Lost and Found
Somewhere on Bois Blanc Island, Michigan.
Canon AE-1 with, I think(?), Agfa film.
Remodel
In March, we planned on remodeling our bedroom. And boy, did it need it: wood paneling, dark, drop ceiling. In all fairness to the previous owners, it used to be a back porch. Then it became a bedroom, but that was decades ago. Now it’s our turn to make it right.
Why not start now? We need something lighter and sunnier in our lives right now. Sure, it means we have to sleep in our breezeway for the time being. It means contractors in the house, with their noise and drywall dust. But we’re considering this project our early Christmas present.
Everything is harder these days. My photography has certainly taken a hit. I feel it in my bones – a kind of creator’s guilt, ever-present. Not much blogging, not much newsletter-ing, not much of anything. With the pandemic and the post-election stress, it’s been hard to wake up in the morning, let alone take photos.
Now we have a new look to our bedroom, and with the light coming in, it felt like a good excuse to get out the camera and document the progress.
So here it is, in all it’s sheetrock glory.
Autumn Textures
I’m searching for some serenity in all this chaos. Luckily, we have had a pleasant autumn so far, and we take evening walks to shake off the dread and anxiety.
Now daylight savings has changed the light, and we wake up in the sunshine. It’s good, and much-needed, because the sun won’t be around much from now until spring. I’m trying to capture it as much as possible before the darkness comes.
School has shut down in-person learning until after Thanksgiving. COVID-19 is spreading as usual. The election is over and yet not over.
So very tired.
Things I Miss
- Missed the county fair this year. That’s an annual tradition we look forward to every year.
- I miss not feeling anxious every time one of the kids gets a cough or the sniffles.
- I miss eating out at restaurants.
- I miss a time when medical advice wasn’t automatically political.
- I miss movie theaters.
- I miss the kids not knowing the name of a particular virus, and begging for it to be over.
- I miss a time when large wars killed this many people, not a pandemic, recklessness, and stupidity.
- I miss jumping on a plane and going somewhere.
- I miss not feeling anxious when I see people not wearing a mask in public places.
- I miss in-person work conferences and connecting with people in my industry.
- I miss concerts and live music.
- I miss a time when America was a leader in the world for something good.
Grow
Here in our yard, we’ve noticed a lot of life this summer: we have two new skunks roaming our bush edge, a couple of aggressive squirrels that eat our bird seed, and now a gangbuster garden.
My garden memories go as far back as my memory goes: digging potatoes with my grandpa as a toddler, eating fresh green beans my grandma would cook southern-style. As soon as I had a home of my own, I planted a small garden in the back lot.
When we moved, this house had three years of not-great gardens. For one, the neighbors’ mulberry tree shaded the plot too much. And for two, maybe the weather? It’s hard to say.
But this year, it’s the biggest, healthiest garden I’ve ever had. It’s so big, it’s creeping into the neighbors’ yard. I told them whatever grows on their side of the fence, they can keep.
So I grabbed the macro lens and captured the texture and tendrils of this banner-year garden – the fuzzy stems, the searching vines, and the green and light-thirsty leaves.
Growing a garden has its benefits, of course. It’s good to get your hands dirty. It’s great to eat healthily. And the convenience factor – it’s so great to pick fresh lettuce and make a salad for lunch.
Along with cider, the garden has been my escape from the pandemic. Growing a garden is mostly a passive activity. You just let the water and sunshine do their thing. But I do wander out back to check on its progress, make sure the bugs aren’t eating all the greens, and picking whatever is ripe and ready.
My other hope is that, someday, the kids will remember eating fresh veggies from the garden – much like I did as a kid – and then want to grow their own.
It’s not much, but as the plague and politics and craziness gets worse, it’s good to grow something for a change.
Adapt
When the coronavirus pandemic hit Michigan in March, it threw our situation – like everyone else’s – into chaos: no more office commute for me, no more in-person schooling for the kids, significant changes to my wife’s music therapy practice.
Those early days were a whirlwind. We had to develop new routines just as spring was warming up. We had to adapt to this new reality.
Along the way, I photographed our home and our lives as we lived it, and I have a selection of those photographs on display at Ella Sharp Museum’s new Adapt exhibition, exploring artistic responses to the pandemic. My series, “A Change of Seasons,” looks at our changing home life, changing routines, and changing light as March turned to April and winter turned to spring.
The exhibition is online for now and features great local artists with exciting work. Next week, starting July 21, I’ll have three photos on display at the physical museum when they open back up.
I always thought one of my community portrait projects would be my first chance to appear at Ella Sharp Museum, but the pandemic threw everything into the air, including my expectations. Still, I’m proud to be on display in the Adapt exhibition with so many other talented local artists.
Back to Door County
So we went back to the spot we loved two years ago: Door County, Wisconsin. Same cabin property, same bay on Lake Michigan, same rustic charm and isolation that we needed so badly then and now.
And socially isolate we did. We rarely left the property, opting instead to hang out by the lake, eat Wisconsin cheese, drink Wisconsin cider and beer, and let the kids play in the water. The few times we did go out to explore the peninsula, we stuck to state parks and little shops. We ate out twice. We played it safe.
It was nice to not think about what was happening elsewhere in the country, or work, or anything else. We made new family memories, enjoyed our solitude, and drove back rested and refreshed.
The weather was perfect: lovely Great Lakes sunsets, never getting hotter than 80 degrees during the day, no rain. We stayed in a new cabin (next door to the one we stayed in last time) so I could explore the summer light.
Just what we all needed.