In the Eye of the Beholder

Were my mother still alive, she would not have cared much for this photo. I took it in Panguitch, UT, a tiny hamlet on Highway 89. Mom would have thought it was ridiculous that I'd take a photo of an old, run-down gas station when there were so many other, prettier scenes all around it 

But of the 300-plus photos I shot during my recent travels, this is one of my top favorites. Anybody can shoot red hillsides and blue skies. But this, my friends, is a photographer's photograph. My goal is to take beautiful, interesting pictures that evoke emotions, memories, or any kind of reaction other than just, "My, that's pretty. How nice."

My mom might have been forced to admit that at least the colors are interesting. But why anyone would want a picture of anything that was old, neglected and worn-out was beyond her. I, on the other hand, am drawn to such things. I've been told I have a "romantic attachment to the past." I'd have to agree.

Why? Maybe buried deep in my psyche or cells are vague recollections, missing pieces of an unfinished puzzle. Could it ever be completed, it might provide a retrospective glimpse into a different lifetme lived just prior to this one.

I love to be around old cars, clothes, buildings, furnishings and people. I'm attracted to anything that's vintage 1935-1945. My mother, however, didn't need to ponder possibilites of a past life during that period. She had more real-life memories of the Great Depression and WWII than she cared to recall.

Most of Mom's recollections from those times were sad ones. When questioned, she'd usually flat-out refuse to "go there." I'd hoped that as she grew more elderly, she might relent and tell me more about her life in the years before I was born. But no way, in fact, hell no. 

Pry as cautiously as I might, her irritation would inevitably bring an abrupt halt to such conversations. "I don't remember," she'd snap, then clam up entirely and pout while she turned on the TV to sports. Right up into her final days at 86, Mom watched TV sports avidly. Pro golf, L.A. Lakers basketball games, and Bronco (Boise State University) football games were what she lived for in her old age, and I'm not exaggerating here one bit.

If out there anywhere, there are any baby-boomers who claim they honestly totally understood the attitudes and beliefs of their elderly parents, then I don't think I believe them. If anyone in their 50s or 60s says they always got along great with their folks, then I want to hear from them. I want to find out how that could have happened. Maybe they lived in some other country and their parents liked to smoke pot, too?

My relationship with mine, especially my mother, at times seemed as if we were from different planets. Am I the only one who had a tough time breaching the "generation gap?"

Mom would have snorted her distain for this photo, too, but I like it a lot and hope you will as well. So, over and out for now from this remote North Idaho outpost. It's peacefully cold and clear here tonight. I hope your night sky is full of bright stars wherever you are, too. 

American Ingenuity

FLAGSTAFF, AZ -- Still slightly troubled by the extreme commercialization and vast amount of tourist facilities at the entrance to Bryce Canyon National Park, I've been mulling the justification of it all: Jobs, of course. Work. Money from tourists to feed peoples' families. So I guess it's okay. It costs $25 per vehicle these days just to enter the park.

Anyway, I almost didn't stop to take this photo below, which I would describe as a "cornball tourist snapshot." I am sure it's been taken millions of times and has appeared on millions of postcards. But the lighting was good and the traffic was light, so I pulled over and got it for you.

By tonight I should be reunited with some first cousins I haven't seen in 40 years or more. I guess I'd better go get in the shower and spiff myself up. I am pretty excited to see them.

 

Perfect Timing

PANGUITCH, UT -- Bryce Canyon National Park, like Yellowstone and Glacier, would irritate the heck out me in the summertime when the tourist trade is booming.

Enduring exhaust-fumed, bumper-to-bumper traffic, or riding in a shuttle full of annoying Elmore Gawkers with whining little kids, is not my idea of how to experience nature's grandeur of this caliber. Add in the summer heat, and I can't wait to get out of there.

Right now I have this whole place almost to myself and I love it. Wintertime outdoor photography is usually more interesting anyway, since only the most-dedicated or crazy shooters will go out looking for scenery when it's 10 degrees below zero.

It's not quite that cold here, but the snow is piled higher than Bric's back and it's definitely quite chilly. That's why I took this rather-bland picture below from my truck's window in, appropriately named, Red Canyon. This shot is not enhanced by any type of photo-manipulating software, I swear.

My new Nikon has captured more-stunning versions of this area's glorious color, but I'm saving them to show you later. I need to write something inspirational to accompany some of my newly acquired Kodak moments. There's even a Kodachrome Basin State Park here, if you can believe it.

To say, "It's really pretty here," is an idiotic understatement an Emore Gawker might utter, so I'll just close by telling you, "Don't ever come here in July."

Road Trip to The Rest of My Life

It's getting close to time for me to head out for the rest of my life. I plan to stay in touch with you for the whole way. I won't be meandering back in my memories as often when I get some new experiences to share with you.

You should know that this step would not be possible with you. When I started this blog in August 2009, two months after losing my mom and husband, I was not even sure how this works, nor why I was doing it. I just knew that if I was ever going to pick up the pieces of my life, I needed to try to gain a forum for expression of my God-given talent and creativity.

With nothing much else to do with my life, I was also looking for a way to use my experience as a writer, photographer, and graphic artist. As I stepped with trepidation into the world of blogging, it seemed like a tremendous effort at the time. The enormous depth and shock of my grief had knocked me down pretty hard,

I will always be grateful to Troutbirder for being the first "stranger" to discover my blog and leave a comment. I was so excited the day I discovered his remark about something I'd written. Prior to that, the meager comments, although greatly appreciated, had been being left only by my loving and ego-boosting nieces.

My little blog had felt like a lone candle burning in a window of my log home in the forests of North Idaho. It was helping me feel a little better about myself, but I wondered if anyone else "out there" would ever see it. I live a long ways from most of the population of the rest of the world, which is exactly thw I prefer it, until it becomes a bit too lonely sometimes.

When I clicked on the mysterious Troutbirder's link, it opened up a door to a whole new world for me. Now my blog is even global! One of my followers, or Flashlight Holders as I like to call them, appears to be from Germany. Now, if that don't beat all, as granny would say. I can't make heads or tails out of their blog and wonder at their interest in mine. Maybe it's my German Shepherds.

When I head out of here I will be going into the dawn, first to the east and then south. I plan to always stay in the path of the Light and look for His love all around me. Should I fall into the darkness again, I will call out for you, and all you will have to do is turn or your light for me, and like a beacon in the night, your kindness will lead me safely home.