Tag: nature lover

  • A Serene 4-Mile Loop at Mohican State Park: Big & Little Lyons Falls, & Dam,

    A Serene 4-Mile Loop at Mohican State Park: Big & Little Lyons Falls, & Dam,

    It was around 70 °F when we set out today. I think that’s close to a perfect temperate for wandering among waterfalls, woodland, and scars left by the river currently and years ago. The crew: Luna, Kylie, and me. We parked by the covered bridge at Mohican State Park and embarked on a loop that wove us past 2 cascading falls, a dam and spillway, forested slopes, and the gentle murmur of the stream flowing through.

    🌿 Trail & Park Overview

    Mohican State Park spans about 1,110 acres, nestled in Ashland County, Ohio, along the south shore of Pleasant Hill Lake.  The Clear Fork branch of the Mohican River carves a gorge through the park. Surrounding it is the Mohican-Memorial State Forest, which adds many miles of trails to explore. 

    The hike we did is a combination of what’s called the Pleasant Hill & Lyons Falls Loop or Covered Bridge → Little & Big Lyons Falls → Pleasant Hill Dam route.  Though many sources list that loop as ~2 to 2.5 miles, I stretched ours into an “almost 4 mile loop” by taking side paths, lingering, and sometimes doubling back for shots. 

    The covered bridge by which we parked is a picturesque structure over The Mohican River, built in 1968 using native hardwoods.  It’s a frequent trailhead point for the falls loop and a favored photo spot. There’s a link at the end of the post for an album containing the photos i took!

    Big Lyons Falls (the “larger” fall) and Little Lyons Falls are named after historic characters Paul Lyons and Thomas Lyons (yes, Thomas allegedly wore a necklace of 99 human tongues in lore).  Big Lyons is often described as having a more dramatic drop into a canyon-like cliff amphitheater; Little Lyons offers views from above, a box-canyon feel. 

    After the falls, a side spur leads to Pleasant Hill Dam and the “morning glory” spillway (a flood control feature) that adds a modern, engineered contrast to the raw rock and forest.  The dam and spillway are part of the hydrologic control for the Pleasant Hill reservoir system. 

    The return path follows riverbanks, crossing small footbridges and boardwalks, letting you drift back to the covered bridge. 

    📷 Our Experience & Photo Highlights

    We parked at the covered bridge, as before when Luna and I visited during the fire tower hike. Thus, the place feels familiar, comfortable. With the selfie stick + tripod, we paused at multiple vantage points: on bridge itself, on a walkway by the dam, under a boulder, and close to the falls. At Big Lyons, the amphitheater pour with, wet rocks, and water access we recorded videos walking under. We climbed stairs near the falls, careful on slippery surfaces (wet rock + moss = tricky). Little Lyons offered a vantage from the top edge of the drop; we explored carefully, watching our footing. I am clumsy.

    We detoured toward the dam & spillway, capturing architectures meeting water, especially at the “morning glory” opening. Our loop felt longer than standard because we paused, lingered, and sometimes retraced paths, or lingered longer. My dog trotted ahead excitedly, nose to stone and river spray, bounding between roots and rocks. The 70 °F warmth made the forest feel lush and alive, especially when we broke into sunlit clearings.

    📝 Tips & Observations

    Footwear & grip matter. Moss, wet rock, stairs near falls = slippery. Timing light. Early or late in day gives softer side-light on falls and river. Bring gear and protection. Water spray + humidity can fog lenses. Know trail mileage is flexible. The “loop” is often marketed shorter, but you can extend or wander. Dogs are allowed (on leash). I kept mine leashed, especially near drop edges. Use the covered bridge as start/anchor. It’s accessible and scenic. It is a great staging point. Pause for sound & mood, not just visuals. The river murmuring, leaf rustles, quiet corners enrich the story.

    Pursuit of happiness

    Photo album from Mohican

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  • Still Growing: How I’d Describe Myself, Honestly

    Still Growing: How I’d Describe Myself, Honestly

    How would you describe yourself to someone?

    Describing yourself to someone else isn’t always easy and especially when you’re made of a million pieces. Some are polished like my tumbled stones and some still lost in stage’s in-between. Some of my pieces sit quietly. Though, most are able to be heard well before being seen. If you really want to know me, here’s what I’d say:

    I’m a transgender man, a poet and a brother. I am someone who’s lived more lives than years and still chooses love every time. I’m a little wild around the edges but hold a huge interests is things bigger than myself. I’m the kind of person who sees beauty in broken things and meaning in the mundane. A rockhound, literally and metaphorically speaking. I find clarity in chaos and treasures in the dirt. I’ve always found peace in nature’s small wonders, whether it’s a strange fossil in a ohio, a waterfall along the road in North Carolina, a field of wildflowers, or the hush of a quiet morning with no one around.

    I’m a pet dad and an animal lover through and through. My heart stays full because of the furry ones that trust me to protect and care for them. I’m a fiancé, a son, a momma’s boy in every way that matters, and someone who’s learned how to carry a big heart inside even bigger walls. They exist not to keep people out forever, but to make sure what comes in is real and worthy.

    I work as an STNA in Ohio. It’s an honest job that reminds me daily of the fragility and strength of being human. I’m queer and neurodivergent, which means I see the world differently in many ways. Sometimes my thoughts drift, sometimes I hyperfocus, sometimes I forget where I was going mid-sentence. I call it my squirrel, but I always circle back to what matters. I’m easily amused, deeply emotional, and hard to knock down for good.

    I call it like I see it. And I know I am one hundred percent not for everyone. I don’t lie about who I am. I’ve survived abuse, addiction, mental illness, and more than my fair share of days that almost ended me. And yet I’m still here still as ever curious, still kicking, and still kayaking down rivers like they owe me answers. I’ve always loved a little danger, a little chaos, and a lot of loudness. Pop-punk is home for me: shouty lyrics, raw feelings, and the unapologetic right to feel everything too much.

    I’m an activist, not because it’s trendy, but because silence has never saved anybody. I believe in showing up for all people, for justice, for love, especially if it’s hard. I support human rights because mine have been denied, delayed, and debated too many times not to.

    And above all else, I’m a human being. I am not a checklist of identities or a walking experience for others to analyze. Just a person doing his best with what life’s handed him. I laugh, I mess up, I start over, I love hard, and sometimes I fall apart. The best part? I keep showing up. And I hope that counts for something. I will always.

    So, how would I describe myself? I’m someone still in motion. I am actively making space in a world that wasn’t built for people like me, but damn sure isn’t ready for what I bring to the table either. I’m full of contradictions, full of love, and full of fight. And if you don’t get it… well, keep it cute, or put it on mute.

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  • The Things That Make Me Lose Track of Time-in The Best Way!

    The Things That Make Me Lose Track of Time-in The Best Way!

    Which activities make you lose track of time?

    Some things just pull me into a rhythm so deep that I don’t notice the hours passing. I’ll forget to eat. I’ll forget to check my phone. When I finally look up, and it’s dark outside or way later than I thought it was. That timeless focus doesn’t happen with most things, but it happens to me in very specific moments.

    Hiking is one of the first thing I found. There’s something about being on a trail where I don’t know exactly where it ends or what I’ll find. When the sounds of the world disappear, I only hear the crunch of my steps. I also hear the rush of water, wind, or leaves. Then I settle into my body in a way that makes everything else fade out. Whether it’s a steep climb or a gentle creek side path, I lose track of time. I become one with the woods.

    Rock hounding is something I love. I will spend hours hunched over riverbanks, dry creeks, or piles of rock debris. I’m always searching for a glimmer of something hidden. The longer I stay, the more I see, and the more I see, the more I want to keep going. It’s never really about the end result. It’s about the process of looking. Honestly, it really is about the small discoveries. It’s about that quiet rush when I find something beautiful that the earth tucked away for me to notice.

    Exploring towns pulls me in. Forgotten roadside stops capture my interest. Waterfalls are equally compelling. Just wandering through places with history or color captivates me in the same way. I like stumbling into things I didn’t plan on. Murals, statues, old buildings, chalk art, or just a view I didn’t expect. When I’m on foot in an unfamiliar place, I usually don’t check the time. I only do so if it’s necessary.

    Then there’s the creative side of me that gets lost too. Writing poetry, making zines, laying out pages or trying to pull together themes for a collection. This takes me out of everything. I blink, and four hours have passed. I’ll go back and read something I don’t even remember writing. That space of creating is one of the few places I feel like I can just exist without pressure. It’s just me and the page. Me and the words. And that feels safe.

    When I lose track of time, it typically means I’m doing something I actually care about. Something that connects me to myself or the world in a way that feels grounding or real. I don’t think losing track of time is a bad thing. I think it’s one of the few times I’m fully here.

    And I need that.

    I think we all do.

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  • What I’m Passionate About – Writing, Justice, Nature, and Voice

    What I’m Passionate About – Writing, Justice, Nature, and Voice


    What are you passionate about?

    I’m passionate about all minorities having equal rights and opportunities. I feel no one should be silenced, ignored, or erased just for existing. My mom raised me to speak up for those who can’t always do so. That’s something sacred to me: being a voice when silence is survival.

    I’m deeply connected to nature and spirituality; both ground me, challenge me, and remind me who I am. There’s a magic in the way the earth holds us without asking for anything but care in return.

    Writing is my lifeline. I aspire to paint with words the way artists do with color raw, vibrant, and honest. Every piece I write, I hope it hits deep and leaves a mark. I want people to feel seen in the lines I bleed out.

    I’m passionate about ending the war on drugs. I advocate for legal weed, and harm-reduction over 100% sobriety. Determined to tear down the systems that punish addictions instead of healing them. Police reform isn’t just a wish, it’s a necessity. Too many lives have been lost to injustice and too many voices drowned out by sirens and systems. I want better. I won’t stop fighting for better.


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  • If Humans Had Taglines, This Would Be Mine

    If Humans Had Taglines, This Would Be Mine


    If humans had taglines, what would yours be?

    Mine would have to be one of these:

    You can take the nature out the boy, but you can’t take the man out of nature

    Even when I’m knee-deep in ink and altar smoke, my roots are still hiking trails, crinoid fossils, and the hum of wind through stone.

    Poetry is resistance when you write like Poeaxtry

    Every line is protest, prayer, and proof that I’m still here trans, loud, witchy, and unerasable.

    My gender is wilderness: untamed, honest, and thriving in the dark

    I wasn’t made to be trimmed down into a label. I’m a forest fire and a bloom, both.

    Spell bags in one hand, survival in the other

    I’m a living altar: grief and grit, ritual and rage, healing and hustle.

    Former silence, current storm

    I used to swallow it all. Now I speak, write, scream, and conjure without shame.

    Born from shadow work, built to shine

    The ghosts that haunt me taught me how to live.

    Soft things with teeth

    Gentleness doesn’t mean weakness. I know how to bite back if I have to.

    Can write you a love poem, hex your ex, and hike a mountain before lunch

    I’m not a contradiction, I’m a constellation.

    But honestly, I can’t be wrapped up in just one line. I’m too many things. Too full of lives survived, of magic made, of poems burned and rewritten.

    So if I had to choose?

    Unapologetic trans man. Poet witch. Rock hunter. Truth-teller. Born to be wild… not just free. And always me!


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  • Daily Prompt 18 – Do You Have a Collection? My Rockhounding Journey

    Daily Prompt 18 – Do You Have a Collection? My Rockhounding Journey


    Do you have any collections?

    Do I collect anything? Oh, just a few things…

    I collect the Earth, stone by stone, crystal by crystal. Not usually ones bought in bins, but treasures I hound myself. I trade with other rockhounds too, offering my finds for theirs like stories passed between old souls. Some I tumble. Some I slice. Some I slice and tumble or polish. Some I polish by hand until their true colors and patterns shine through like secrets whispered by time.

    You’ll find them transformed into necklaces, keychains, and little “Stoney Homies.” Some are left whole, smoothed and gleaming. They rest on altars, shelves, or windowsills. I carry slag glass with me that glows beneath UV light, found in the sands of Lake Superior. Not all glow from here either. I also have its bluer, non-reactive cousin from Lake Erie. Leland Blue, yopperlites, pudding stones, labradorite, Petoskey and unakite. Jaspers, agates, quartz, flint from Nethers Farm on Flint Ridge (some sparkling with quartz inclusions).

    Hiking = Hounding

    Every hike becomes a hunt for treasure. Every shoreline offers gifts. I have a special UV map for the Great Lakes region. I use a 365nm light to spot the glow in the dark. Chisels, buckets, hammers, even an old 1970s Sears tumbler join me in this ritual. I can tumble up to 14 lbs at once, and still find joy in spending hours hand-polishing just one stone.

    Alongside the rocks come ancient echoes. These include crinoid fossils, coral fossils, and brachiopods. Some are cleaned and gently polished, while others are left mostly raw. Nature’s memory is preserved in stone.

    So yes, I collect.

    But not just rocks

    I collect moments, beauty, and the deep magic of the Earth itself.


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