appearto have eyes onlyfor a flower so prolific as to be an eyesore tothe meticulous gardener. A long-distance traveler like the painted lady chooses not the dainty whitecups of the...
Cat
As I walk a farm lane in Leitrim, the cat, dressed in a tuxedo of black fur with stark-white trim, trails ten paces behind me. “Every day I walk long miles, sometimes hard miles, sometimeslong and hard and still it doesn’t help.” I turn and Cat’s piercing green...
Easter Monday
All week I’d been waiting for weatherthat would facilitate a safe climb upCroagh Patrick, this holiest of mountains hiked by pilgrims for over 5,000 years. It is said the patron saint of Ireland fasted40 days atop this mountain and every year on the third Sunday of...
While Staying on the Farm Outside Dingle
How thrilled I was watching the dark pawsof the red fox prancingacross the farmyardat dawn. How badly I felt for the slaughtered chickens and for the farmerwho gifted us eggswhen we first arrived and how hard it was to discover the chickensand tell the farmerand...
Pilgrim Paths
Usually, I walk alone. Clipped to my jacket is a satellite tracker with an SOS button. I have found a cellphone, while valuable as a camera, is worthless for communicating on remote paths. In my hand is a walking stick to keep me from sinking into the...
Shamrocks
Droopy-looking three-leaved plants were heaped carefully in a basket at the foot of the altar. It was St. Patrick’s Day, an Irish holiday featuring parades, fireworks and the annual blessing of the shamrocks. The plant is said to have been used as a metaphor for the...