There are multiple weird human-made creations that exist entirely within greater Cleveland metro parks. Yesterday, I went and visited one of them. Worden’s Ledges is actually in Medina County, so it’s pretty fringe for “Greater Cleveland” but is managed by the metro parks system so I guess it counts. I chose it because it’s eccentric, less racist than one of the other ones I could think of, and presumed it would be quieter than the one that’s a half-finished castle.

Anyway, all this goes back to the Western Reserve, when once upon a time Northeast Ohio was a place called the Western Reserve, formerly part of Connecticut, by this point some kind of a settler colonialism business entity, I think? In 1851 Hiram Worden purchased 56 acres of land to farm and raise a family. Hiram lost his first wife and two children and eventually remarried Melissa Bissell with whom he had four children. One of whom, Nettie, eventually inherited the homestead in 1903 and lived there until her death in 1945. The last of Nettie’s four husbands was a bricklayer named Noble Stuart made some “folk art” carvings out of the local sandstone at some point in between 1944 and 1948.

I’ve opted to skip my tarot reading this week. Partially, because doing all this took me longer than I anticipated, but also because I think I can direct some of that impulse at my own amateur photography. I took more “artsy” photos that what I’ve showed here, but I feel like most of them have a critical flaw and aren’t worth sharing. But I like to ask myself “why did I choose to photograph this?” and I think it’s got some of the same value as a casual tarot reading.

I’m fond of photographing fallen logs, paths that weren’t made by or for humans, moss, and rock formations. Fallen logs feels like it might have some kind of psychological meaning, but I’ll be damned if I can identify it. But paths or passages or openings not intended for human locomotion are things that are really speaking to me lately. Where I am, right now, as a person is a frayed, stressed, uncertain traveler who’s imagined so many roads that don’t exist or were never meant to carry me. I want to preserve those roads as I imagined them, even if they aren’t real because sometimes the idea of them gives me comfort.

So when I see something like the last photo I’ll just throw down at the bottom, I get all those feelings. It’s beautiful. I want to know where it goes, how it came to be, what it’s like, but I also know it’s not for me, so I just look, take a photo, and continue walking my dog through the woods.

This blog post was brought to you while listening to Ghost’s Popestar EP on vinyl (bought new because I’ve got to support a band that’s clearly a lot of other people’s outlet for religious trauma)–sharing because that seems to bring some kind of good feelings to a certain friend who if he’s reading I hope he has a good day and next time I’m in his neck of the woods we need to go here.