MeghanIsMe

It's a happy coincidence that Facebook reminded me of this post while Danae is out of town and I'm missing her.

It also reminds me of how much I can enjoy photography, wandering, and exploration and that I'd like to do some more of it one of these days.

During one of our earlier visits to Hamilton, Ontario, Miriam Boon took me on several wandering drives to show me the town. On one of them, up on the mountain (the upper 'half' of the town, sitting atop the Niagara Escarpment), we found several vantage points that afforded views of all of lower Hamilton and the steel plants. Exploring further, we bumped into an abandoned healthcare facility of some kind. She parked and we meandered around the grounds, talking and pointing out interesting details as I photographed.

These peripatetic drives to nowhere in particular are some of my favorite memories of our travels together. In December, we went on another drive up the mountain. This time, we found ourselves in Sam Lawrence Park, a linear green space that follows the edge of the escarpment near the Jolley Cut, a road cut into the cliff face. We parked and gave up the warmth of her car in favor of the chill mountain wind, tempted by signs and monuments scattered about the walking paths.

When I encounter a new space and spend a little time getting to know it, I revel in the sense of unfolding mystery. Whether it's an illicit tromp through an abandoned building or a simple stroll through a city park, not knowing what there is to find and see makes almost anything I happen upon a revelation. Most times, that thrill is a solitary one. As a photographer, the course and speed of my passage through a space is often constrained by the process of image-making; accompanying me on a photo trip can be an exercise in patience. I don't mind the solitude; I can connect with a space on its own terms and mine, spending as much or as little time as I please.

But I feel a different, equally special, thrill when I'm experiencing a new place in the company of another adventurer. Miriam let me share my excitement with her, contributing her own as well as I bounced from overlook to interpretive sign to the top of a stone wall. Places and cities are meaningful to me; I find things to admire and appreciate in each one I visit. Miriam knew this, and she shared a city, hers and her parents' city, with me. That sharing is an act of love. In a recursive way, that love is another part of what makes Hamilton special to me. And Miriam's understanding of my desire to experience, and the way she demonstrates her care and affection in facilitating those experiences, is one part, among so many parts, of what makes her very special to me.

These are some of the most memorable moments of my visits to Canada with my beloved Miriam. In these times, she gives me two things that are very important to me. First, her company and her own stories, experiences, and conjectures about Hamilton let me build a relationship to place that is both experiential and personal, adding to the historical and physical perspectives I can gain from reading about a city or exploring it with maps. Second, she gives me joyous time spent doing something personally meaningful to me with someone I love deeply. She takes joy in indulging my enthusiasms and seeing my excitement at the experiences she makes possible. When I think about standing at the top of the escarpment next to Miriam, the two of us looking far out over the city below, pressed together against the cold and calling each other's attention to buildings or landmarks, I feel overjoyed that she is in my life. I feel loved.