Issue 14 Shared Skies 2024

Contents

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The Way Home

Kim, an Indigenous woman who was taken from her family at the age of two, tells about her relationship with her mother, who she was able to find decades after adoption.

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Sky Photography

By Hai Nguyen

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The Legend of the Weeping Witch

In Riquewihr, France, Marie Wolf, a woman overwhelmed with the grief of losing her fiancé, becomes a legend within the village.

Aviation Photography

By Randy Dunn

April 8th Solar Eclipse: What to Expect

Hai explains where the 2024 solar eclipse can be viewed, how it can be viewed safely, and other fun facts to know.

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And We All Looked UP

Beth tells about her experience viewing the 2017 solar eclipse in Oregon, alongside her husband, Hai.

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A Rural Sky

Photography by Nick Hoeller

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Why the Joy?

Mike reflects on his wandering trip from Cleveland to Boston, and why it was so special for him and his wife, Marcia.

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Beyond the Magazine

Learn more about the people highlighted in this issue and see where you can view more of their work.

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Submissions/May Issue Reveal

We created Ethnosphere as a place to connect people who are alike and unalike, express pieces of the human experience, inspire, and be inspired.

Madeline C. Lanshe

The Way Home

by Kimberlee Medicine Horn Jackson

Relationships require intentionality to be healthy and to become a force that grows; one that is alive. They require our presence so in times of absence, they can hold the connections with soft hands made loose by acts of love, gentleness, and giving without expectation of receiving anything in return except a fleeting smile or a heart intensely warmed by togetherness. Some may call this unconditional love, but I call it that which makes us human. We were born out of the need for human companionship.

But relationships are troubling if they are disrupted by separation, by trauma, or estrangement. This is also part of the human condition. We are frail beings, sometimes fragile under the pressures of a world worn weary, awaiting respite from the cruelties and coldness enforced by others who couldn’t care less.

As an Indigenous woman, I learned about the various methods of Indian removal the government and other entities used to attempt

the eradication of all Native Americans. We were seen as a problem to be rid of because we were in the way of westward movement when the United States was much younger than today. Horrific methods of varied genocidal actions occurred: war, forced marches in brutal conditions, starvation, the Reservation Era, the Native American Boarding Schools Era, adoptions under false pretenses, sterilization of Indigenous women, the Relocation Act of the 1950s and many other methods. American history would rather turn a blind eye to these injustices because of the shame and disgrace that does not abate in the rituals of avoidance of these realities.

I am a product of Indian removal by adoption under false pretenses and my story is not unique. Someone on the reservation had power to decide who should go and who should stay with their family. In my case, I was the middle daughter, only two years old, and was adopted off of the reservation while my younger and older sisters remained there. I still

don’t know all the facts behind this. I was raised by a white Christian family and far from any traditional teaching. Through my journey of reuniting with my family [which took nearly four decades], I have met countless other Indigenous people trying to find their way home. It’s been 17 years since I first reunited with my first family on the Yankton Sioux reservation. It is expensive for me to travel home, and I don’t have the means to return each year.

2021

My mom and I share a healing process each time we are together, but October of 2021, when I visited her in the hospital where she’d been staying due to a case of pneumonia, it was different: more intimate, more treasured, bringing joy to us both. There is beauty from the ashes of destruction called Indian removal. Because we were still in the midst of a pandemic, traveling was quite strange, and I found the low amount of traffic delightful but somewhat eerie. It was the off season, too. October is not known for vacationing roadtrippers. It was still a long drive from northeastern Ohio to southeastern South Dakota . I know it may sound grim, but I wanted to visit while we still know each other, before the time comes when we do not. I helped care for my aging and dying parents who raised me and remember how the decline in health seemed to snowball before their time came. Maybe it’s wisdom now that I am in my late fifties, or more of God’s wisdom in knowing what is best for us now.

I drove with a friend predominantly 80 West. It’s always exciting to cross the Mississippi River to the west. I’d love to say the drive out was superb, but I had a sense of urgency to get to mom in the hospital, so the hours seemed to alternate between dragging out and flying by. The weather was beautiful as we exclaimed over the wind farms and an expansive solar

panel field I did not recall seeing before. There was the false confidence of not feeling tired one minute to exhaustion washing over me after the last and late small meal of the day.

When we arrived at the hospital and I walked into mom’s room, she was asleep, and she looked diminutive in her hospital bed. I didn’t want to rouse her from her sleep. She probably needed the rest in her fight with pneumonia. Instead, I watched her sleep. The treasure of that intimate moment stays with me in the depth of my heart. I was ready to sit down when a nurse, or someone from the dietary department, came in to remove her breakfast tray. Mom awoke then. She was so happy to see me, and we had a joyful reunion! Intermittently, she would strike the left side of her chest and bend over to cough. She said it hurt so bad she wanted to pass out. This happened several times. And yet, they were going to discharge her later in the day.

The dietary aide came in to deliver a meal of Chicken Cordon Bleu, rice, and veggies. She wanted to eat but with her severe arthritis, a fork

and knife were as useless as sticks and bones. Her fingers only had enough strength to allow for one or two bites. She laughed and drank her coffee black.

It was just us two. There were silences as sterile as the shiny, scrubbed private room. We were waiting for her youngest daughter to come. There were questions as to where mom would stay. There were secrets shared over the phone about bedbugs at the tribal housing where she lived and the need for all new clothing and a better place for her to stay. After mom sat up in

the chair, I asked if she’d like her hair brushed and braided.

“Yes, muh girl.”

She was tiny, maybe five feet and maybe ninety pounds dripping wet. Her silver strands escaped the bristles and my hands were unskilled in braiding her hair having only raised a son. But this time alone was so precious and fleeting. It never happens with a family as large as hers, I mean ours. I am one of her fourteen children. My friend arrived and took a picture on her phone of the two of us. Mom was in her hospital bed, swallowed up halfway with blankets, and I squeezed in as close as I could until our heads rested against each other. I have found the way home.

In the few days after, my youngest sister and I settled her in at my sister’s house and talked about keeping her there, close to her doctors, where she could receive better, quicker care if she took a turn for the worse. There were pharmacies to call and prescriptions to manage. We used terms like “durable power of attorney” and discussed the importance of morning weigh-ins. I was in the middle of actively being her oldest living daughter. Soon enough, I had to head back east.

I understand how humans try to make their plans, but the Creator has the final say as to what happens. Long ago, both the government and (collective) church tried to separate us permanently, but the Creator’s plans were better, like a simple October afternoon where she and I ate lunch outside. She watched me, and when I thought she wasn’t paying attention,

I gazed at her and memorized as many details as possible; the bright sunny day, the warm temperature, the full canopy of leaves on the elderly trees in the driveway, how there were only extra-large plastic cups and not mugs for coffee. I made sandwiches for us both and we ate fruit cups. Somehow, call it motherlove, we connected. This time together is a gift.

Going home is always hard, and I braced myself for the reality of not knowing when I’d be able to come back to her.

There are over 1,000 miles between us, and sometimes I cannot get a hold of her by phone, something that frustrates me and seems an injustice. It’s nothing compared to the pain and suffering she endured during the Native

American Boarding School Era, or the decades of separation from her child.

A few days ago, I saw a picture of my mom on a social media platform and she is holding her newest [great] grandson. She looks straight ahead but does not engage with the camera. She is blind in one eye; arthritis can do that to your vision. The last time I talked with her she told me this: “Oh, I stay inside most all the time. Soon, I’ll be completely blind. I can’t walk around outside by myself.”

I long for the time where we can visit again. Perhaps in late May, when I’ll travel out to South Dakota for the archival research I am doing. The Creator will decide when it is time.

The Legend of the Weeping Witch

by Juliana Amir

Summer skies come alive in the evening with blazing sunsets and colors of warmth. But in December, those warming colors of light are found much closer. If following the comfort of gentle heat and the crackling of logs, the colors are found flickering in the hearth. They glow on the tiny wicks of scented candles. Shades of gold dance at the center of a circle of friends as they chat and occasionally stretch their hands to receive its warmth. December is a time of familial holiday gatherings. But more than that, the month possesses an old magic, with long nights leading to the solstice and dustings of snow, which powder streets like crystalized sugar.

December has always captured my imagination, so it was the perfect time to fly across the ocean with my fiancé to Europe. Riquewihr, a commune in Alsace, France—with its cobbled streets that sneak through narrow alleys, stalls with delicacies I hadn’t even thought to wish for, and windows decorated with pine needles and ornamental stars—shimmered with fairytale wonder. Smoke from the roasting chestnuts billowed into our path. My fiancé and I watched our step as we followed our guide through the cobbled pathways.

Our guide was a speed walker, with expertise in slipping through the narrow gaps in a crowd of holiday shoppers. We hustled as she navigated up a hill with both sides lined with shops and more cobbled paths that branched to countless one of a kind places. I didn’t want to miss a word, so we hurried.

From her lips spilled the story of a witch. But this witch, unlike so many others, was celebrated. Her grief, her tears, had almost become sacred given what they had the power to achieve. Personally, as someone often moved to tears for movies, for books, for sorrow and for joy, the tale added a layer of enchantment to Riquewihr as history so often does.

Around five hundred years ago, in Riquewihr, lived a woman. Her name was Marie Wolf, and she was in love. The area had flourished with profits from the vineyard, from wine, and her love, so deep, was like a spell of bliss. But Marie’s happiness would become glass-like, fragile, as the cost of war came in an escalating body count. The dreaded day found Marie. In that body count, her fiancé was an added number. And life was supposed to carry on.

Strolling through the town in December 2023, with a witch painted on a boutique door, happy people from different corners of the world bustled as they selected teas, bright scarves, or mulled wine. It was chilling to visualize a once-flourishing city, which would thrive again, skeletal by the touch of war—but this was the darkness Marie encountered.

She became reclusive. Others in the area surely felt loss too, but in her mourning, Marie’s name became linked with the title “witch.” Not with a candied house in the dark woods. She didn’t have to hunt children, or drench her skin green. She simply withdrew. She seemingly preferred the company of her cat to people. She did not leave home often, but when she did, she wailed. She

moaned. What more could Marie offer her fiancé, now that he was torn from her, than her grief? Her open heartache haunted those who heard it.

Marie transformed. Once a soon-to-be bride, she was reduced like her fiancé who became a number in a death toll. Now she was a strange oddity, a witch marring the town.

I imagined how swiftly her transformation occurred. How one hideous, shattering life event morphed her happy future into something eerie and mockable to her neighbors. I looped my arm through my fiancé’s, keeping him close, and also, December in Riquewihr is chilly. I couldn’t fathom the cold of a dreamt future entirely extinguished.

Yet, another dark day came to Marie’s village. A vulturous group invaded Riquewihr. The intent was to pick clean the people, the homes, the village of any valuables. The windows and doors were barred in defense, and the villagers kept quiet in their homes, hiding. The narrow streets outside were desolate.

Marie did not know of any intruders. So, she set off on her usual haunt. She sobbed. She wailed. Her suffering echoed, disturbing the quiet of Riquewihr. And her tortured sounds reached the invaders. They could not see Marie, and the disembodied sounds worried them. Legend says that they believed a spirit, or witch, had drawn near. In fear that something more frightening than their own presence was close, they abandoned the village. And perhaps Marie’s grief was more. fierce than all of their malice.

As my fiancé and I wandered, we could see how witches were treated symbolically as protection from harm rather than evil. Friendly looking witch dolls and witch ornaments were tucked into different corners around the city with one shop devoting a large portion of its space to witchy keepsakes. Floorboards creaked beneath my boots as I gazed at shelves of witch dolls, so plentiful, they towered above me.

Coming out of the little shop, seeing the streets that still exist after centuries – and even more wars – thriving, was inspiring. Marie’s grief was no different that day the invaders heard her than all the days before, but their retreat lifted her from an oddity to a guardian of the village. After all, her tears and anguish had kept her remaining neighbors safe.

When I think of tears, I think of the little mermaid who wondered what they were. I see how tears are shunned and scoffed even still. Ultimately, tears mark the human experience and the loss most of us cannot live a lifetime without discovering.

Marie did not mourn politely, or with societal concern of how others might feel ill at ease with her emotions, but with such ferocity it scared intruders from her village. She shifted from town gossip to legend. More than this, her enduring love for her fiancé has ensured he is forever remembered alongside her.

Randy Dunn

Randy Dunn

April 8th Solar Eclipse: What to Expect

by Hai Nguyen

On April 8th, North America will experience a solar eclipse. The path of the eclipse will pass through parts of Mexico, entering the United States in Texas, and traveling through Oklahoma, Arkansas, Missouri, Illinois, Kentucky, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine. Small parts of Tennessee and Michigan will also experience the total solar eclipse. The eclipse will enter Canada in Southern Ontario, and continue through Quebec, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, and Cape Breton. The eclipse will exit continental North America on the Atlantic coast of Newfoundland, Canada.

A solar eclipse happens when the Moon passes between the Sun and Earth, casting a shadow over parts of Earth and blocking the face of the Sun for observers in those locations. Totality is the time the Moon completely blocks out the Sun, which will be more than 4 minutes and 22 seconds (at the center line), which is 2 minutes longer than the eclipse my wife Beth and I saw in 2017.

Because of time of day, the whole eclipse will be fairly high in the sky and easy to see. The location of the planets also makes this eclipse even more special. All of our planets will technically be in our field of view; although we might only see Jupiter, Venus, Saturn and Mars, since the other planets will be too dim to see. One more celestial bonus we hope to see is comet 12P/Pons-Brooks. This comet is a Haley-class comet with roughly a 71 year period, and it will be closest to the Sun around April 21st. This means on April 8th, it could be bright enough to see with the naked eye. If so, it would appear just to the west of Jupiter.

Leading up to totality, the temperature will drop and it will get eerily quiet. As the light dims, the clouds will appear more transparent, and the shadows will appear fuzzier. If you look closely at the shadows cast by small openings like leaves, hair, or a kitchen colander, you will see tiny crescent silhouettes on the ground, which give that impression of fuzziness.

It is very important to use solar glasses during the partial eclipse phase if you’re looking at the Sun. It is only safe to look at the Sun with the naked eye during the few minutes of totality. The same applies when observing with binoculars and when photographing the eclipse. To protect your eyes and equipment, you must use solar filters for the partial eclipse phase and should use bare optics only during totality. For those with tripods, the wide-angle view showing the eclipse and the planets (and maybe the comet!) would be a fun challenge. With a full frame equivalent of 24mm or 14mm, you can fit all the planets in a single frame (24mm is close to the iPhone 15’s main camera, and 14mm is close to the ultra-wide camera).

For those of us who don’t want to set up a long lens with tracking mount to photograph the Sun in detail, using a smartphone or a moderately wide-angle camera will still be a whole lot of fun. Smartphone cameras are great for capturing the reactions of those around you, silhouettes cast by the eclipse during totality, self-portraits and “ground effects” of pinhole shadows. A fun thing to do would be to punch out a card or paper plate with your name and date, hold it up, and photograph its shadow. The possibilities are limited only by your imagination! Even if you don’t want to photograph or make holey signs, the effect of seeing day briefly turning into night is a moving experience and I hope we get to witness it.

If you have the means and time to situate yourself within the path of totality on April 8th, my wife and I can say from experience that it is worth it. I’ll let her talk about it in her own words.

And We All Looked Up

by Beth Nguyen

When you were younger, do you remember your teacher in school helping you put a hole through the side of a shoe box and then helping you to use it to see the effects of an eclipse? I do! Yet that experience didn’t even come close to making a serious impression on my memory; I had to wait another 40+ years to see it again and really enjoy its awesomeness as an adult. The idea that the Sun’s rays could be so completely blocked from view by the Moon fell on relatively deaf ears back in the ‘70s. In maturing over the decades, and listening to the constant patter of my “NASA geek” husband, the “otherworldliness” of the 2017 eclipse did indeed impress me, and I can’t contain how excited I am to experience another Total Solar Eclipse again so soon!

It’s like the first time you go to Alaska and see the tippy top of Denali in all its glory. Later you discover that it’s only visible like that about 20% of the time. That’s only about 75 days a year! And I saw it! Not only did I feel lucky, I felt special, to be there at the foot of North America’s tallest peak. Repeated visits to our largest state have left me sad when Denali hid its impressive head behind the clouds. Total Solar Eclipses are similar in their infrequent sightings. In my lifetime, there have only been four Total Solar Eclipses in the good ole US of A, counting the one that passed through Hawaii in 1991. There have been more Annular Eclipses and Partial eclipses, but very few Total eclipses. The Total Solar Eclipse that I experienced in school was probably the 1970 eclipse whose path crossed our eastern coastline close to where I lived. And, given my location at the time, I believe we were not directly within the totality band, perhaps off to the side with very little time to admire the Sun without using our newly hatched shoe boxes.

Going into the 2017 eclipse I honestly didn’t know what to expect. I knew this small town in northeastern Oregon was right in the path with just over 2 minutes of totality. I knew there was a group of like-minded Class B RVers who had secured a field far from big city lights. There we gathered for 3 days with our ISO-approved solar eclipse glasses at the ready. We got to know each other, enjoyed talks given by knowledgeable people, and were educated on this “space phenomena.” As my husband talked about Azimuths (compass headings) and the Zenith (highest point in the sky looking straight up) and degrees of Altitude (degrees off the horizon), I noticed deep space observers readying their telescopes; I noticed children testing out their solar glasses; I even noticed a gradual darkening of the sky off to the west. I learned later that with a drone you can watch that dark shadow of night traversing the Earth’s surface until it reaches you and you, too, are in darkness.

In Oregon, as I looked up at the Sun (with my solar glasses) I saw the Moon slowly moving toward it, touching it, then obscuring part of it. It looked like familiar artwork from the southwest US. You know the kind, a colorful half Sun with a smiling human face and beautiful Sun rays coming out just one half of the circle.

If you have never seen it, watching the Moon march along the visible surface of the Sun is awe inspiring! As the Moon takes its place in front of the Sun, you’ll see the famous Diamond Ring flare just before the Sun completely disappears from view. Now is the moment when you can take off your solar glasses and look directly at the eclipse. While photographers were adjusting cameras and removing filters, I used my regular binoculars to take it all in. For minutes I just stood there, absorbing the

situation: day had become night, people around me were respectfully quiet, the birds went silent, even a whisper seemed loud, and the Moon was just beautiful! I didn’t use a colander to cast speckled Suns on the ground. I didn’t punch out the name of our van on cardboard and take a picture of the “ground shadow effect.” I didn’t do any of those fancy, artsy things to commemorate the occasion. I just stood there enjoying the moment. The 2 minute totality that day in Oregon was too short! In an instant, we were quickly donning our solar glasses once again to watch as the Moon continued its path, revealing more and more of the Sun, with each moment dawning with more and more light. Then, in that final instant, with a sigh, the Moon moved out of its alignment with the Sun and it was day once more.

While we were all high from the experience, there was also a sense of calm when it was all over. This calm comes to me even today as I think back on it. When I look at Diamond Ring pictures from my husband’s camera, when I watch a time-lapse video of the dark shadow’s movement across the dirt where our van was parked, when I see composite photos showing the slow progression and then the equally slow regression up in the sky, I am still amazed and thankful that I was there when it happened. It was not just lucky but also special; I’d finally seen an eclipse, one that is now indelibly carved into my memory. I am so looking forward to 2024’s eclipse, which I will be viewing from Cleveland, Ohio. And I’m doing my anti-rain dance hoping for clear blue skies — that is, until night falls at 3:15pm.

While we were all high from the experience, there was also a sense of calm when it was all over. This calm comes to me even today as I think back on it. When I look at Diamond Ring pictures from my husband’s camera, when I watch a time-lapse video of the dark shadow’s movement across the dirt where our van was parked, when I see composite photos showing the slow progression and then the equally slow regression up in the sky, I am still amazed and thankful that I was there when it happened. It was not just lucky but also special; I’d finally seen an eclipse, one that is now indelibly carved into my memory. I am so looking forward to 2024’s eclipse, which I will be viewing from Cleveland, Ohio. And I’m doing my anti-rain dance hoping for clear blue skies — that is, until night falls at 3:15pm.

“While we were all high from the experience, there was also a sense of calm when it was all over.”

“Then, in that final instant, with a sigh, the Moon moved out of its alignment with the Sun and it was day once more.”

While we were all high from the experience, there was also a sense of calm when it was all over. This calm comes to me even today as I think back on it. When I look at Diamond Ring pictures from my husband’s camera, when I watch a time-lapse video of the dark shadow’s movement across the dirt where our van was parked, when I see composite photos showing the slow progression and then the equally slow regression up in the sky, I am still amazed and thankful that I was there when it happened. It was not just lucky but also special; I’d finally seen an eclipse, one that is now indelibly carved into my memory. I am so looking forward to 2024’s eclipse, which I will be viewing from Cleveland, Ohio. And I’m doing my anti-rain dance hoping for clear blue skies — that is, until night falls at 3:15pm.

Nick Hoeller

Nick Hoeller

Why the Joy?

by Mike Neundorfer

Over Thanksgiving, Marcia and I traveled from Cleveland to Boston to see our son, daughter-in-law and two grandchildren. As usual, we drove our Sprinter motorhome and allowed three days to get there. Our son has said: “Wouldn’t it be great if someone invented a way to get from Cleveland to Boston in an hour and a half?” We respond that flying is not fun for us and we would rather take the time to wander and explore new parts of our huge country.

This trip was especially good, but I’m not sure why. Maybe by writing about the experience, I can come up with the elements that brought us such joy. My purpose is not to give you a travel log, but to write enough detail to help identify the formula for the enjoyment we experienced.

In planning our route, we considered traveling across northern Pennsylvania, hiking along

the way. We also thought about hiking in the Catskill mountains. When we shared those possibilities with our son, he suggested we travel through northwestern Massachusetts. He had attended a party in N. Adams the summer before and they had included a visit to Mass MOCA (Museum of Contemporary Art), which he thought was amazing.

We set out Sunday morning from Cleveland and had lunch in Rochester, New York with new friends we met on last summer’s Erie Canalway Trail, biking from Buffalo to Albany. After a fun lunch, we continued across New York state, sleeping the night at a rest stop and continuing through Albany and then Troy to Williamstown, Massachusetts, home of Williams College.

Our first stop was a coffee shop in the town of Williamstown. We had a cappuccino and

enjoyed the college vibe in the coffee shop where students and professors were studying and sipping. The fall colors, now somber, were lovely, and the architecture of the college and surrounding town was spectacular.

After our coffee, we drove east and soon were in N. Adams, an old mill town that is working to revitalize itself. The Appalachian Trail crosses the main road, so we hiked a couple of miles on the trail. It was cold and windy. We saw old homes and churches, most needing paint and repairs. We crossed railroad tracks and went over a bridge back into town. Shortly, we noticed a sign saying, “Tourists” in front of a nondescript low motel, but the parking lot was full. Suddenly, we realized this was the motel our son had told us about, where they held the party last summer. We went in and discovered a warm, rustic reception room centered around a large fireplace. We had another cappuccino. The original motel, with the 50’s sign “Tourists” had been purchased by four partners, one who was a member in the band Wilco, which started in N. Adams. We hiked their short trails, viewed their many outdoor sculptures and then walked into town, past old people walking dogs and more old buildings along the mill river.

A few blocks away, we found the old mill complex at the intersection of two mill streams that houses Mass MOCA. The massive wood and steel buildings, now connected, were as fascinating as the huge contemporary art exhibits. Groups of loud, curious school children were busy doing art projects.

Back in the motorhome, we drove east out of N. Adams, climbing into the Berkshire mountains. We pulled off at a state park that was closed and asked a park maintenance man where we could hike. In the cold afternoon, with the sun waning, we started down a trail along a rushing

river, then turned away from the river on an intersecting trail and followed a third trail along another river. When we decided to turn back, instead of retracing our steps, we ended up bushwhacking through the underbrush over a rocky hill until we found a trail I was pretty sure was there. Marcia never said a word, but she later told me that although she always trusts my sense of direction, she saw our escape route down the hill and across a creek to the road. We found the trail I was anticipating, got back to the motorhome and continued driving down the mountain road.

When we got out of the mountains, it was getting dark. We stopped at a country bakery for a cookie and just as we were wondering where we would “camp” for the night, we came across a Walmart sign. We pulled in, I asked permission to stay in the parking lot, and we slept for 10 hours. The outside temperature got down to 18 degrees but we stayed toasty.

Next stop was Concord and Walden Pond. We started at the museum, watched their video and then hiked the 1.7 mile trail that surrounds the “kettlehole” where Henry David Thoreau spent two years (1845 - 1847) exploring nature and writing. At the end, we walked through a replica of his small cabin. This stop left us feeling peaceful and inspired.

After Walden, we drove a couple of miles into Concord. After cappuccinos in an old coffee shop in the center of old Concord and a stop at the information center, we walked to the North Bridge, the site of the first battle of the Revolutionary War (1775, “shot heard ‘round the world”). Here, several local militias turned the British army back toward Boston. In town, we visited the Concord Museum, which has an excellent interactive map showing the movement of the British troops toward

Concord and the massing of the militias from the surrounding area.

After Concord, we headed to Boston to celebrate Thanksgiving. It was a joyous time, feeling warmly welcomed by our son, daughterin-law and two grandkids, plus our daughter-inlaw’s parents. Marcia’s cousin and her husband from Rhode Island joined us for a Thanksgiving leftovers lunch. We got in a turkey trot, lots of cooking and eating, and even a Jazz concert by our daughter-in-law’s father’s band.

So why was this six day trip so enriching?

Part of it was the density and diversity of our experience, while keeping a sensible pace. We connected with friends and family; hiked new trails; saw interesting art in a fascinating museum; felt the spirituality of Walden

and Henry David Thoreau; and relived an inspiring chapter of American history. For me, our motorhome wanderings are always enriching combinations of freedom and adventure, but this one seemed more intensely joyful and satisfying.

For the trip home, our son recommended we listen to the book, “Die with Zero: Getting All You Can from Your Money and Your Life” by Bill Perkins. It was the perfect book to end our trip and helped me think about the joy of travel and life. The book says that life is the sum of our experiences. The memories created from the experiences gain value over time. The author suggests we should place more importance on creating experiences while we have the time, resources and health to make them possible. I felt that in what we did on this trip.

Juliana Amir is a graduate of the NEOMFA. She enjoys the stars and imagining all the stories unfurling beneath them. She teaches classes on writing, fairy tales, and myth. Her work has been published in places such as The Fairy Tale Magazine, Grimoire, and Fantasia Divinity. Her favorite breakfast is ice cream.

Enzo Chaudet is a stuntman from Le Mans, France, with a passion for sports, competing, and finding four leaf clovers. Enzo is constantly on the move, honing his skills in parkour, as well as a plethora of other sports. He currently works in a show of professional stunt performers at a castle in the South of France. He has dreams of starring in a large film, both as a stuntman and an actor. To see some of his flipping, tricking, and creative expression, visit his Instagram and Tiktok.

Instagram: @enzo4pk

Tiktok: @enzo4pk

Randy Dunn is a native of Chagrin Falls, Ohio. He graduated from Bradley University with a degree in Construction and continued to work his entire career in the construction industry. Randy is a member of the North American Nature Photography Association, and in 2021, he joined the NANPA Foundation Board of Trustees. Locally, Randy is a member of the Cuyahoga Valley Photo Society and in 2023 he joined their Steering Committee.

DunnByRandall.com

Nick Hoeller is a photographer based in Cleveland, Ohio with a wealth of experience in the industry. His passion for photography began in college. After graduating, he landed an internship at a prominent commercial studio, Kalman & Pabst. Over the years, he has worked with various clients, including KeyBank, Airbnb, Cleveland Magazine, and more. When he’s not behind the camera, he enjoys exploring Cleveland’s vibrant scene. He’s also an avid traveler and loves capturing the beauty of landscapes all around the country.

www.hoellerphotography.com

Kimberlee Medicine Horn Jackson, Yankton Sioux, MFA, MA received her MFA from Ashland University. She writes poetry and creative non-fiction essays about contemporary Indigenous concerns. Medicine Horn Jackson is currently authoring a dissertation about a prominent Yankton Dakota family and what we can learn from their four decades of lived experiences rising above the effects of colonization. She resides in the pastoral expanse of Geauga County, Ohio. She teaches writing and research.

Madeline Lanshe is a writer from Green, Ohio, with a passion for traveling, rock climbing, and getting lost in the night sky. She taught English for two years in Le Mans, France, which now feels like her second home. She works at Advanced RV as editor-inchief of Ethnosphere. Besides dreams of becoming a published fiction author, Madeline is a volleyball addict. She believes life is about collecting moments of magic wherever you go and immersing yourself in the things that light your heart on fire.

Mike Neundorfer is the president of Advanced RV in Willoughby. He supplies ideas and motivation, enabling his team members to take ownership of their roles. Mike and his wife, Marcia, toured the US and Canada in four different class B motorhomes, inspiring the creation of ARV in 2012. The Ethnosphere magazine is a passion project of his, stemming from his desire to share incredible stories, inside and outside the ARV community, in a classy, exciting way.

Beth & Hai Nguyen retired from NASA and are still based out of Houston, Texas. They have been traveling the Class B life for 8 years. In their spare time, they dabble in taking photos (astro and otherwise) and studying Spanish.

Submissions

Who can submit? Anyone! If you have access to our magazine, we’d love to hear from you.

What should I submit? Anything creative and relevant that can be shared in digital form! Photography, illustrations, poetry, short stories, personal stories, art, etc.

Why do you accept submissions? This magazine is a space for people to share their stories and passions in hopes it will connect us with others in a positive, uplifting way. “The ethnosphere is humanity’s great legacy. It is the product of our dreams, the embodiment of our hopes, the symbol of all that we are and all that we have created as a wildly inquisitive and astonishingly adaptive species.” - Wade

Davis

When can I submit? In each issue, we will reveal the theme for the coming issue. If you’d like your proposal to be considered for the coming issue, submit as soon as you can to give us time to review it with our team, communicate with you, edit, and fit it into the greater picture of the magazine. Otherwise, submit anything at any time. It may fit in a future issue or even inspire the theme for one!

How do I submit? Go to the submissions page of ethnospheremagazine.com and fill out the form. If possible, attach any images, PDFs or other files to be reviewed, and the editor will be in touch with you. If you have a story that you think would make for a great article, but you don’t have the narrative prowess to write it, don’t worry! There is an opportunity for a conversation with the editor so that she, or someone on the editorial staff, could write the story with you.

If your submission is not accepted, don’t get discouraged. There is always a chance in the future. In the meantime, we hope you enjoy all that the magazine has to offer. Even if you are not featured within it, your experiences, dreams, and creations are equally part of the Ethnosphere.

Enzo Chaudet