American Flamingo at Leonabelle Turnbull Birding Center

A Flamingo, a Colorful Shop, and Surprises in Port Aransas


I started my day in Port Aransas walking the beach at sunrise, beachcombing for over an hour. The waves were rough, the sky heavy with clouds, and the early glow of pink from the rising sun quickly disappeared behind them. The sand was cool underfoot, and each wave left treasures along the shore. I collected a bounty of shells—mostly scallops, in shades of gray, black, orange, and white. Each one felt like a small treasure, a tiny piece of the beach’s beauty to carry with me.

From the beach, I wandered to the Leonabelle Turnbull Birding Center, where another surprise awaited. In the shallow waters, a bright pink figure stood out—a lone flamingo, a visitor from far away who has called this sanctuary home since 2023. Believed to have arrived on the winds of Hurricane Idalia, this American Flamingo likely traveled from the Yucatan Peninsula. While flamingos are rare in Texas, locals have grown accustomed to spotting this striking visitor, who has become a star on Facebook birding groups and a favorite subject for photographers.

I had come hoping to catch a glimpse of the elegant Roseate Spoonbills, but the flamingo stole the show. I settled onto the sun-warmed bench with only my phone in hand, watching as it waded gracefully through the shallow water. Around me, the marsh was alive with birds—dozens of wintering white pelicans floated and fished, while a variety of ducks paddled quietly nearby. Their calls mingled with the gentle ripple of waves, creating a peaceful symphony of wildlife. Nearby birders shared quiet excitement, snapping photos and whispering observations.

Later, on another visit to Port Aransas, I met a woman who was equally unforgettable, though in a very different way. She owned a small shop, and her personality radiated from every corner of it. A woman of a certain age, she wore jeans that looked as if someone had graffitied them with bright words and colors, a vivid top covered in the word “love” in every hue, and bright red boots. Her shop reflected her energy—inside and out, it was a kaleidoscope of color, full of quirky details like the feet of the Wicked Witch of the West sticking out from under the front of the building. Even her car seemed to shout fun and originality. She was lively, exuberant, and unmistakably herself—much like the flamingo, a one-of-a-kind presence in this little beach town.

Both encounters reminded me of the small surprises that make life memorable. Sometimes it’s a bird carried by a hurricane that finds a new home, sometimes a person whose joy and creativity is impossible to ignore, sometimes the simple treasures of shells on the shore. All left me smiling, and all made me appreciate the unique character of Port Aransas—the way it invites visitors to notice the extraordinary in the ordinary.

Whether you’re wandering the beaches at sunrise, exploring the birding center, or stopping in the colorful shops along the streets, Port Aransas has a way of offering little moments of delight that stay with you long after you leave. The flamingo, the pelicans, the shop owner, and the colorful shells each have their own kind of brilliance, reminding me that life is richer when we pause to notice the unexpected, the vibrant, and the one-of-a-kind.

Exploring Rockport, Texas: Art, Nature, and Stillness by the Sea

So, where have I landed for an extended stay? I’ve landed in the small coastal fishing town of Rockport, a place I’ve dreamed of living in more than once. The town has a slower pace and a small-town vibe that matches what I am craving right now. Slow, quiet walks on the beach, the hiking trail, or even through town all invite me to reflect and slow down. And so far, that is just what I have done. After a few weeks of preparing, a few months of traveling, and the busyness of the holidays, I knew I would be ready for a pause.

One thing that I love about Rockport is the art scene. For a small town, it has a big artistic presence. It has several art galleries, an art makers market, and the Rockport Center for the Arts which is “a multidisciplinary arts hub” and is not something you would expect to find in a little fishing town. It actually features local and national artists and always has a variety of offerings from gallery exhibits to events and education. The town is also home to quite a few very talented artists. And then there are the murals … with their beachy, artsy vibe. You might say that art is the heartbeat of Rockport.

I’m sure there are others who would say that fishing is the heartbeat of Rockport. Quite honestly, I think that fishing might be the main reason most people come to Rockport. I’m not really very interested in fishing, but I have photographed the bait shops and fishing boats many times. And actually, I probably have photographed them every time I’ve been here. The same colorful bait shops are always here welcoming me back. It’s kind of grounding to see things remain the same over time. I love to just walk along the marina and look at the many and varied boats. There are a couple of sailboats that I recognize from one visit to the next – the Gypsy Pirate with its skeleton crew and the Irish Rover with its mermaid figurehead. Friendly reminders that some things remain the same, but just age with the weathering of time.

I suppose another group of people might consider nature the heartbeat of Rockport. There is the quiet draw of the sea, the nearby state park, and the many waterbirds that call Rockport home—or, like many people, are winter Texans. And then there are the outdoor activities like hiking, kayaking, paddleboarding, boating, birdwatching, beachcombing, photography, dolphin watching… and that’s all available here in town without mentioning nearby opportunities.

I’ve been here two weeks now and haven’t done much more than settle in, walk, and breath in the salty air. This pause feels like a huge exhale. I know I am blessed to be able to embrace this nomadic life, which allows me to travel slowly and to pause when I feel the need, allowing me the space to listen to my inner voice and trust myself. For this brief pause, this is my home base.

Have you ever paused in a place that feels like home, even for a little while?

– Kari

Three Beaches Within 25 Minutes of Sackets Harbor

Beaches are definitely one of my happy places. I love to walk in the sand — to feel it shift beneath my feet and connect me to the earth. On coastal beaches, I’ve always loved looking for seashells and driftwood. But here, along the lakeside shores near Sackets Harbor, I searched for heart-shaped rocks instead. I only found one, but the walks were peaceful and grounding — the kind that clear your mind and fill your soul.

During my stay, I visited three beaches within about twenty-five minutes of Sackets Harbor. The days were cool and sunny, perfect for slow walks and quiet reflection. Each beach had soft sand and gentle waves, with beautiful sand dunes edging the shoreline. The dunes were covered with tall grasses and old wooden fences that swayed and creaked softly in the breeze. Behind them, trees painted in shades of gold and amber framed the horizon, their autumn colors glowing in the afternoon light.

One beach had a long line of rocks brought in to prevent erosion — a rugged but beautiful contrast to the smooth sand. A few of the beaches had benches along a path that ran parallel to the water, inviting you to sit, listen to the waves, and watch the light dance across the lake. In some spots, the forest reached all the way to the beach, where roots tangled near the sand and the air smelled faintly of pine.

And then there were the seagulls — another surprise. I had always thought gulls belonged to the sea, yet here they were, soaring over Lake Ontario, their calls echoing softly across the water.

Walking barefoot in the cool sand felt like coming home to myself — a simple act of grounding, of reconnecting with the rhythms of the earth. Even though I only found one heart rock, I left each beach with a sense of calm and gratitude. These quiet, lakeside moments reminded me how peace can be found anywhere — sometimes just twenty-five minutes away.

— Kari

Finding Peace in Sackets Harbor: A Month on the Shores of Lake Ontario

After months of planning, sorting, and saying goodbye to so many things I once called mine, I’ve arrived at my destination for the month of October — the Village of Sackets Harbor, a charming little gem nestled along the shores of Lake Ontario in upstate New York.

This lovely village of about 1,300 people feels like it’s been tucked away from the rush of the world. It’s quaint and quiet, with tree-lined streets, historic homes, and a harbor that glimmers in the morning light. Everything here is walkable, and each path invites you to slow down and notice the small, beautiful things — the sound of leaves rustling, the scent of woodsmoke, the cool whisper of fall air.

I’ve been walking every morning since I arrived. I begin my day at the harbor, just as the sun lifts above the water, painting everything in gold. Some days, I wander through town, and others, I take the trail that winds through the historic battlefield. There’s something grounding about starting the day this way — moving, breathing, being part of the quiet rhythm of the village.

The best part of being here is time with my daughter, Amy, and her family. My two grandsons are here — lively, curious, and full of wonder — and they fill my days with laughter and joy. Being near them feels like a gift, one I don’t take for granted.

And then there’s fall — my favorite season. When I arrived, the trees were just beginning to turn, and I knew that soon the whole village would be dressed in red, gold, and amber. I could already feel that shift in the air, that whisper that says, slow down, savor this.

For the first time in a long while, I don’t have things hanging over me — no closets to clean, no papers to sort, no boxes to pack. I’ve done all of that. Now, I have the luxury of time — time to walk, to stretch, to eat well, to read, to create. I have mostly been writing and taking photographs… lots of photographs.

I brought along some art supplies, tucked carefully into my car before I left. Here, surrounded by beauty and stillness, I finally have the freedom to explore and create without hurry or distraction.

In this quiet little harbor town, I feel a peace I haven’t known in years — the kind that comes not from doing more, but from finally doing less.

Lighthouses of the Great Lakes: Following the Light North

It was probably a couple of years before this trip that I first realized there were lighthouses on the Great Lakes. Growing up in Texas, lighthouses belonged to oceans and far-off coasts — not to the freshwater shores of the north. But now, with the road stretching out ahead of me and a wide lake shimmering on the horizon, I’ve learned that light finds its place anywhere it’s needed.

On the last stretch of my drive — after leaving Erie, Pennsylvania, and before reaching Sackets Harbor — I decided to stop at a few of these lighthouses and see them for myself.

My first visit was the Barcelona Lighthouse in Westfield, New York. Built in 1829, it was the first lighthouse in the world to be fueled by natural gas — a remarkable idea for its time. The stone tower stood quietly against the blue sky, its door locked, the grounds peaceful and still. Even though I couldn’t go inside, I stood at the base and imagined the keepers who once climbed those stairs, tending a flame that guided travelers safely to shore. There’s a calm strength in places like this — reminders that guidance doesn’t always need to shout; sometimes it just shines steadily through the years.

A short drive farther brought me to the Dunkirk Lighthouse, one of the oldest lights on Lake Erie. This one was open, and I couldn’t resist the challenge of climbing to the top. The metal spiral staircase wound tightly upward, each step creaking beneath my feet. My heart beat faster — not just from the climb, but from the height. I’ve always had a little fear of heights, though I try to face it whenever I can. Over the years, that’s led me over America’s scariest and highest bridges, across long pedestrian walkways, and now, up this tower overlooking the water.

At the top, wind whipped across my face. The lake spread out like a silver sheet, endless and alive. For a moment, fear and awe were the same thing. I thought about all the keepers who had stood here before me, watching storms roll in, trusting their light to cut through the darkness.

A few days later, I made my way north to Tibbetts Point Lighthouse, where Lake Ontario meets the St. Lawrence River. The tower, built in 1854, still houses one of the few working Fresnel lenses on the Great Lakes. The lightkeeper’s cottage now serves as a visitor center, and the air smells of river mist and open water. Standing there, with waves splashing against the rocks, I felt something quiet settle inside me — a kind of peace that comes from knowing you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

I’ve learned that there are more than 200 lighthouses along the Great Lakes, which together stretch nearly 11,000 miles of coastline. During my stay here, I’ve visited three of them, each with its own quiet story and view of the water. I plan to stop at one more when I begin my next journey.

This journey of seeing the lighthouses has become more than checking places off a list. It’s a reminder that courage is built step by step — one stair, one bridge, one risk at a time. Light has a way of leading you forward, even when the climb feels uncertain.