Older Camera Issues
Tim Brookes at Make Use Of has a list of issues to keep in mind when buying older digital cameras, like sensor dust and ISO limitations.
Or, instead of seeing them as limitations, use this list to challenge yourself.
Tim Brookes at Make Use Of has a list of issues to keep in mind when buying older digital cameras, like sensor dust and ISO limitations.
Or, instead of seeing them as limitations, use this list to challenge yourself.
Our Methodist church hosts a summer family camp in Pentwater, Michigan, each August. My wife was a regular attendee growing up, but we – as a family – had never gone except for a brief visit a few years back.
This year, we decided to join our church and make it part of our summer getaway schedule.
Pentwater, Michigan, is one of those classic west coast Lake Michigan towns: small and exceedingly beautiful, catering to weekenders from Chicago, Grand Rapids, and Detroit.
That’s the village part. The Lake Michigan sand dune forest part? That’s what we came to experience.
On one side of the sand dunes, you have pristine Lake Michigan sand and water – complete with a wildfire haze sunset.
On the other side, it’s dirt and bugs and camp sites. No technology, very little cell service, and the perfect setting for our kids to explore, make friends, and get messy.
The sad part was that I had to leave my family after the first few days for a business trip to Brooklyn, New York. For both trips, I brought along my new Canon EOS M2 to test out.
The challenge in Pentwater: keep the sand out.
All images shot on the Canon EOS M2 and 22mm lens.
I picked a $40 camera toy just in time to test it at Lake Michigan in Pentwater, Michigan: the Retropia disposable camera lens fitted to the Canon EOS M system.
First, it was exciting to still find an EF-M mount lens on sale. It’s nice to see a toy lens company supporting my beloved (dead) camera system.
Second, these retro disposable lenses are constantly on sale – just do a search on Instagram and you’ll face a never-ending barrage of lens ads.
I figured, $40? Shit, why not?
I read a lot of reviews with people saying, “Why would you pay so much for something so plastic / something you could 3D print yourself?” The answer is convenience: someone already made it, and it’s super affordable compared to most lenses.
Affordable, and kind of fun. It’s small, light, and has that fun cookie shape to it. It makes a good lens cap option, too.
Riley and I hiked into the Lake Michigan dunes to see how it performed in bright summer light.
The Retropia lens definitely has that low-fi vibe: purple fringing, a little soft, and when you point it at the sun, the real fun begins:
Lots of fun sun stars and ghosting.
Is the Retropia everything the ads promise? Maybe. Most of all, it’s a small, affordable option to create some “vibes” in your photos.
All in all, it was quite the adventure.
Our summer vacation to Nova Scotia and Maine was an endurance test for both driving (almost 70 hours worth) and photography (two weeks worth of photos to organize and edit).
There’s probably such a thing as “too much travel,” and we were right up against that limit. But we also had an amazing time and got to experience a beautiful portion of North America.
A few final thoughts on our 2025 adventure:
Now I’m off to work on our annual summer vacation photo book.
Just a few years ago, Jen Dixon couldn’t brush their teeth, let alone imagine being surrounded by community and creativity.
“I was agoraphobic for five years,” they explain. “Didn’t meet people. I was training for COVID before COVID.”
The isolation was deepened by chronic illness, pain, and years of battling to be seen—not just as a person living with disabilities, but also as a nonbinary creative with a past shaped by trauma and tenacity.
Today, Jen stands surrounded by microscopes, T-shirts, illuminated signs, handmade cellular art, and a growing circle of collaborators who genuinely believe in them.
“Right now, I think the real art is learning to trust myself again,” they say.
Jen’s path hasn’t followed any straight lines. They first studied computer programming while working full-time and caring for a terminally ill fiancé.
But after a near-death experience caused by a massive blood clot following a roller derby injury, they re-evaluated everything.
“I remember crawling across the floor thinking, ‘This is your last moment. Experience it,’” Jen recalls. “And after surviving that, cubicles just weren’t going to cut it.”
What followed was a dive into botany, volunteering at Iowa State’s herbarium, and eventually entering a PhD program.
Their love of science came with an endless hunger to understand.
“One of my professors said I was an artist with the soul of a scientist,” they say. “That felt true.”
Jen’s artistic practice came to life while teaching plant systematics in Iowa.
When a visually impaired student entered their classroom, Jen faced a challenge: how to share the microscopic beauty of cellular structures with someone who couldn’t see them?
That night, they created a clay version of a microscope slide and transformed invisible wonders into tactile art. If the student couldn’t see the cell, then they would be able to feel it.
“I don’t know how well it worked for her,” they say, “but for me, it unlocked something. It made me think: what if everyone could feel this beauty?”
From there, Jen’s art grew out of curiosity and constraint. While bedridden, they began sketching detailed cellular forms in Procreate, finding comfort in radial symmetry and microscopic inspiration.
Eventually, they started laser-engraving these intricate images into wood and velvet.
“I just wanted to see if it would work,” they say. “It was all experimentation.”
Jen’s art now includes protest T-shirts, building signage, velvet-burned botanical forms, and tactile pieces made of wood and reused materials.
“It all came from wanting people to experience wonder—even if they can’t see it the traditional way,” Jen explains. “There’s got to be a way to share that.”
Today, Jen’s studio is a living lab—a DIY playground of soldered lights, etched acrylic, scavenged pipe supports, and refurbished microscopes.
“Everything is a version one,” they laugh. “The next version will be better, but I have to start somewhere.”
Jen is now helping to build a community at The Sparks (formerly the Commercial Exchange), where collaboration drives creativity and progress.
From teaching others how to build and reusing materials to organizing artist showcases, they’ve found their voice again.
“I used to think I didn’t have any value unless I met society’s expectations,” they say. “Now I just try stuff. And it’s working. All these different paths in my life, they have all culminated into skills and work that’s relevant and useful.”
Even through lingering self-doubt and social anxiety, Jen persists – out into the sun and into an artistic team.
“I’m deciding how I engage with the world now,” they said. “I see the potential for the future, even if it’s scary. I catch the future out of the corner of my eye. And I’m scared to look right at it because it may disappear.”
“But right now? My future is possible.”
Follow Jen on Instagram
We had two opportunities to visit Bar Habor, Maine: one after we completed our Acadia National Park adventure, and the other was via a lobster boat ride.
Our first visit, after the park, was during a beautiful evening where the town was hopping with people and activities. It’s summer, so of course us tourists were out.
The shops and restaurants were packed, and the sunset light was perfect for capturing some street photography. I saw tons of colors and characters, the perfect recipe to grab pictures around the town.
When we came back, we hopped on a lobster boat for a tour of Frenchman Bay.
It was a great tour. We learned about lobsters, about the fishing industry, and even took a loop around a lighthouse, where seals were squatting on the rocks.
For the first time, we all got to hold a lobster. After grabbing them out of the lobster nets, the kids had a chance to throw the lobsters back into the bay.
Now I know, first hand, where those delicious lobster rolls come from.
Shot on the Canon EOS M6 and a select few EF-M lenses.
This is almost like cheat-code photography.
Much like we saw at Peggy’s Cove, sometimes the fog would roll in off the Atlantic Ocean and flood our little corner of Maine in a dense haze.
After the first time the fog rolled in, I made a point to check each morning to see if it was foggy out. I had this spot in mind up the peninsula, where boats were gathered by the shore, and I thought, “This would be an amazing foggy spot for pictures.”
One misty morning, the fog made an appearance, and I seized my chance to head up the coast and grab pictures at that boat landing. But then something funny happened: the further North I drove, the less foggy it was. When I landed at that spot, there was no fog at all.
Bummer.
Luckily, it was foggy enough during our week there that getting out and taking photos was not a problem.
It was so fun to wander around Flye Point and see the entire landscape reimagined.
Shot on the Canon EOS M6 and EF-M 22mm f/2 and 32mm f/1.4.
Sometimes I think travel is just a long way to remind yourself who you are. Not in a dramatic, life-changing way, but in the smaller details: what you notice, what you remember, what you feel when nothing is happening.
I had the chance to visit Acadia National Park almost 20 years ago. It’s where I climbed my first mountain, and I was excited to show off the park to my family.
Acadia is not the biggest national park, but for sheer variety, it has a lot to offer: great hiking, mountains, oceanfront scenery, with ponds and rivers galore.
The park helped me appreciate the benefits of Canon’s lighter mirrorless kit. When you’re hiking up and down mountains, the portability of the EOS M series was definitely a benefit. And the image quality never suffers.
It’s a shame Canon discontinued the M series. With the R series, cameras got bigger, lenses got bigger, and apart from a few of the APS-C and point-and-shoot bodies, there’s nothing like the M series in the lineup anymore. Trips like this highlight the need for a smaller kit.
We worked our way around the park and by mid-day, we finished up and headed into Bar Harbor, Maine, for dinner.
Shot on the Canon EOS M and the EF-M lenses.
After leaving Canada by way of New Brunswich and the border, we landed in Brooklin, Maine, our home for the next week.
We arrived at nightfall, so we had no glimpse of the peninsula where we sat.
Not until I got up early the first day and went to the beach.
This was the Maine I remember. And for that first morning, I had it all to myself.
I did what I always tend to do and went exploring – up and down the coastline, through the set of cabins on this part of the shore, taking advantage of the early morning light.
Then the family woke up, and we explored the jagged, rocky beach together.
The tide was a new thing for us Michiganders. Here on the peninsula, we had to pay attention: there were several islands you could walk out to at low tide. But come high tide, you might get stranded.
And the bay’s ocean water, just like in Nova Scotia, was freezing. So we mainly played on the rocks.
Later that night, after dinner, we took a stroll back down to the coast to watch blue hour come in at high tide.
Maine was different. More rugged. A little more wild. And there was lots more to see.
Shot on the Canon EOS M6 and several EF-M lenses.
Up here, the locals call it “Carny.”
To us Americans, Pictou, Nova Scotia’s Lobster Carnival was nothing short of a wonder.
Pictou is a small town. But walking around on the last day of our Canadian trip, you’d think the whole town had turned out. And why not? On the East Coast, lobsters are a big deal.
Pictou made them a big deal.
A mini fair, with rides and games, a concert in the park, and one of the best lobster rolls I had so far this trip – Carny had it all.
We couldn’t have picked a better way to say “goodbye” to Canada.
Before we left town, we stopped and had ice cream. Tomorrow? Through New Brunswich and on to Maine.
Shot on the Canon EOS M6 and EF-M 22mm f/2 and 32mm f/1.4.
Imagine a New England state-size island, full of its own little towns and natural wonders, and that’s Cape Breton – off the eastern coast of Nova Scotia.
It was a bit of a drive to get there, but boy, it was worth it.
First, we took some nature trails and discovered Egypt Falls along the western section of the island.
For the kids, it was a grueling hike up and down the trail. But at the bottom? One of the most beautiful waterfalls I’ve ever seen.
After Egypt Falls, we hiked the Lewis Mountain trail, a hidden gem behind a set of power lines. To get there, you take a lovely drive around Bras d’Or, the large inland body of saltwater.
The trail, a gentle incline through a beautiful northern forest, followed a stream where (I’m proud to say) my family took a swim.
Driving around the island, there was plenty to see.
To close out the trip, we had dinner in Baddeck, where I couldn’t resist eating an entire lobster.
Shot on the Canon EOS M6 with the EF-M 22mm f/2 and kit zoom lenses.
After our Halifax adventure, we took an hour’s drive to the famous Peggy’s Cove.
As we approached the shore, we noticed the fog rolling in off the Atlantic. This would be a theme for our vacation.
It was certainly a vibe: a rocky, jagged coast, a little fishing village, and not much visibility. We could barely see the lighthouse from the parking lot, but the visibility improved the closer you got.
Reds and greens. Blues and teals. Here, colors popped out of the fog.
Driving from the coast, we made a few stops along the way to see what else the fog was hiding.
Some of it? We couldn’t see. It’s still a mystery.
Sometimes, photography is like that.
Shot on the Canon EOS M6 and EF-M 22mm f/2.
You haven’t experienced a national holiday until you’ve seen Canadians celebrate Canada Day on July 1.
The first clue came when we were driving into Halifax.
“Everyone’s wearing red,” I noticed. Like, everyone.
First, we hit the waterfront district because that’s where the action was. Food, activities, vendors – and tons of people dressed in their Canada Day gear. It was super fun to see, especially coming from the United States, where our relationship with our northern neighbor has been rocky since January.
“Good for Canada,” I thought with a little sense of pride.
Our kids had fun seeing the big ships coming into the Halifax harbor and the giant wave sculpture.
Then we left the waterfront to walk around the Public Gardens.
Later, trying to find a place for dinner, we wandered around the north part of the city until we found a stellar cidery, the Chain Yard – complete with a DJ.
This situation – visiting a new city in another country on a special day – is exactly what I mean when I tell people I use photography as an excuse for adventure. It’s my favorite setting: a new place with new people, where I get to use my camera as a sort of third eye, capturing and getting to know the things I see.
Speaking of which…
From Halifax, we drove to Peggy’s Cove for some fog and lighthouse action. More on that next.
Shot on the Canon EOS M6 and (mostly) the EF-M 15-45mm kit zoom lens.
Here in Brooklyn, Michigan, where I grew up, you can’t spit without hitting a lake.
Clark Lake is the popular one, especially at the members-only Consumers Energy Boat Club. A few friends invited us to spend a warm summer Sunday by the beach with them.
Shot on the Canon 5D Mark II and EF 40mm f/2.8.
After Rushtons Beach, we drove into Pictou, Nova Scotia, for dinner at a little seafood place by the water.
We also learned that, later in the week, Pictou would host their annual Lobster Carnival.
Guess we’ll be back on Friday, won’t we?
On the drive back to the cabin, we caught a killer sunset along an inlet.
Shot on the Canon EOS M6 and EF-M 22mm f/2.
Swimming in the Atlantic Ocean was new enough for our kids. But swimming in the northern Atlantic?
That water is cold.
The frigid ocean didn’t stop us, though, at Rushtons Beach, a scenic, sandy beach on the north side of Nova Scotia.
We spent half of the day relaxing on the beach. For the other half, we explored one of the rivers flowing into the Atlantic. The kids discovered you could tiptoe across the water to the near shore.
I took the boardwalk and went to explore around the provincial park a bit.
After brushing the sand off, we went into Pictou for dinner and ice cream.
Not a bad first day exploring the Maritimes.
Shot on the Canon EOS M6 and EF-M 22mm f/2 and 32mm f/1.4.
The first leg of our two-week vacation was along the north shore of Nova Scotia, in a little town called Marshville. It was a total throw-a-dart-at-a-map-and-hope-it-works-out location.
It totally worked out.
We’re an AirBNB/Vrbo family, and we try to get cabins on the water. This one was close enough – a short walk down a drive, then a set of stairs down a bluff, and we were oceanside.
The neighborhood was filled with quaint sea cottages, many of which proudly displayed their Canadian pride.
As always, I took the first day or two to explore the cabin and the neighborhood, exploring the light where I could find it.
Marshville was a good launching point for all our adventures. We had plenty to see along Nova Scotia’s North Shore, and it was centrally located to easily make our future drives to Halifax and Cape Breton.
Every morning, the kids watched the tide ebb and flow. And every evening, we went down to the beach to see the sunset.
We saw the ocean in California last year, but not like this – not every day, and not this close to shore. After the kids overcame their fear of the little brown jellyfish and embraced the cold northern water, the ocean became part of their spiritual rhythm.
The Canon M6, paired with either the EF-M 22mm f/2, EF-M 32mm f/1.4, or the M kit zoom, made for a light and satisfying travel kit.
We spent our first evening getting to know the place. The next day, we’d travel to a local beach to really take in the ocean view.
All of our summer vacations have lasted a week. Weekend to weekend, about 9-10 days max. This year, we tried something different: taking a two-week vacation out East.
We hit the road in late June for an epic road trip to the Atlantic Coast – first to Nova Scotia, Canada, for one week, then to Maine for the second week.
To get there, it meant driving 20 hours through Ontario, Quebec, New Brunswick, and finally Nova Scotia to our first cabin. We split the drive in half, staying overnight in Trois-Rivières, Quebec, at a lovely hotel on the St. Lawrence Seaway.
I took six years of French in high school and college, so it’s been a while since I spoke it fairly fluently. It was pretty humbling to walk into a gas station on the edge of Trois-Rivières where the checkout team spoke nothing but French.
Petrol, s’il vous plait?
Quebec was a brief stop on the way, but it is a huge Canadian province, and most of our driving ran along the St. Lawrence until we hopped over the river in Quebec City and then on through New Brunswick.
This is the first in a series of posts outlining our big summer adventure. I brought along the Canon EOS M6 with a full kit of EF-M lenses. I also kept the Canon EOS M in the car for road photos, and the few you see above in Trois-Rivières.
An epic road trip to the East Coast sporting the Canon M line. Lots more to come.
Shot on the Canon EOS M and EF-M 22mm f/2.
Inside the welcoming walls of 21 Blooms Tattoo Studio, Dylan Sodt (he/they) is quietly reshaping how people see themselves, one piercing at a time.
Dylan is a piercer, but that barely scratches the surface. For them, piercing is not just a form of body modification. It’s a practice of empowerment, trust, and transformation.
“I can build a little home with people in 30 minutes,” they say. “It creates a ritual environment. It’s an energetic exchange. They’re trusting me—and that’s when I think I have the best job.”
Born and raised in Jackson, Dylan’s path to piercing was anything but linear. He started by sketching the human figure as a kid and later found creative expression as a drummer in local bands. For much of his adult life, Dylan worked in restaurants, eventually managing the bar and kitchen at Sandhill Crane Vineyards. But even while building menus and leading teams, a deeper pull was growing.
“I hit a point where I needed something new,” he recalls.
Just two days after leaving the vineyards, he began a piercing apprenticeship.
“Piercing found me,” Dylan says.
That leap of faith led them into a world where artistic intuition and technical precision are inseparable. Their practice is steeped in anatomy, geometry, and material science.
“It’s engineering on a smaller scale,” Dylan says.
Before he started working with Lauren Maureen of Emerald Sun Studios, Dylan had to start at the beginning: an apprenticeship.
Apprenticeship is the cornerstone of ethical piercing, and Dylan’s journey was a slow and deliberate one.
“You don’t even touch a needle for months. You learn the biology of wound healing, jewelry angles, and sterilization.”
But even more than technique, piercing is about people. Dylan specializes in body reclamation: helping those who have experienced trauma, abuse, or body dysmorphia reconnect with themselves.
“I want clients to feel more empowered when they leave here,” they say. “I’ve had clients squeal when they see themselves in the mirror. That sound? It means everything.”
Their work is artistic and deeply personal. Dylan observes each client closely: how they dress, carry themselves, the undertones of their skin, hair, and eye color.
“I have 30 minutes to clock your style,” he says. “It’s like painting on someone else’s canvas. Then it walks out the door and lives a whole life.”
From simple lobe studs to advanced curated ear setups, every piece is placed with aesthetic intention and precision measured in millimeters.
“We have to create the illusion of symmetry. If it’s off, people will feel it. Others will notice.”
Empowerment doesn’t come without responsibility. Dylan sees self-confidence as a professional obligation.
“You need a god complex to do this work—not arrogance, but self-respect,” they say. “You have to put clients at ease. There’s no room for shaky hands.”
They draw on Buddhist practices like breathwork and meditation to stay grounded and present, offering their clients not only a piercing, but also a moment of calm and clarity.
Outside the studio, Dylan finds creative joy in cooking—“an art form that doesn’t belong to me,” they say. “It’s all colors and flavors, and then it’s gone in 15 minutes.”
They surround themself with earth tones, thrifted treasures, and houseplants, always seeking to breathe new life into the old. That ethos flows directly into their work.
“What I do gives people a new image of themselves,” they say.
At 21 Blooms, Dylan has found a creative home. The studio, owned by Emily Radke and envisioned as a hub for full-time piercers, is more than a workplace.
It’s a collaborative sanctuary.
“We push each other here,” Dylan says. “We talk through designs, hold critique nights. There’s a vulnerability in that, but it makes us all better.”
For them, the studio is also a commitment to raising the standard in Jackson.
“This city deserves a proper piercing space. If you get pierced by me, I consider you a client forever. I’m an island of proper piercing.”
Looking ahead, Dylan is pursuing certification with the Association of Professional Piercers (APP), a national standard of excellence in the field.
“There’s no ceiling in this work. You can always get better,” they say.
From the restaurant floor to the piercing chair, and no matter their tools, Dylan has always been in the business of care.
“I’m in service of an idea,” they say. “That people can see themselves differently. That they can walk out of here and feel like they belong to themselves again.”
Follow Dylan on Instagram
“The Rules” is a perfect languid summer song from the Tragically Hip.
Salesman said this vaccum’s guaranteed.
It can suck an ancient virus from the sea.
It’ll put the dog out of a job.
To make traffic stop,
so little thoughts, can safetly get across.
It’s the Rules.
The whole second half of Phantom Power is a little quieter than the first half, but that’s okay. Not everything can be “Poets.”
This and “Escape Is At Hand for the Travellin’ Man” have that emotional, downtempo vibe that travels well.
I’m not here to sell anyone on getting a day job, and I am plenty conscious that day jobs aren’t necessarily easy to come by right now. But there’s definitely something liberating about not relying on your art to pay the rent.
My decision to hold onto a steady job while building a creative life is a structure that lets me do both things well (most of the time). It honors my creativity and my sanity.
Travel is great until you get home.
Twenty years ago, on my first big road adventure across America on Route 66, I noticed something when I got back:
As soon as I took the highway exit to get back into my hometown, I was disappointed. “Back to reality,” I thought. It’s dramatic to say out loud, but getting back home left me with the feeling that the trip was all make-believe. It was like I never left.
That feeling, that disappointment, has never gone away. In fact, just this summer, when we returned from the Atlantic coast, it felt the exact same way taking that exact same exit off the highway.
I’m not saying we didn’t have a wonderful time, nor am I saying it would’ve been better if we never left. I am saying that coming back home to all the to-do lists, work, and obligations can be a bummer.
It feels so good to travel, to see new places and experience new things. And then you drive away, leaving it all behind with photos and memories to keep you going until the next big adventure. Luckily, we have our fair share of future travel plans.
Real life feels like the in-between moments before the next getaway.
That’s why I advocate for taking little adventures along the way – taking a day and going hiking, say, or driving to a new small town and making pictures there.
Whatever helps until the next escapade.
Shot on the Canon EOS M6 and EF-M 22mm f/2 in Brooklin, Maine.