SOLITUDE Near Franklinton, Northeast Louisiana, USA
January 2024
Photographs, Reflection by Avery Ches
SEEK SOLITUDE
In lieu of a remote mountain village, I took Beaubs (my cat) and myself out to northeast Louisiana for three nights. We stayed at a perfect tiny house on a rural homestead property in the woods near Franklinton, Louisiana. This place, in almost every way, reminded me of the small, rural towns of Kentucky where I grew up - embedded with a sense of tragic forgottenness, embraced by the subtle vibrancy of solitude.
My highest objective for this period of solitude: get off my phone. I hoped this would allow space for my ideas and thoughts to expand and re-organize, like they would when I was a kid staring at clouds on the trampoline for hours. I sought to rest, deeply, and remind myself that seeking solitude (and nature) are worthy pursuits - ones which do not mean I am a social outcast nor strangely obsessed with hermitting, but which may in fact be very necessary for my own and others’ happiness.
Big ole babies Blue and Valentino kept vigil over the chicken barn and gave me the most heartfelt nostalgia for my Saint Bernard dog growing up, Lulu.
Going out to the woods was not a small decision. Traveling at the moment, even in a small capacity, pushes on certain pressure points which are precariously toeing the edge of collapse (mostly financial, some energetic).
However, I needed to discover whether a self-imposed, small period of isolation was manageable, if it could in some ways mirror my sojourn out to the mountains for five months last winter in Italy, and if I could find some breathing space for my mental health which has declined since moving back to America pretty seriously.
Though the circumstances were almost entirely different, I did find that even a short three days in the woods of Louisiana felt, if not exactly the same, close enough mentally to the solitude I was seeking. Was it the intention going into this “retreat” which made the difference? Was it due to just a few days of phone-sobering? Or something else?
A fascinating thing happens when I’m faced to face with the solitude of nature, especially in the woods: I feel home, or very close to it. Regardless of the place exactly, to a point - the sense of belonging and safety is palpable and real.
I love considering how diverse we are as human beings: that some of us love these quiet, remote places, while others actively fear, hate or avoid them - preferring instead the beautiful chaos and energy of a city, or being surrounded mostly by other people, strangers or loved ones alike.
The second day I absconded from my isolation for a coffee and look around Folsom - a very cute town about 30 minutes from the tiny house. Folsom seems to be having a revival thanks to a family with a vision who run the local hang, Giddy Up cafe. It looks like they’re bringing in events, farmers’ markets, open mics and galleries - all with a stable, horse-centric aesthetic which suits the area perfectly.
The first library of Folsom, in this idyllic one room house, now serves as a library museum. I found, to my delight, an old and perfect copy of Heidi, as well as a true New Orleanian with classic tales of the region, who now runs the museum.
Could I live in a tiny house almost two hours away from New Orleans, the closest large city? Probably. It seems inevitable that periods of isolation in nature, long or short, will surface in my future. Loneliness and peace are drawn on two sides of the card in these moments. I’m curious to continue exploring where and how the two can meet amiably.
I used my “Solitude” lightroom preset for the color photos in this journal. I designed this preset for slightly underexposed, faded winter sun landscapes. This preset is perfect for bringing forward the subdued browns and oranges of dormant forests and quiet scenes of winter. You can purchase this lightroom preset below.