“Can we turn down here?” Nichole Morris asked. She and I had been chatting about her growing fondness for Baltimore when something caught her eye, and she doubled back to capture detail of a well-maintained brick home with her camera phone.

This happened frequently on our approximately two-hour jaunt from the Inner Harbor through Otterbein, Sharp-Leadenhall and Federal Hill. She would suddenly pause mid-conversation to focus on a cool car. A sign. A particularly interesting window.

With each step, Morris, a New York native, captures the history, flavor and quirk of this city she’s called home since the COVID-19 lockdown. Her goal is to walk through — and photograph — each of Baltimore’s 250-plus neighborhoods. The effort began not only as a physical record but as an exercise in lifting her mood at an uncertain time.

“I started walking because I was really lonely,” the 28-year-old said. “I didn’t have any friends here.” That need for connection, both during a time when we were literally not supposed to interact with others, and now, when it’s still difficult to, is palpable on her Threads account With Nichole, where her bio reads, “probably taking photos of your house and oversharing.”

That’s spot-on: Her posts span from a shaded church in Sandtown-Winchester to sprawling green lawns at large houses in Homeland to the sprawl of downtown skyscrapers. But her appreciation is about more than architecture.

“It’s the people,” Morris told me earnestly. I love when newcomers find the beauty of the city, though Morris admits it wasn’t an immediate fit. “It wasn’t until about a month ago that I could say, ‘I love Baltimore,’” she said.

What put her over? Baltimoreans.

“I was walking home crying and three separate strangers stopped me to ask if I was OK. When I lied saying ‘yes,’ they all asked again to give me another opportunity for them to help me,” she posted recently. “Despite what people say about Baltimore, there are people who care and want to help even a crying stranger with bloodshot eyes and a snotty nose.”

Morris is instantly likable. She admits to social anxiety, but when she’s comfortable, she’s a hugger. She is both delightful and delightfully candid about her struggles with mental health and solidity. She was “a middle-class kid” who moved 13 times before age 18 for her mother’s banking job. After college in Florida, she got a job internationally as an English conversation partner, eventually returning to the southern U.S.

As work dried up, Morris lived for a while in her car before deciding to return to New York. But both Georgia and Florida were among several states whose residents were part of a New York COVID-19 travel advisory. “I didn’t know you had to have a license that said New York or they weren’t letting people in,” she said.

So she headed north, first to Virginia and then to Baltimore, a city she knew nothing about but was on the way home. “I kind of never left,” she said.

Morris crashed with friends before finding her own place. She thought walking would be good for meeting people, but found few takers or talkers in the winter. She did find a few hardcore runners, but they weren’t inclined to talk — probably because when we stop we might not start again.

“I met a girl in Riverside [on] that one day I pretended I ran,” she said, laughing. “And she used me as an excuse to stop and said, ‘OK, let’s just talk about the neighborhood.’”

Morris has loved photography since childhood, but didn’t study it in college. “I didn’t think I could make a living of it, and I didn’t think I was good enough,” she said. But those instincts kicked in on her walks, and she started snapping with her phone. “I thought, ‘It’ll be for me.’”

Soon, however, the photos she posted to social media became for everyone to find the beauty in places we pass every day and don’t really see.

Morris has had several jobs here, including a social media marketing gig, but had to stop working after the second of two bad car accidents. Her postings, though, have made way for some freelance photography work.

For a person with admitted nervousness in social situations, Morris’ newfound social media status has been surprising and sometimes unsettling. “I don’t really like being recognized,” she said, but then she’ll get messages of genuine appreciation. “I’m still learning to believe in my own work,” she told me, and I just wanted to hug her because have you seen her work? She’s good.

She has also discovered firsthand that passion with which some really love Baltimore and which others really don’t. As we appreciated the gorgeous view of the Inner Harbor from Federal Hill, she talked about a recent post where she wrote she felt safe in the city. This delighted several followers and enraged others, who accused her of either naively putting the uninitiated in danger or being “a Baltimore puppet.”

Even this tough situation turned into a purely human interaction. She was contacted by an angry woman whose family member had been shot in the city who said, “’What you’re doing isn’t right.’ I said ‘If you want to have a conversation, I’m open.’ We spoke about how she was feeling and it ended with her saying, ‘Well you know what? I’m not really mad at you.’”

Morris’ exploration has improved her health both mentally and physically. “I’ve lost 50 pounds!” she told me excitedly.

She’s still not sure Baltimore is her destination, though she’s not planning to abandon her neighborhood project. “I’ve said I’m going to stay at least until I’m done,” she said.

Because Morris is so rah-rah for our special city, I hope she decides to make her move permanent. “I did bounce to Essex, and then I was gone to California and Arizona,” she said. “Then I’m back here!”

But however long she remains, she and her beautiful honesty have been a precious gift — not just because she’s set on finding the truth of this place we love, but because in a time of such uncertainty, love is at a premium.

“Things just keep drawing me back to Baltimore,” Morris said.

That’s what we like to hear.