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.
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...
Garden of Remembrance
Walking a never-ending ascent to a bluff overlooking the Bandon River outside Kinsale, Ireland, I see a gate painted fire-engine red, adorned with daffodils. On the gate is a plaque framed in gold with bold letters, We Will Never Forget. Stunned, I...
While in Kinsale
A third of the way across the Bandon River bridge,gale winds threaten to hurl me off the sidewalk and onto the path of the oncoming cars. I am loatheto admit defeat, turn back, retrace hard-won steps enroute to the fort, the first one built to defend the harbor. And...
On Holiday
Our decision to remain in the same place for a week or so at a time as we explore Ireland was just what I needed. I do not feel like a tourist, more like one discovering the secrets of a new home. Every journey by foot. Every trip out the red door of this historic...