Location: Toketee Falls, Oregon | Captured Spring 2025

Camera: Nikon D7500 | Lens: AF-S DX Nikkor 55-300mm f/4.5-5.6G ED VR

Photo:

A moss-covered staircase winds upward through the shadows of the forest. Roots and rocks surround the stone path like quiet witnesses, while soft light filters in from above marking the way forward.

Journal Entry:

These were the first steps I’ve taken back into the wild since I was hurt. Since that fall on the icy trail at Clear Lake. My youngest strapped to my back, my oldest watching as I held myself together so he wouldn’t have to worry. That day changed me. Not just physically, but in the way I carry my presence on the trail.

Coming to Toketee Falls wasn’t just another hike. It was a kind of return. A climb—not just up the path, but back to myself.

There’s something symbolic about stairs carved into the earth like this. They don’t ask you to sprint. They just ask for one step at a time. And that’s what I’ve been learning to do again. Not just in hiking, but in how I move through life: slowly, deliberately, with more grace than before.

Legacy, I think, is built in the moments no one sees, the quiet returns, the internal battles, the steady breath between each step upward. This photo holds that weight. That quiet perseverance. That reminder that healing isn’t always loud—it’s often rooted in moss and shadow, and it grows in the silence of trying again.

I hope someday my sons see this and understand: their father didn’t just teach them how to move forward, but how to rise, even after falling.