by Karon -

A Weekend in Clarksville, Tennessee

Sometimes, the best parts of the journey are found not in faraway places, but in the warmth of familiar hearts. My Clarksville, Tennessee travel story began with a visit to this small city wrapped in southern charm—where I spent a few sweet days visiting my dear friend, Teena.

Teena and I first met years ago, teaching side by side in Japan. The world felt vast and new then, yet somehow, in the midst of that adventure, we found a kindred spirit in each other. Time and miles have passed, but that connection—built on shared stories, laughter, and art—has never faded.

Now she teaches in Tennessee, bringing her same gentle spirit and creativity to a new place. Seeing her again was like returning to a piece of my own history. We slipped easily back into conversation, as if no time had passed at all.

One evening, we went to a local winery for a tasting. The air was soft and golden, the kind of evening that makes music sound even sweeter. A talented singer filled the space with a strong, soulful voice that seemed to echo through the vines. It was one of those moments where time slows—when the world feels both grounded and wide open all at once.

The next morning, we had brunch at Yada’s in historic downtown Clarksville, where the air still holds the stories of old brick and ironwork. The food was fresh and colorful, served with that easy southern friendliness that makes you linger over coffee a little longer.

Afterward, we wandered into the Art Guild, where sunlight streamed across a beautiful mix of local art—paintings, pottery, and pieces that spoke of hands that still love the craft of making. I always feel at home surrounded by art—it’s like stepping into a language I know by heart.

We spent the afternoon exploring Lucille’s, a sprawling treasure trove filled with antiques, books, crafts, and forgotten things waiting to be rediscovered. Every booth felt like a tiny story. The café there served the most refreshing strawberry basil lemonade—bright, fragrant, and perfectly balanced between sweet and tart.

We ended the day the way all good visits should end—with a meal made by someone who cooks with love. Teena’s husband made barbecue that filled the evening air with smoky comfort. We sat and talked as the light faded, grateful for good food, friendship, and the kind of easy joy that comes from being exactly where you’re meant to be.

Before I left, Teena—true to her generous heart—handed me two loaves of her homemade pumpkin bread. “One for you,” she said with a smile, “and one for your daughter in New York.” She never lets anyone leave empty-handed, and somehow that gesture captured her perfectly—thoughtful, giving, and full of warmth.

Clarksville may have been just a stop along the way, but it felt like a homecoming—a reminder that connection and kindness are the true landmarks on any map. If you ever find yourself planning a Clarksville Tennessee travel weekend, I hope you’ll slow down long enough to feel that same sense of welcome.

— Kari

by Karon -

Bathhouse Row, People, & The Pancake Shop – Reflections on Hot Springs

After the tranquility of Anthony Chapel, I wandered down Bathhouse Row, captivated by the historic architecture and the stories embedded in each building. The elegance of the facades, the weathered bricks, and the soft curves of wrought iron details spoke of an era when Hot Springs was a premier destination for wellness and leisure.

The warmth of the town was not only in its springs but in its people. Strangers greeted me with easy smiles, and conversations flowed effortlessly, leaving me with a sense of belonging even as a visitor. There’s something profoundly comforting about a place where friendliness feels natural, not forced.

Breakfast at The Pancake Shop, a cherished local institution celebrating more than 85 years of serving the community, was a delightful pause. The aroma of fresh pancakes mingled with a faint hint of coffee, and the cheerful hum of conversation made the room feel alive. Sitting at the counter, I watched locals greet one another like family, sharing jokes, news, and laughter. The simple act of enjoying breakfast here became an experience of connection and warmth, a quiet celebration of history, hospitality, and comfort.

Exploring Hot Springs reminded me that travel is as much about the people and small moments as it is about sights. The combination of history, architecture, and genuine friendliness made this stop unforgettable. Even as I moved on, I carried with me the soft, lingering impressions of laughter, bell tones, and the comforting aroma of a pancake breakfast that felt like a hug for the soul.

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