Mount Moriah Cemetery in the southwest corner of Philadelphia’s outskirts.
I had heard about the place being in a state of decay (though it is slowly being unearthed and restored), but it was still fascinating to see tombstones arising out of massive patches of Japanese Knotweed, Ailanthus, Mugwort, Princess Trees, you name it – it feels like every weed in Philly has carved out a place here, though the Trees-of-Heaven might be winning.
Weather having its way with larger structures.
There seem to be many acres that haven’t been touched in a while – and while they’re filled with graves, only the tallest are visible without clearing the jungle.
Approaching this particular clearing in the dense Ailanthus, I found myself asking, “are we still in Philly?”
Philadelphia’s annual Cherry Blossom Festival in Fairmount Park.
It’s been a cold one.
I’ve likely mentioned it before, but this is my favorite alley in Philly. I recently saw some construction happening on the south end though, which is a little disconcerting — the wilderness feel of the block might evaporate one day.
For some reason, this felt akin to “FREE CANDY” on the side of a 70s van with no windows?
Whenever I pass this old bar in Olde Kensington, I feel like it would be the perfect location to fight out the zombie apocalypse. Excessive bars over the tiny windows on the ground floor, and plywood over the second floor windows — it looks like it’s already survived one war at some point.
Back in the fall, Jenn and I heard some music in the distance when we were exploring an old barge near the edge of Bartram’s Gardens in Southwest Philadelphia. What at first I was guessing to be a traditional Indian wedding celebration (from hearing music echoing through the meadow) ended up being the Wat Khmer Palelai & Buddhist Monastery.
I’m game for anything fried, and these plantains were fantastic, and super inexpensive.
The national flag of Cambodia, showing Angkor Wat.
If you hadn’t heard, I’m excited to introduce a new little man named Pike.
Melrose, Scottish Borders, United Kingdom.
Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh, Scotland.
Near a tiny village called Byrness in England near the border with Scotland. My parents lived in this village briefly in the 1970s, and it was fascinating to revisit. Little to no change in forty-plus years.