by Karon -

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

by Karon -

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.

by Karon -

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.