After our Wisconsin summer vacation, I had the thought to take the photos from the trip and make a little picture book out of them.
This week, I did just that after receiving a discount email from Snapfish. Just $12 for an 8×11″ book with 20 pages? Sold.
I rarely jump on those deals when I get them, but once in a while the opportunity and the idea come together to make something happen.
There are a ton of photo printing companies out there, just begging you to make something. These places are constantly sending out coupons and discounts. Test a few out, see what you like, and then wait for the sale emails to come in. It’s too affordable not to something.
It was about 7:45 p.m. Saturday when I swore for the first time. It wouldn’t be the last.
That first time, it was because Michigan, early on, was looking paltry against Notre Dame, and the weatherman kept interrupting the football game to tell us a thunderstorm was heading toward Jackson.
After that, I swore because a tornado was making a mess of our neighborhood – just 15 minutes later.
The second time I swore was because I watched a giant oak limb fall into our street, snapping the power lines and cutting our electricity. I don’t remember what exactly I said, but it was enough for my wife to spring into action, grabbing the kids and heading to the basement.
After that, it was a blur: torrential rain, downed limbs, no power, giant trees snapped in two, and a little crowd of drenched birds, shivering and frightened, gathered around a spared maple.
With the power gone, we made the best of our quiet night in the house. The next morning, we woke up to a new view of the sky: those majestic oaks that shaded our house were gone, as was a hunk of the magnolia in the back yard. It covered our dining room window, making it feel like we were in the middle of a hedgerow.
We were lucky. Our neighbors got the worst of it, losing most of their front yard trees and a few others – plus it was their power line I watched get cut in two. A block down, a street fell across the street, smashing a Cutlas Sierra. Another oak fell on top of a house, the trunk teetering like a seesaw. Strangely, a block or two in either direction, it looked like no storm had come through at all. Just our luck.
So we spent the next two days cleaning up from the confirmed tornado. Much like some John Mellenkamp song, we were small town people helping our neighbors, chipping in with a rake or a chainsaw when we could.
As with any vacation, getting back home feels like you never left. Even with a week and a modest agenda, time flies on holiday.
But we certainly made the best of it. One or two things per day, venturing out and about this peninsula, we felt like we went on enough adventures while still managing three kiddos.
For my photographic eyes, it was plenty. Those red cherries, that blue Great Lake, those violet lavender blossoms, the golden sunsets, and – just like Michigan – plenty of green everywhere we went.
Two out of the three kids would probably never remember this family vacation. For me, it was memorable enough to consider creating a photo book of our summer trip – a reminder of where we went and what we saw. And perhaps a reminder for if and when we consider this place again.
Taking photos is how I get to know a place. With any new home, or job, or vacation destination, my camera becomes a sixth sense – another way to feel the vibes of a location.
To our family, this little corner of Door County, Wisconsin was completely new, yet spiritually familiar. We knew this lake, we knew these trees, we understood this climate. What was different was the little touches of Scandinavian culture (Lutheran Churches everywhere!), and the supper clubs, and fish boils – those little touches of Wisconsin that made us feel we were really somewhere new.
This cabin, too, reminded me so much of my grandparents’ farm house. The slanted room, the crawl spaces, the outdated furniture – it was like stepping back into my own past.
Here on the other side of the Niagara Escarpment, we felt with our eyes and tasted with our sight.
It’s been a busy month. We had our family vacation (more on that soon), and I did some traveling for work. Along the way, I had big plans for my musicians project, even paying for studio space for the month.
Last night, I had my first subject join me in the space for a portrait session. It took the whole month of July for me to get one musician in the studio. That left 29 other unproductive days.
Finally, after things settled down, I hit a day last week when I got fed up with my lack of progress and jumped back into the project. I sent some emails, confirmed some dates, and boom – photo making.
It’s easy to feel guilty over all that lost time. I’ve beaten myself up all month long, but enough is enough. All it takes is pushing one pebble down the hill, and pretty soon you have an avalanche. For me, the pebble was sending an email invitation to a stranger.
Few things have been constants in my photography hobby. Not cameras, not lenses, not subjects, not styles.
The thing that has remained constant: the On Taking Pictures podcast by Bill Wadman and Jeffery Saddoris.
The duo just wrapped up their last episode, number 325, after putting out six years worth of weekly, hour-plus shows. We, as listeners, tuned in as they discussed the art and craft of photography, the creative method, art culture, and personal struggles. Bill and Jeffery built an audience and a community, and as they did so, On Taking Pictures become a can’t-miss podcast for me each week.
In fact, as I think about my photography practice, I can’t think of a time when I wasn’t listening and learning at the same time. OTP was responsible for one of my first photography projects, and Bill and Jeffery helped me think of projects as larger bodies of work – something that has helped me create my portrait projects, and much more.
Even as my photography practiced has waxed and waned, especially lately, Bill and Jeffery helped me stay in touch with my passion. They reminded me that photography was a worthy hobby, and that some issues – what we view as “good” work, how others see our work, how much of a difference photography can make – may never be resolved. Their point? That lack of resolution was okay. It was normal.
Gear was sometimes a topic, but rarely a subject of their show. Instead, what they focused on was the art stuff: exhibitions, project goals, their Photographers of the Week. Cameras were important, but never as important as the subject.
OTP was a great show – a perfect photography podcast, when so many others have come and gone, or lost my interest. I’ll miss it. The good news is, the shows are archived at 5by5 for future listeners.
