Four weeks ago, I went for a hike. It was my first in nearly three years, after a few very bad episodes of mental illness on several different trails during the 2022 season rattled me so badly that I stopped hiking—a thing I love to do—altogether.
I hiked Angel’s Rest. I chose this trail because I’m familiar with it, it’s not strenuous or long, there’s no exposure, it’s close to home, and I know I have service the entire way (having service was important to me for this first hike back; in case mental illness things started happening, I could easily text/call someone).
I went early on a weekday, pulling into the parking lot just as the sun began to rise. This is the ideal arrival time for me. I’m an early morning person and I prefer to hike alone alone—to go by myself and to be by myself.
Shortly after I arrived, my brain began to bully me and after several minutes I actually drove away. I U-turned right before hitting the interstate on-ramp, headed back to the trailhead parking lot, re-parked my car, and spent the next 45 minutes negotiating with my brain. Once I got my shit together, I texted details about my hike to a friend, double-checked that I was sharing my location with her, and then I started.
This was my third time hiking this trail and my second-favorite experience of it. The first time I hiked it, in late May 2022, it was frigid and barren. I hiked it again two months later, in late July 2022, and it was gorgeous. Breathtaking, even. Everything was in full bloom and it was much more colorful and lush. This time around, it was in between—plenty of greenery, not much other color and not many blooms yet, hence the lack of photos.
Shortly before the false summit, there’s a large boulder the size of a small boulder on the edge of a bend in the trail. It’s my favorite part of the hike. Each time I’ve hiked this trail, I’ve gotten photos of me atop it. I love repetition in memorykeeping; it’s fun to have multiple iterations of the (essentially) same composition and subject.
I’m glad I chose this trail for my first return-from-mental-illness hike. Aside from the first few minutes in the parking lot, my brain behaved and I had a really good time. All of the reasons I picked it—I’m familiar with it, it’s not strenuous or long, there’s no exposure, it’s close to home, and I know I have service the entire way—are what made it a success.
Having a good experience gave me the confidence to try another hike the following week and now, four weeks later, I’ve hiked four more trails—one a week for the last four weeks—and have survived each both physically and mentally unscathed: I haven’t been serial-killed or attacked by wildlife or—and this is the real accomplishment—yeeted myself off a cliff.
I plan to continue hiking once a week for the next three weeks. After that, my high-schooler will be back in school and the rhythm of our days will change. I don’t yet know how hiking will fit into them. I’d like to keep hiking through mid-October. If these two summer months end up being it for my 2025 season, that’s okay. I logged many more miles on the trail this summer than I expected to and I’m so grateful that I did. I’ve missed hiking so badly and I’m beyond happy to be back. I feel more like myself when I’m out there.
Post-hike, I picked up a mini pizza from a pizza place that I loved as a kid (and still love as an adult) and set up shop with it and a library book under the tree out front, where I spent the entire rest of my afternoon and evening. A dream. I love being outside (during nice weather).
After I got home and before I set up outside, I filled in the entry for this hike in my Letterfolk Hike Passport, while the details I wanted to include were still fresh. In keeping with the format I’ve followed for this project so far, I’ll eventually have a photo from the hike professionally printed and staple it to that dot-grid page (the Instax photos will be clipped to inside of the back cover).
The yellow flower-shaped clip is from a pack of Midori P-51 clips, which I’m almost certain I bought at Cargo but may have picked up at Oblation (two local stores I love). You can find these clips in various shapes in a number of online stationery shops.
Several years after buying them and then promptly and steadfastly refusing to write in them lest I mess up and ruin them, I’m officially caught up with my Letterfolk Hike Passports. The bad news is, I did indeed mess up the first four entries/spreads in one booklet. The good news is, it didn’t actually ruin anything. I just paper-clipped those pages together and moved on.
The other bad news is, Letterfolk seems to have discontinued their entire Passport product line, which is a major bummer. Memorykeeping can be overwhelming. Because these little booklets were formulaic, simple, and affordable, they were a very accessible way to begin or restart a memorykeeping practice. I’m sad to see them go. (At the time of posting this, there are still a few varieties in stock, for 40% off.) (Maybe the product line is undergoing a redesign and relaunch, not being discontinued???)
Why share how I use this thing when it’s no longer available? I think it’s inspiring to see different approaches to memorykeeping, even when the exact materials are sold out or discontinued. Also, this approach to memorykeeping can be replicated or adapted using a Moleskine Cahier Pocket Journal or Field Notes notebook. Having a look inside my Hike Passports might help you figure out how you want to approach your own DIY version.
I’ve never used a Field Notes notebook, so I can’t attest to their quality. I have used Moleskine Cahiers and I mostly like them. My one complaint is the paper is pretty thin so you need to be careful with what writing utensil you use. Both the Moleskine Cahier Pocket Journals and the Field Notes notebooks measure the same as the Letterfolk Passports (3.5″ x 5.5″); have multiple cover options; offer plain, ruled, graph, and dot-grid paper options; and are priced at $12.95 for a set of three.
Each Hike Passport has room to document 20 hikes. There are also some extra pages in back to put a gear wish list, hike bucket list, and some other stuff.
Each of the 20 documenting spreads has a templated page on the left and a dot-grid page on the right. The templated page on the left has space to document details like the date, trail, location, distance, who you hiked with, the gear you brought, the weather you encountered, types of terrain, snacks you ate, how busy the trail was, how difficult the trail was, how long it took you to complete, etc. On the right, a dot-grid page for you to put whatever you want; I chose to include a photo from each hike. Other, more fun options of things to put here: a park or parking pass, a piece of trail map, a wrapper from a snack or the tag from one piece of gear or another that you bought for the hike, or a leaf or flower from the trail (if that’s legal where you are).
If you DIY your own version of a Letterfolk Passport, you could create a template for whatever theme you choose to document (hikes, date nights, wine tasting, movies, recipes, etc.), print out however many copies you need to fill your notebook, and adhere each template to whichever side of the page you want. Or you could just write whatever you want to remember about each entry on whichever side of the page you want. On the facing page, you could include a photo, sketch a scene from your adventure, journal about whatever you did, or preserve a piece or small collection of ephemera (a movie ticket stub, a coaster, a piece of a menu, a receipt, a photo booth photo strip, etc.).
Here’s a look at a few of my completed (“completed”) pages. I don’t fill out every field for every entry, just the details that I kept track of (or, when working backward, the ones that I remember) and that feel relevant to me for that particular hike. I also don’t worry about including every detail—I save the more thorough write-ups for a private journal. These booklets are just a fun way to quickly get some of the details down. I’ve included a variety of pages below, so you can see the variance in details between entires and how informally I organize my thoughts on the page. It doesn’t have to be perfect!
Unknown trail somewhere in Shenandoah; hiked May 24, 2015. An early birthday hike with my then-partner and two of my kids. And what an adventure (derogatory) it was: I lost my phone when we drove away from the Visitor Center with it on the roof of the car. We had to drive all the way back home (about two and a half hours) to drop the kids with their dad, pull up Find My Phone on my Mac at home (my then-partner had an Android so we couldn’t pull up the app on their phone), print out a map of where it was pinging to, drive all the way back out to Shenandoah (another two-and-a-half hour drive), and carefully traverse the very narrow shoulder of a very winding, highly trafficked road until I found it in the grass, completely unscathed. An actual miracle. Then we drove the final two and a half hours back home.
Upper Whiteoak Falls; hiked July 12, 2015. An anniversary hike. This trail is a gorgeous out-and-back with multiple spots to climb out onto huge rocks in the water (we lunched on some), and an amazing waterfall you can swim beneath at the top/turnaround point. Not at all difficult, very kid- and (leashed) dog-friendly. (The weekend after we did this trail we went back out with the kids, two of whom were under five years old at the time, and they had no trouble with it.)
Old Rag; hiked June 16, 2019. My first “real” hike, my first solo hike, and my first time encountering scramble.
Cedar Run to White Oak Fire Road Loop; attempted January 30, 2020 (did not finish (DNF)). This was…a hike. The blazes on this trail were very poorly marked and with so many leaves on the ground it was difficult to tell if you were even on a trail. I turned back much sooner than planned because it started to snow (not forecasted!) and I was out there alone. Until I wasn’t. Shortly after I turned back, an unleashed, angry dog was running straight for me, its owner nowhere in sight. The dog was extremely aggressive and lunged at me several times, barking and growling and baring its teeth. I ended up having to throw my backpack, sticks, and branches from the ground at it to get it to back the fuck up off me. Its owner eventually caught up and spent what felt like an eternity trying to get hold of the dog’s collar and control it so I could safely keep walking away. LEASH YOUR FUCKING DOGS, PEOPLE!!!
Wahkeena Falls Loop/Multnomah Falls; hiked April 24, 2022. An impromptu hike. I went to see the falls, saw the sign for the loop, and said “fuck it” and set out.
El Paso Tin Mines Trail; hiked May 7, 2022. A hike with my oldest, to celebrate her 17th birthday. It was extremely hot this day, just like every other day in El Paso. We should’ve brought more water (there’s no water sources along the way). Climbing down into and then wandering through the mines was so fucking cool.
Dog Mountain; hiked May 20, 2022. This is a very popular (crowded) trail. If you, like me, are not a social or leisurely hiker, you will find yourself bottlenecked and annoyed many times along the way, even if you go early as fuck on a weekday. Physically, it’s great. It’s the hike equivalent of any workout on the assault or Echo bike—all lungs and legs. The ascent is immediate and unrelenting (making the way back down more of a trail run than a hike), and the views are gorgeous.
Elk Mountain/King’s Mountain Loop; attempted May 28, 2022 (DNF). This hike almost killed me. Literally. It’s the only hard-rated trail I’ve hiked that’s actually hard, and it’s the reason I haven’t been back out on the trail since the end of the 2022 season; I managed only four hikes after this one, two of which I didn’t finish. This trail/experience really fucked me up, mentally.
Angel’s Rest; hiked July 31, 2022. My second time on this trail, this time with two of my kids. Pretty short and easy, and by far the prettiest and lushest trail I’ve hiked. If you find yourself in or near Portland in July or August and looking for a hike, I highly recommend this one.
Hart’s Cove via Upper and Lower Cascade Head; hiked October 1, 2022. My last hike of the 2022 season, and the last time I hiked. I’d tried this same trail a few weeks earlier and had to turn back after about four miles because of enveloping wildfire smoke and a mentally ill brain that kept telling me to jump off the oceanside cliff. I’m glad I went back. I’m glad I got the full hike in before they closed the trail, and even though it was a mentally exhausting experience thanks to my OCD and derealization kicking in again on the most precarious portions of trail. I truly have not been the same out there since Elk’s Mountain/King’s Mountain.
I worked on this project in real time for all of my 2022 hikes so they have the most accurate and complete entries. For all of my pre-2022 hikes, I worked backward, completing each hike’s entry in December 2024. Because of this, some of these hikes don’t have as many details (some of them don’t even have a trail name listed), are missing a stamped date beneath the photo (my date stamp goes back to only 2020; I wrote the dates of my pre 2020-hikes in the space provided at the top on the left-side page), and the numbering of each hike in the top left is fucked up (I started both booklets with “1,” oops). Oh well.
I used the free/basic version of the AllTrails app to measure distance and elevation for most of my hikes beginning in 2020. Stats for hikes prior to 2020—if I listed them at all—are estimates pulled from the hike’s AllTrails page. I included all hikes, even ones I didn’t finish, regardless of the reason. Every hike received its own entry, which means the trails I’ve hiked more than once have more than one entry.
I decorated my current Hike Passport—the one that includes all my 2022 hikes and still has room for a few more—with some stickers. On the inside cover, Owen Wilson saying “WOW,” because of how often I find myself stopping to take in the views around me and, à la Owen Wilson, saying, “WOW” over and over and over. I found this sticker on Etsy. Sadly, it’s no longer available.
On the back, a “THE HIKER” sticker modeled after a tarot card, that I found at Powell’s. That red paperclip is holding additional photos for, and index cards with notes about, some of the hikes.
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Supplies
Letterfolk Hike Passport: This entire product has seemingly been discontinued, sorry! A few other Passports in the collection are still available (and at 40% off!) at the time of posting.
Photos: For my regular Project Life album I print my photos at home (I use a 10-year-old Epson PM-400 that I love and recommend). For projects like this one where the photos are exposed and handled directly, I print my photos through Persnickety Prints. Their website is a little janky. Their quality and service is unmatched. They’ve been my go-to photo printing service for a decade. Unless you truly need your photos immediately, there’s no need to pay for expedited shipping. Standard shipping (their default option) is incredibly fast and, with the exception of literally one time in 10 years that the post office lost the shipment, it’s never taken anywhere near 7-10 days to arrive, not even when I lived on the other side of the country.
Stapler: Ellepi Klivia 97, $25-ish (it comes with a little sleeve of 1,000 staples). If your local paper goods shop or craft store doesn’t carry Ellepi, try Little Otsu or Porchlight, two of my favorite Portland businesses. (Fun fact: Ellepi is a four-person Italian team and they make all of their products by hand.)
In addition to continuing with my regular memorykeeping practice, I’m hoping to make more things and go on more small adventures this year. Here are seven creative projects and small adventures I’d like to take on in 2025:
1. Build a website from scratch
For what? I don’t know yet. Maybe one of the many iPhone photography projects I’ve got going on. Maybe for something I haven’t thought of yet. Back in the day when personal blogs were a thing, many of us learned basic HTML and CSS so we could customize our blog’s look and feel to our liking (who else remembers Katrina’s incredible labor of love Pugly Pixel? Or Elise‘s very beginner-friendly HTML e-courses and workshops?). It’s been about a decade since I’ve put any of what I once knew to use. I’d like to try. And I’d like to learn more than I did before.
2. Disposable camera
I’ve been wanting to do a film photography project for a while. I don’t have a film camera, nor can I afford one, and anyway I don’t know enough about photography to shoot on good film using a real camera and to get it developed. Not with these prices in this economy. What I do have are three 27-exposure disposable cameras, and what I do know is how to use them, and what I can afford-ish is to develop one (1) of them.
These cameras are only (“only”) a few years old—I bought them in 2020 with the intention of using them to document the NINE coast-to-coast drives I made between DC-ish and Portland in 2020 and 2021—so I think the film’s still okay (?). We’ll see!
3. Photobooth photos
I love photobooths. Like, LOVE. Especially ones that still print black and white photos on film, which, sadly, seem to be nearing extinction. Still, whenever I see a photobooth, regardless of whether it prints in black and white or in color, or on film or is digital, I have to sit for a strip of photos. I don’t get the chance as often as I’d like—most photobooths here in the city are in bars and restaurants, two places that aren’t my scene. This year, I’d like to find some of the photobooths in the city that aren’t in bars and restaurants and sit for a strip of photos in each.
I know about the ones at Cargo (one of my favorite stores in Portland) and the Ace Hotel downtown. The one at Cargo hasn’t been there for quite some time (RIP)—more than a year, at least. The one at the Ace still prints in black and white, which I appreciate. Unfortunately, it’s no longer film, the color is different, the dimensions are a little weird, and it went up in price (though you do get two strips (different photos on each strip) instead of one now). Here’s a side-by-side of strips printed by the old Ace photobooth and the new one.
4. Portable scanner
Last summer I saw this tweet of a New Yorker taking a portable scanner around the city. This type of project is extremely my shit. I think it’d be fun to do something similar.
5. Portland Movie Theater Project
About six weeks ago, I, a person who cannot sit through a movie to save a life, decided I wanted to watch a movie in each of Portland’s historic or independently-owned movie theaters (there are 16 by my count). Initially, I planned to start in January. And then I changed my mind.
I got started that week (Thanksgiving week) and knocked out four movies at four theaters before Sunday (Conclave was the first (and Sam Irby’s Instagram review of it made me laugh)). And then, in the weeks that followed, I saw two more movies at two different theaters. Six down, 10 to go.
6. Reread my favorite books from my youth
This was something I’d intended to do in 2024. Life had other plans. In the meantime, I’ve managed to get my hands on four of the five books on this list that I remember the titles of (I’m certain there are more than five books I loved while growing up, I just don’t remember them (it’s the trauma)). Once I have the brain space for this project, I just need to pick one up and start.
7. Sidewalk Joy Map
Portland has tons of Little Free Library-style installations, galleries, dioramas, and exchanges for all sorts of things: books, of course, and also handmade ceramics, keychains, mini art galleries, plants and seeds, puzzles, toys and trinkets, VHS tapes, yarn and other fiber arts supplies, etc., etc., etc. A bunch of them—more than 100 at the time of writing—are catalogued by the PDX Sidewalk Joy project. Once the weather is warmer and drier, I’d like to use the Sidewalk Joy Map and accompanying PDF, which includes descriptions of each of the locations on the map, to visit as many as I can this year, ideally by walking and biking around the city. (This is such an incredible project—a huge thank you to Rachel and Grant, the people who started it and keep it going.)
One of the items on my 2024 summer bucket list was “go for more—and longer—walks” (meaning: “longer than the one-mile zig-zag that I sometimes do through my neighborhood”). And that I did. Beginning June 1 through September 15—my arbitrary “start of summer” and “end of summer” dates for this project—I walked about 215 miles.
While I did track roughly how many miles I walked out of curiosity, I wasn’t concerned with—and didn’t track—how many steps I took each day (I don’t even own a device that would do this) or how often I walked. This wasn’t an exercise goal for me. The idea behind this summer bucket list item was to spend more time outside, see more of Portland, and, for very predictable reasons (pollution, gas prices, maintenance costs), cut back on driving. And the fantasy of it was that I’d magically make friends and/or meet-cute the love of my life while out walking. I definitely spent more time outside and cut back on driving. I definitely didn’t magically make friends or meet-cute the love of my life. Sad!
I ran (heh) many of my errands this summer by walking: I walked to the library, to the pharmacy, to the post office, to the grocery store, to doctor appointments, to a haircut, to (and through!) parks and gardens and bookstores and cute shops full of things I both want and can’t afford. Some of those errands were less than a mile round-trip, others were closer to (or further than) ten. Many evenings I finished my day with a short two-mile loop around my neighborhood. Like many autistics, I struggle with transitions, even when they’re expected, planned, and/or wanted. I’ve found that walking a mile or two is a really good transition activity for my brain, especially at the end of the day.
I didn’t see as much of Portland via these walks as I’d hoped, in large part because I’m an extremely anxious and burnt-out autistic with very low and sensitive social and sensory batteries and tend to stick to what I know and what I know is my neighborhood and those immediately surrounding it.
My favorite part of these walks was finding little treasures along the way. Most of the things I found were on the ground. A few of them were hanging onto a telephone pole or wall by their last thread. I collected them all in a document box. I’m not yet sure what to do with it all aside from take a few flat-lay photos. Maybe a photo zine/book/album?
I really enjoyed this summer bucket list item. While I didn’t see as much of the city as I’d hoped, I did accomplish my goals of spending more time outside and cutting back on driving. Do I plan to keep at it? Absolutely. Will I walk as frequently or as far during the cold and wet months? Absolutely not. I don’t anticipate going on regular walks, and certainly not longer ones, until next spring.
(As much as I enjoyed my walks this summer, I would’ve rather spent the season hiking in the Gorge or the Coastal Range than walking in the city. I didn’t because I (1) prefer to hike alone, (2) had a few pretty intense and scary mental illness episodes while hiking alone throughout the 2022 season (the last time I went hiking) and haven’t felt safe hiking alone since, and (3) don’t know anyone to hike with while. Walking around the city, where I’m never very far from home and have plenty of people around to ask for help if I need it, seemed like a smart compromise.)
Truthfully, I’d like to graduate to biking around the city next year and, mental stability pending, save the walking for the hiking trails. Is it likely I’ll be mentally stable enough to return to hiking? Doubt. Do I have a bike? No. Do I know anyone I could borrow one from? Also no. Do I have the money to buy one? Definitely no. Did they just remove the BIKETOWN station that was inches from my apartment and with it some of the motivation and convenience to rent a bike? They did. Do I know how to ride a bike? I do. Do I know how to ride a bike in traffic? Absolutely not. Am I legitimately scared to try? Yes. Will I let any of those things stop me from trying? Almost certainly. We’ll have to wait till next year to find out.
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Although I’m wearing running shoes in the photo at the top of the post, I walked almost all of this summer’s 215 miles in a pair of Birks that I wore to the bone.
Could I buy a “better” shoe that’s specifically designed for walking? For sure. Do I want to? Hard no. I love my Arizonas. And of all the pairs I have (I have multiple pairs, some for wearing inside and some for wearing outside; they’re sensory heaven for my feet), I especially love this pair. I love that all the miles I walked in them and all the love I have for them is clearly evident with even the briefest glance at them.
At the end of May I made a summer bucket list. I was feeling sad about how empty and flat and lonely my life feels as (1) an autistic person who (2) still takes COVID seriously (it is extremely lonely out here) and hoped that making a list of autism-friendly and COVID-safer things to do around town, and then working my way through the list, would help me feel more alive and less lonely and sad.
My list ended up with 18 items on it. I completed (or completed-ish) 13 of them and plan to complete another one tomorrow, so I’m counting it as completed in the list below. Completed items are bolded. Completed-ish items are bolded and italicized.
Archery
Bouldering
Bowling
Cinnabon
Farmer’s market, flea market, or estate sale
Finish an art/craft/creative project
Flower arranging class
Go for more—and longer—walks
Ice cream
Local bookstore I haven’t been to yet
Mini golf
Museum
Photo booth
Photograph street art
Pizza in the park
Puzzle
Sport/athletic activity I haven’t tried
Tropical Smoothie
I also ended up doing/trying a few things that I didn’t know about when I first made the list: I stopped by an outdoor comedy night held at a park near my apartment, and, on a different evening at the same park, an original practice Shakespeare performance of A Midsommer Nights Dreame; I spent a couple hours at the Adult Soapbox Derby, a well-known Portland summer event held each year at a different park near my apartment; I went to the first night of Portland Night Market in July.
Another main idea behind making this list was to not sit and spiral in my apartment all summer. Last summer was incredibly rough for me, in very large part because of (1) a health issue that triggered the most severe and prolonged flare of my most disabling mental illnesses that I’ve ever experienced (it’s been more than a year and I still haven’t recovered to baseline), and (2) the extreme heat, which prolonged and intensified that flare (extreme temps are one of my most reliable triggers for these particular mental illnesses). That whole episode—the health issue, the mental illness flare, the extreme heat—bled into other concurrent situations/experiences, which led to me becoming suicidal and, ultimately, quitting my job. That was my first (and hopefully only) experience with suicidality and I HATED being in that headspace. It was uncomfortable and scary and unsustainable.
I didn’t want a repeat this summer of how I felt last summer, so I made this list of things to do to help me get myself out of my head—and apartment!—when my brain started braining too frequently and/or intensely. In that regard, this list was a success.
I made it a point to think of this list as a menu of options of stuff to do when I had the time/money/spoons rather than a to-do list of items that all had to be checked off. I knew it was more likely than not that I wouldn’t complete the entire list and I didn’t want to feel bad about that or like I failed (or like I was the failure). I also steered clear of adding anything to the list that was primarily or exclusively about productivity (ew) or organizing/volunteering/advocating (things I do a lot of already). I wanted the list to be full of side quests that prioritized social, emotional, and/or intellectual sustenance—things that filled my cup more than they emptied it.
I hoped these little side quests would infuse some fun and joy into my life. Sometimes they did, though not as much or as often as I hoped they would. Honestly, as the summer went on, I became more angry and sad and full of grief about COVID and the parts of my life I’ve lost to it, and about how hard it is to be autistic, especially when everyone around you dismisses you as “high functioning” so you don’t get the help or support you need. By July I felt lonelier than I did at the start of summer a month earlier.
A lot of the stuff I did this summer, I did alone. While I’m used to and often enjoy doing things alone, it can feel really depressing sometimes when doing things alone is your only or primary option. So many of the things on this list would’ve been so much more enjoyable and fun and nourishing with a friend or a small group of friends. How, though? (Rhetorical.) It’s hard enough to make friends as an adult for people who aren’t autistic and/or who don’t still take COVID seriously. It feels impossible as someone who’s both.
As shitty as I felt at times, the summer wasn’t a bust. Making and then tackling this list accomplished the goal of getting me out of my head—and my apartment!—and into the world, which helped mitigate the frequency and intensity of my mental illness flares.
Overall, I’m happy I did this project and I wish I had more—and local!—people in my life to share experiences and make memories with. Thanks to all the walks I went on this summer, I learned about a few still-COVIDing spaces and events in the city that I didn’t previously know about, which makes the idea of finding those people feel a little less impossible. We’ll see where fall takes me.
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It would’ve made much more sense to post this list at the start of summer and then drop in with little updates here and there throughout the summer, I KNOW. Oh well. My plan is to share more details about some of the activities on the list that I completed (or completed-ish) in the coming weeks. And yes, I’m already working on a similar list ahead of the colder months so I can avoid as much temperature-induced spiraling year-round as I can.
