Waiting On Warm
Remarkably, all the heavy snow has melted away here in Michigan.
Shot on the Canon 5D (classic!) and EF 40mm f/2.8.
home
When Light Feels Like Memory
This Christmas, we were sitting with some family and going through some of my annual photo books.
“I tend to take my camera everywhere,” I told my mother-in-law as she relived the past few years through pictures. Some of those photo albums featured her, either at birthday parties or on a family trip to Wisconsin.
Looking through those photo books, all those ordinary moments feel anything but ordinary when you see them again.
As we turned the pages, I realized how much of what I remember is tied to the light of a place.
Light ends up highlighting how a scene, location, or event felt. Not just how it looked, but how I remember it: the warmth on a Lake Michigan beach. The quiet of a winter afternoon. The way a place said “home.”
In the winter, I always watch for the familiar light to return to the south side of the house. When it’s cold out, the light makes its merry way across the walls and floors again. When it shows up, I try to notice and capture it.
Looking back at old photos, I realize how much I miss the big picture window in our previous home’s living room (above). We made so many memories there. Morning light spilling in. Late afternoon shadows. Kids on the floor or the couch.
Quiet moments that felt small then, but feel enormous now.
Over the years, I knew that old house’s light and followed it according to the seasons.
In this house, the light is different. It arrives at different times, from different angles, and I’ve learned to take advantage of it where and when I can.
That’s part of why it helps to take a camera everywhere, or keep one on me at all times. I try to notice the light when it shows up and grab it while it’s there.
Then, when we look back, we’re not just seeing a photo; we are reliving how that light made the moment feel.
Nugget the Cat
Just celebrated her first birthday, and she is T-R-O-U-B-L-E.
Shot on the Canon 5D (classic!) and EF 40mm f/2.8.
Sweating Summer
It’s hot.
Nothing like going from sweatshirt weather to 90 degrees F within a week.
I took a walk around the yard to catch that golden summer light that lasts and lasts.
Shot on the Canon 5D mark II and EF 40mm f/2.8.
Painting
Nothing like winter to add a little more color into our lives.
This was the girls’ doing: a new bed, new paint, and new, big-girl furniture.
Shot on the OG Canon EOS M and EF-M 22mm f/2.
The Coldest Day
It’s cold out there.
Parts of the U.S. are facing an arctic blast – one of those goofy named weather phenomena. In the past few winters, we haven’t had much winter action in Michigan. So on this occasion, I laced up my snow boots and walked around the neighborhood to see what five degrees felt like.
The bright sun and crisp air were nice for a brief minute. But then the wind would pick up and I felt like my face was stinging.
Not much moves on mornings like this.
Shot on the Canon 5D classic and EF 40mm f/2.8.
Encouraging Creativity
It was a rare moment of sibling collaboration—when all the kids put aside their squabbling, grabbed their markers, and made something.
This scene used to happen more often, especially before Aiden became a teenager. Our kitchen table was the family art studio, and the kids would take on a three-marker challenge or create handmade birthday cards for friends.
Early on, we encouraged creativity. My wife is a talented musician, and I have a background in music and photography, so we made sure to give our kids a solid artistic foundation. All the kids took early childhood music classes, and we enrolled the girls in the local art school’s preschool program. Aiden is a talented musician in the middle school band, and the girls are musical theater performers.
We know it will do them good. Art for art’s sake is a perfectly fine goal to me, but there are other benefits—like civic engagement and writing skills. And the arts are social: most of Aiden’s friends come from marching band (so did mine, back in high school!). The arts, combined with a love of reading, an appreciation of the outdoors, and a bit of Midwestern kindness, are a pretty good recipe for an enjoyable childhood and a successful adulthood.
For some families, it’s all about sports and competition, or pure academic achievement.
Our kids? They were cursed with art lovers for parents. They didn’t stand a chance.
Step Outside
“Go touch grass” is such a meme these days. And for good reason – after almost three years of pandemic isolation, we could all use some fresh air. We probably spend too much time online, especially on social media, and it can affect our wellbeing.
This year, I’m trying my best to get outside more. During the pandemic, I made taking a walk at lunchtime a new habit to help my mental and physical health. But “outside” can also mean away from the internet, or away from your everyday. Now is always the best time to see or do something new.
And while you’re at it, grab your camera and capture what you experience.
Waking Up in Spring
April is our time to wake up and get outside. The birds are chirping, the leaves are sprouting, and the sun comes out to visit again.
Around the New House pt 2
More from around the new house.
We’re still getting settled, making this our home, these summer days.
Welcome Home
The last two months have been a whirlwind. We purchased a new house in April, officially closed on it in May, and have spent the two-ish months since then packing, moving, and unpacking again.
I have been taking photos the entire time, but it’s only been now that I’ve been able to assess what I made and edit some to share. As always: a new place, new light to capture.
It helps that the weather is turning nice. Even though it’s been cooler and rainy, it’s nice to enjoy the new yard and sit outside for the lovely spring days. We take walks around the new neighborhood, exploring the winding streets and meeting new people.
Moving is very stressful. I hope this is the last time. While we’re here, I’ll keep capturing what I see.
Home New Home
Out of the blue, we bought a new house.
As always, I use my camera to explore new places: see how the light changes, assess the space, and catch the little details you miss on your first pass-through. I picked a day before we moved much in and caught the empty house on a quiet weekend afternoon.
A bit of peace and silence before the packing and shuttling begin.
Forty
It’s not so bad, turning 40.
Mostly, I still feel like I’m in my early to mid 30s. Thirty – now THAT birthday felt monumental: buying a new house, switching jobs. A lot changed that year.
This year? We’re still stuck in a pandemic. I’ve felt on hold for the last 12 months. Maybe I can just skip this birthday?
No, of course not. But mentally, I’m not 40. Perhaps it’s denial. Halfway through life, I feel like I’ve done a tremendous amount of things. Knowing me, I’ve got many more projects on the horizon.
Like my “Thirty Six” project. I just remembered I have that one still unfinished. Time to look through some film photos from four years ago…
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.
Kids These Days
It’s barbaric, of course, especially now that we recognize children are miniature people. They have thoughts and feelings. They’re more than field workers or inconveniences.
Still, with every minute of every day spent with the kids, it’s an adjustment. Before, we worked all day, and we spent time with the kids in the evenings or on the weekends. Now it’s all day, every day.
Soon there will be no school work, no Zoom class meetings, no nothing. Just unstructured summertime. Luckily we’re in a nice time of year when staying outside and playing is a possibility.
Outside also means avoiding social media and the news. The kids don’t have any idea what’s going on in the world today. If they did, it’d be difficult to answer their questions. The virus? They know about that. They know its name. Everything else? Blissfully unaware.
Working as I do, each day at the kitchen table, I can watch them play in the backyard and live out their own adventures. They are little people, and as much as that old English saying makes me laugh, I don’t believe it. I didn’t get to hear it so much before. It’s good to hear them out there, playing and laughing and crying.
Inside, I can barely work because of my anxiety at the state of the world. Better for them to be outside.
Week Two
We have our routine down pretty well now. Wake up, eat, check-in, watch some TV, do live stream music with mom, go outside, lunch, quiet time, back outside, dinner, play, bed. Repeat.
Work is definitely challenging these days. The kids are feeling cooped up. It’s hard not to chat with the neighbors, except from a distance. And the streets are so quiet.
Every day we’re a little more anxious about everything: our health, our families, the economy, the Executive Branch’s dipshit handling of the whole situation. We feel phantom symptoms and worry. We’re trying to make the groceries we bought two weeks ago last a bit longer.
I did start a new batch of cider. I took a photo field trip that I hope to share later. The weather is warming up, so I’m sitting on the front porch listening in on conference calls while the kids dig their bikes out of the garage.
Every little thing helps us not think about every big thing.