Wander With Me: Jonathan Stalls

Stories of place, memory and wilderness

Jun 15, 2025

Before we continue with today’s post I wanted to let you know - I have started a whole new Substack! Care Connection will be a place to celebrate the often unseen, often overlooked work of carers - to celebrate the commitment, the connection, and the joys of caring, as well as acknowledging the challenges. I’m looking for contributors, and planning on just one post a month, perhaps a few more while I’m starting out, but you won’t be inundated! If you like these interviews, I hope you will like Care Connection too.

Come and subscribe here - it would mean the world.

Welcome to our collaboration feature here at Wild Quiet Folk!

Substack is an endless source of inspiration, a cacophony of unique voices that can lead a reader through the weird, wonderful and wild.

Here, I have collaborated with other creatives to bring you their meditations on place, story and wilderness - the heart of Wild Quiet Folk. This series is in an interview format, but offering creative prompts rather than questions - the freedom is with the contributor, to respond in whichever way they see fit, be that words, photos, drawings, anything that enlarges rather than restricts.

Our contributor this month is Jonathon Stalls, who is a walking artist with so So much to say and share. Please do take a look at his wonderful book and his incredible pen art - all linked at the end.

Thank you for being here, and I very much hope you enjoy the below:

The last walk you went on

A month ago, I left the front door of my new home in Poncha Springs, Colorado and walked on rural (mostly dirt) roads for 11-miles. I was joined by two good friends and their playful dogs. Our destination was a forest service campground that intersects the Colorado Trail at the base of Mount Shavano. Just before arriving, a young bull moose stood and watched us as we walked by. The sound and presence of the North Fork of the Arkansas River moving next to our steps calmed the many heavy things I carry in my body and heart - a hurting world, endangered ecosystems, endless injustices under oppressive beliefs and systems. I depend on rivers, trees, and movement to help me process. It is literal medicine. It helps me release unhelpful stories and create – through art, writing, and organizing - a more inclusive, loving, and connected world.

We arrived at the campground at midday and had all afternoon/evening to take things easy. We were the only ones there other than the host who had arrived two days previous. The campground wasn’t open yet, but since we walked in, we were welcomed. The rushing water from all the late spring snowmelt filled the air. We woke up the next morning and walked for two more days on the Colorado Trail to the outskirts of Buena Vista. We slowly moved up, down, and around the eastern slopes of Mount Shavano, Mount White, Mount Antero and Mount Princeton. Tall aspen fields. Wide, expansive views. Arms open feeling the rush of wind. We threw off our backpacks to cool our feet in bubbling streams while heating up instant coffee. Three days. 50-miles. Endless wisdom. The trees really do speak. In sight, smell, and breath. Through hairs and pores. Oh how I adore the gifts of unhurried movement – listening, opening, healing, letting go, and dreaming.

You can find further details of this journey here.

A celebration of season

Since I was a kid, sketchbooks, drawing pads, and journals piled up in the corners of rooms and tables. Each of them rough around the edges from getting tossed around in backpacks. Most of my education is in fine art. After my 242-day walk across the U.S. in 2010, I moved most of my creative energy into hosting walking events, creating walking routes, and curating environmental and mobility justice campaigns. In 2020, I started slowly returning to fine art through pen drawing. I protected time to draw again. A few hours per week eventually turned into a few days. I started selling, bartering, and gifting art at markets. I started inviting commission projects for tattoos and books. Two months ago, I joined a local art collective in my new hometown. Making and sharing art is only bringing me more and more joy.

The things in your pockets

Four small stones from today’s walk. One that has numerous layers of green sediment. One that’s mostly clear with orange veins. Two that are dark red and shaped like hearts. I also have my small wallet made my a friend and a pen.

A place that feels wild to you

I immediately think of a drawing I did soon after walking the Oregon Coast Trail. Commanding waves crashing into large rock islands. Pelicans and seals taking naps in storms. Marine layer mist quickly consuming my path. The coolness. Soaring eagles. Edges of land and water.

A moment of care

A couple days ago, my partner, Ben, patiently sat on our couch with me and listened. For over an hour I ranted, grumbled, vented, and grieved. His calm presence and witnessing of my chaotic processing can leave me feeling vulnerable and humbled. I talk in circles. I grunt and groan. I say judgmental and mean things. It feels like emotional drooling. No solving or fixing. Just listening. While I know it is only the tip of the iceberg, I always feel seen and cared for.

A place that holds history, yours or others

This mother spruce. I think of her often. I spent nearly two weeks drawing her. She grows just south of Port Orford, Oregon and is easily three hundred (or more) years old. Nearby, there is a memorial park made in honor of a white, settler family (Geisel Monument State Heritage Site) in what’s described as a “Rogue Indian War Skirmish”. In the park lies a small graveyard for members of the Geisel family with “massacred by the Indians” engraved on one of the stones. Throughout the heritage site, there is no mention of the harm faced by indigenous families. This mother spruce knows. Real history. Rogue Indian Wars in 1885-1886 resulting in waves of bloodshed and displacement for indigenous families. She invites us to face and be a part of repairing systemic harm. She also invites us to heal. Letting go of old stories and branches. Growing and reaching in new directions.

A story you found in the land

There is a practice in my book, WALK, called “Nature Sees Me”. On today’s walk I tried to feel the tall ponderosa pine trees witnessing my steps. I tried to feel the blazing orange and red castilleja (prairie-fire or paintbrush) affirming my unrest. I stopped and the antelope stopped. We paused and watched one another. I slowly continued forward and it bounded further. I started walking back and it watched me until I couldn’t be seen.

The last thing you read and loved

Undrowned: Black Feminist Lessons from Marine Mammals by Alexis Pauline Gumbs.

A small thing you learnt recently

That the wildly beautiful Cecropia moth is the largest moth in the United States and only lives as an adult for up to two weeks.

Jonathon Stalls (he, his) is a multi-disciplinary "Walking Artist" with Intrinsic Paths. In 2010, he walked for 242 days across the U.S. and has continued to move alongside a wide variety of people and landscapes ever since. His creative work involves ink drawing, creative writing, the Pedestrian Dignity project, walk leader training with Walk2Connect (a program of America Walks), facilitating mindfulness practices, and more. He is the author of WALK - Slow Down, Wake Up & Connect at 1-3 Miles Per Hour (North Atlantic Books). He resides in Poncha Springs, CO with his husband, Ben.

Website & Ink Art Shop: www.IntrinsicPaths.com - WALK Book: UK (Bookshop, Blackwells, other) U.S. (Bookshop, North Atlantic Books) – also e-book and audiobook – check your local shops! - Patreon + Email List: www.Patreon.com/IntrinsicPaths - Pedestrian Dignity Substack: https://pedestriandignity.substack.com/