by Karon -

Anthony Chapel & Carillon Tower: A Solo Traveler’s Reflection in Hot Springs

The crisp morning air welcomed me as I approached Anthony Chapel, the true reason for my visit. Nestled among towering trees, the chapel exudes a serene charm that feels timeless. Its simple yet elegant architecture blends harmoniously with the natural surroundings, inviting visitors to pause, breathe, and reflect.

I lingered on the steps, noticing the delicate patterns etched into the wooden beams above. Sunlight filtered through narrow windows, casting soft, golden light across the polished wooden floors. Every detail, from the subtle arches to the carefully placed benches, seemed designed to inspire contemplation. The gentle hush of the forest wrapped the building in calm, making it easy to forget the world outside.

Nearby, Carillon Tower rose gracefully, its bells ringing at intervals, sending rich, sonorous tones echoing through the trees. The music seemed to ripple through the forest, vibrating softly in my chest. I closed my eyes, letting the sound and quiet settle over me, creating a rare, meditative pause in the day.

As I wandered along a shaded trail, I embraced shinrin-yoku, the Japanese practice of forest bathing that I first learned while living in Japan. The earthy scent of moss and fallen leaves, the dappled sunlight, and the whisper of branches overhead invited me to slow down and fully notice. I reached out to touch the rough bark of a tree, feeling its texture under my fingertips and grounding myself in the present. A spiderweb glittered with dew, and the intricate patterns of the forest seemed alive with quiet detail. Being here, near a place of such intentional beauty, I felt a profound sense of peace—a gentle reminder that some destinations are not just seen, but truly felt.

By the time I left Anthony Chapel, I carried with me not just memories of bells and trees, but a deeper appreciation for spaces that nurture reflection, serenity, and a connection to something larger than ourselves.

– Kari

by Karon -

Meeting Malin: My First Troll

My first stop on this new nomadic chapter was Austin’s Pease Park, where I finally met Malin’s Fountain, one of the magical trolls created by Danish artist Thomas Dambo. For months I had longed to see one of his towering wooden sculptures, and stepping into that shaded grove felt like walking into a dream.

The path wound gently under live oaks, leading me closer until suddenly she appeared—vast, whimsical, and powerful, yet tender in her presence. Malin seemed to rise from the earth itself, sitting gracefully among the roots, her hands cradling a bowl to collect rainwater, a gesture both simple and profound.

Thomas Dambo’s trolls are made entirely from reclaimed wood and other recycled materials, and each one is part of a larger vision: to bring play, wonder, and environmental awareness into the world. His sculptures are tucked away in parks, forests, and unexpected corners of cities, inviting exploration, discovery, and a playful reconnection with nature. Knowing this, I felt a quiet thrill, as if I had stumbled upon a hidden treasure meant just for me.

There was something ancient and childlike about Malin at once. She rested with a sense of calm strength, yet there was curiosity in her posture, as if she too was exploring the world around her. Her hopeful gaze seemed to invite me to pause, breathe, and remember that wonder is always close at hand.

I lingered there, letting the quiet of the park and the artistry of her form settle into me. Art has always been a language I return to—sometimes loud, sometimes soft, but always guiding me toward reflection. Malin’s Fountain spoke in that way, reminding me that creation can be both playful and deeply rooted.

As I sat there, I thought of my children and grandchildren—each one a joy I deeply treasure. Malin, with her calm strength, curiosity, and hopeful gaze, seemed to whisper a reminder: to meet the world with open eyes and an open heart, to wander with wonder, and to carry my family’s love with me on every step of the journey.

This first adventure was a gentle one, but it felt like the perfect beginning. I left Pease Park with the sense that Malin had given me her blessing—a nudge to keep moving, to keep seeking, to keep listening to the stories the world is ready to tell.

– Kari

by Karon -

The Art of Going Alone: How It All Started

Travel journal and colored pencils on a vibrant mat at the beach — a peaceful moment of creativity and reflection by the sea.

For much of my life, my greatest masterpiece has not been a painting, a photograph, or a lesson plan — it has been my children. They were, and are, my best thing. Through all the years of balancing the wonders of motherhood with the joyful chaos of teaching — whether in the art room or the classroom — I carried within me a quiet longing to create, to explore, to discover my own artistic style.

Now, I find myself standing in a new season. I have retired from teaching, carefully tucked away years of memories, and let go of most of the belongings that once filled my home. In their place, I’ve chosen open skies, winding roads, and the promise of adventure. What remains with me — always — is family. My children, now grown, walk their own paths, and my grandsons, those little sparks of joy, light up my world in ways words can barely hold.

Feet walking along a sandy beach — a quiet moment of reflection and connection with nature.

And so begins The Art of Going Alone. It is not about loneliness, but about listening — to the inner voice that has long waited for its time. It is about seeking beauty in coastal towns and hidden streets, in the sway of trees and the rhythm of water. It is about experimenting with brushstrokes and photographs, discovering what feels authentic, what feels true.

This journey is not an escape but an embrace. I am not leaving family behind; I am carrying them with me — in stories, in phone calls, in the way my heart still dances when I hear “Grandma” or “Christmas Tree” (a story for another time). They are my anchor, even as I set out to sail.

I don’t know yet exactly where this road will lead. Perhaps toward an artistic voice I have not yet heard clearly. Perhaps toward new friendships, new places that become beloved, new lessons learned in unexpected corners of the world. But I do know this: life is too short to let dreams linger unspoken.

So here I am — reinventing, exploring, wandering, creating. This is my canvas now. And you are welcome to walk alongside me, as I learn the art of going alone.

Kari