What Made America Great

I discovered this rolling testament to do-it-yourselfers in a shopping center parking lot.  As far as I can tell the only new items were the bungee cords holding the plastic tarp on the roof and the large yellow tie down straps securing the camper to the truck bed.  To be fair, I must admit the spray painted rims and multicolor paint job on the old Dodge looked as though they had been applied in the last few weeks.  It would be easy to describe this as a "redneck motorhome," but that wouldn't give the owner the credit that is deserved.

What I see is a solution to a problem.  The problem is that someone needs a camper and has a budget that prevents them from purchasing what they want.  They buy what they can afford and use their skills and talents to turn it in to what meets their needs.  I expect it is fully paid for, so no financing was needed. The only way this camper's owner gets upside down is if those tie down straps fail while motoring down the highway. Desire and ingenuity overcome a lack of funds.  Function trumps form in this case.

It was built in the U. S., the owner used ingenuity and sweat to overcome seemingly insurmountable problems, it was completed within budget, and it functions as it was designed.  Those are some of the things that made America great.  Maybe the owner should run for office. 

No Particular Place To Go

"Cruisin' and playing the radio with no particular place to go."  Sometimes that Chuck Berry song perfectly describes me when I'm looking for something that catches my eye.  This day I was in search of interesting shapes, colors, or shadows and was just about to head home with an empty memory card when I rolled up on this scene.  The construction of a new car wash was entering its final stages and a paint crew was on site.  There were several painters at work, but this gentleman was the only one visible between the ladders and scaffolding.

For me, the low position of the sun adds significant visual interest by creating such a striking shadow. Without the shadow, the scene is nearly two dimensional because it lacks significant depth.  The shadow lets the viewer see the painter is working on a stepladder instead of an extension ladder.  It also adds a bit of humor, which I like to include in my photos whenever appropriate.   The painter's shadow is nearly the same size as he is, but the shadow created by the paint roller pole is significantly longer than the object itself.

Traveling without a destination doesn't mean the trip will be pointless.  Right, Chuck? 

 

Advertising

I came across this scene in North Birmingham, Alabama.  How folks choose to present their businesses to the public continually fascinates me.  The services offered at the Honeymoon Barber Shop...haircuts, shoe shine, and boot blacking...seem to be straightforward and that's what I would expect when I walked in. Even if I was in desperate need for a haircut or shoe shine, I must admit I would be going next door first just to see what is going on there.  Great advertising always piques your interest and that sign caused me to stop my car and get out.  

Mrs. Ricalia

As you fly into Rafael Nunez International Airport in Cartagena, Colombia, it’s hard to miss the narrow streets and ramshackle dwellings of the slum located just outside its boundaries.  This is one of Cartagena’s poorest areas.  Most homes do not have electricity or running water.  Unemployment is rampant and people are tightly packed. Chickens and pigs run loose picking through garbage for bits of food.  Seasonal rains create cascades of water, trash, and waste that get deposited in the lowest areas of the slum creating a giant Petri dish the Center for Disease Control would be proud to have cultivated.

The Ricalias were hoping to improve their lives, so they moved into the slum.  Yes, you read that correctly.  The couple had been living a hand to mouth existence in the countryside for several years and felt their only hope for a better life would be in the worst neighborhood in Cartagena.  They entered the city as invisible citizens in their country.  No birth certificates, driver licenses, or other identification.  No income, no jobs, and no prospects.  Their comings and goings went unnoticed.  Like the passing of Eleanor Rigby, I anticipate no one except the priest would have attended their funerals.  To believe their lives would get better in that slum required a level of hope that cannot be measured on my optimism meter.

Unbeknownst to the Ricalias, their unfounded optimism was about to yield results.  A foundation working with the city and local businesses had established an office and a community center in the slum.  For their part, Cartagena agreed to grade the streets and put in a drainage system to handle the torrents of the rainy seasons.  The foundation created a “pay as you go” program that offered services to neighborhood residents who participated in workshops on basic life skills and they were given paint, shingles, and other materials to repair their homes.  A pre-school was established and a small tuition fee entitled children to instruction and two healthy meals each day.  One of the corporate partners bought six industrial sewing machines and residents were taught how to sew uniforms for the staff of local hotels.  Residents were provided with information on how to turn their backyards into gardens and taught how to sell their produce to local grocers and restaurants.  15% of every sale went back to the foundation to cover operating costs and fund future programs.  The underpinning of the foundation’s work was to demonstrate that everyone has value and can be a contributor.  They offered resources, not handouts.

The foundation and its resources were a godsend for the Ricalias.  They, in turn, were great ambassadors for the program.  Leaders at foundation expressed their appreciation by presenting the Ricalias with a vacant house near the edge of the community.  It was shelter and little else.  When the couple told the foundation leaders that one of the things they most wanted was to solemnize their marriage, their hopes were realized.  In lieu of wedding presents, foundation workers and residents cleaned, repaired, and repainted the Ricalia’s home and added a new fence for good measure.

In short order, Mrs. Ricalia set about converting her backyard to a series of raised beds for herbs and vegetables.  With earnings from the sale of her produce, she constructed a pen and bought three pigs.  While most other livestock owners let their pigs run free to find food where they could, Mrs. Ricalia walked to a neighborhood school each day and returned with two buckets of scraps for her hogs.

On the day I visited, Mrs. Ricalia was tending her garden.  The plants appeared to be healthy and weed-free.  The whole area was very well organized and even the pigsty was clean, which didn’t seem to bother its occupants.  After showing my translator and me around the garden, Mrs. Ricalia invited us into her home.  I expected to see a place with only essential furnishings and that’s what I found.  What I didn’t expect was how clean everything was.  Even with the tropical climate and pigpen close by, the home smelled fresh.   When I told her how impressed I was with all she and her husband had done with their property and how nice everything looked, Mrs. Ricalia paused and said, “You can’t always control your financial situation, but cleanliness is a choice.” For me, that was a profound observation from someone who has an advanced degree from life’s school of hard knocks.

As I stepped through her front gate and looked back, the Ricalia home, with its freshly painted fence, appeared as a tidy island in a sea of weeds, trash, and run down homes.  A place created by hope when all evidence pointed to hopelessness.  A tutorial in how to see possibility when all others see is despair and the product of a dogged determinism to hold on to your abundance mentality when your day is filled with shortages. 

My travels in the U.S. and abroad have taken me to many beautiful places and put me in contact with fascinating people.  Some stories were heart rending and a number were inspiring.  Mrs. Ricalia’s story is both and it serves as a frequent reminder that I lead a blessed existence, I need to be mindful before I complain, and if I ever hope to walk on water, I’ll have to get out of the boat.

 

 

Sometimes Images Are Created For You

I believe my Creator has a great sense of humor and sometimes I'm paying enough attention to get in on the funny things that happen around me.  This was one of those days.  

Monica and I were visiting the George Washington Museum and Textile Museum, a hidden gem among all the other excellent museums in Washington, DC.  It was established in 1925 and has a collection of more than 20,000 textiles covering 5,000 years and five continents.  The exhibits are well designed, many of the displays are breathtakingly beautiful, and the craftsmanship is marvelous.

As I was viewing a particularly detailed oriental garment, I turned around to see the lady above.  It occurred to me she might have stolen items from three different exhibits and was attempting to make her way out of the museum undetected.  She was a walking textile exhibit.

Uncle Boot

My Mom’s youngest brother is named John Buell, but I didn’t know his proper name until I was almost a teenager.  To me, he was and still is, Uncle Boot.  All eight kids in Mom’s family had nicknames and he earned his moniker due to being very small at birth.  Because there were 10 people living in a small home where space was at a premium, considerable thought was given to where the new baby would sleep.  One of his brothers suggested that since the newborn was so small, he should be placed in a knitted bootie and the name stuck.  Though he didn’t end up in a bootie, my uncle spent many nights of his infancy wrapped in a blanket in the drawer of a chest in my grandmother’s bedroom.

When WWII started and two of his brothers went to serve in the Army, Boot was in his early teens.  One day in June 1944 a letter from the War Department came to the farm.  Fearing the worst, and with my grandfather not around at the time, my grandmother asked Boot to read the letter to her.  It was quite a burden for a boy to bear, but he opened the envelope and told his mother that her son, Joe, was missing in action while taking part in the D Day Invasion.  Joe was found shortly after that and returned to Indiana after the war.

When Boot left home, he spent five years working as a roughneck in the Kentucky oilfields, but gave that up to return to the work that he loved…farming.  He has done that in one form or another for all of his life.  Uncle Boot's connection to the land is incredibly strong and the family farm has great meaning for him. When the barn my grandfather built in 1927 fell into disrepair, Boot used his own money to restore the structure to what it looked like in its heyday.  

Still going strong at 85, Uncle Boot lives his faith.  When he shakes your hand at the closing of a deal, no other contract is needed.  His word is his bond.  I have met several great people in my travels and some humble ones, but Uncle Boot is the most humble great person I know.  I told him that I wanted to create an image of him in the barn and he was glad to oblige.  

Beauty At Our Feet

It is easy to overlook things as we purposefully go from place to place in our lives.  We get focused on the objectives and have been taught to screen out any distractions.  Even when we are out enjoying what nature has to offer, it is easy to bypass small universes if our attention is somewhere else.  This image is a great example of that.

Several years ago while mowing my yard, I saw some weeds at the edge of the woods that needed trimming.  I went to the garage, retrieved my trimmer, and prepared to cut down the offending plants. Right before starting I noticed several of the plants were showing small flowering extensions.  Upon closer examination I discovered the intricate structure above...a four-layered star.  I put the trimmer back in the garage and returned with my camera and tripod.  

I've found it's good to slow down and take in all each scene has to offer.  You might find extraordinary things at your feet.

Signs - Part 11 - They Do Things Differently in New Orleans

In keeping with the whole "let the good times roll" vibe for The Big Easy, some forward thinking individual thought it would be a good idea to place the beer garden next to the guidance center.  I wonder how many clients the two establishments have in common?

Vacationing In The Driveway

This is one of my favorite shots from the past couple of months.  It was created with my phone during an early morning walk in Port Charlotte, FL.  It's far from a perfect or a striking image and yet there is something compelling about it.  The house is on a busy street and the residents have created a restful place for themselves complete with bright chairs, a colorful umbrella, flowering plants, and permanent sunshine.  

Are there any more margaritas in the blender?

Life Lessons From The Beach

Most of the time, I can honestly say that while I take my work seriously, I don't take myself seriously.  On those occasions when I start thinking I'm a pretty big deal, God often presents me with a picture of the universe with me in it...drawn to scale.  Those moments are always significant and have become etched into the hard drive of my memory banks.

A number of years ago I was with a group of buddies on a week long journey through the Bahamas in a 65 foot sailboat.  It was a truly joyous time and I don't think there was a cross word spoken between any of us for the entire trip.  On our last night at sea we had a full moon to guide us back to Miami and it was gorgeous.  We also had high winds and some impressive swells that caused me to move my sleeping bag from below deck to the bait box on deck.  As the boat pitched and rolled and the wind rattled the lines on the sails, I looked in every direction for any signs of other boats near by and there were none.  We were at the mercy of the elements and I found no comfort in that.  Even in the company of 15 others and on a sturdy craft, I felt miniscule and incredibly vulnerable.  We could be swamped by a wave and not be heard from again.  All of this combined to produce an unexpected feeling...calmness.  At that moment, I knew exactly who I was and where my place was.  It was very liberating.

It happened again a few weeks ago as I was doing my early morning walk.  High tide had deposited a seagull carcass on the beach.  Though I'm not a forensic pathologist, my opinion is that it had been in the water for a while.  I usually would quickly pass this subject matter and move on down the beach, but something prompted me to take a closer look.  One wing was partially buried and the time in the water had caused some of the feathers to separate and go in different directions.  This revealed the hollow bones and the wing's intricate structure, which typically goes unseen when you're watching birds fly.  Additional observation reminded me of how many separate parts make up each feather.  Even though I know this, I tend to view birds as a "whole", not as a group of components.  The complexity was impressive.

A few days earlier this gull was floating on air currents somewhere, fishing, and being a part of a flock.  It was filled with life and then it wasn't.  It's time on the beach would end when the tide came in again. I could have easily walked by this scene, but am grateful I didn't.  The combination of sand, feathers, and bones in the early light made for a striking composition.  The encounter was another reminder that my time here is temporary.  It is up to me to make the most of each moment and look for beauty in unexpected places. 

More Great Moments In Advertising

The part of me that wanted to investigate this by spending the night was persuaded not to by the part of me that asked, "What kind of a place would even need to advertise that their rooms were private?"

Michael

Some years back one of my peers at work made what I thought was an interesting observation.  "People are scary," he said.  He fleshed out his position by saying, "Most people don't really want to meet new people.  They prefer to be seen, but not noticed.  When people say, "How are you?" they're just being polite.  They don't really want to know how you're doing."  While I have found some truth in his comments, I have chosen to operate counter to that and it has almost always paid dividends.  It's not always easy, but I have found the reward to be worth any perceived risk.  That's how I met Michael.  

My friend and fellow photographer Geraint Smith and I were on a photo safari in northern New Mexico.  We were out early scouting locations in Raton, a once thriving town that is attempting to make an economic comeback after its primary industry left a number of years ago.  Many of the buildings on Raton's two primary streets date back to the early 1900's and bear the trademark decorative steel pillars from that era. Some of the buildings are now homes to restaurants and antique dealers.  One of the largest merchants in Raton's heyday was Marchiando's, which was a general store in the truest sense of the word.  Marchiando's opened in 1913 and if they didn't have it, you probably didn't need it.  The store closed in 1992 and the property was unoccupied for over 23 years.  The new owner wants to bring the property back to life and Michael has an important role in that.  He will be handling some of the restoration carpentry...and there's a lot of it.

Michael has lived in Raton for a long time and is glad to see things going in positive way after so many years of economic challenges.  I found him to be easy going and I very much appreciated his willingness to spend a few minutes in front of my camera.  Walking into Marchiando's, I was struck by the quality of the light coming in from the large front windows and the wall of display shelves that still had a smattering of merchandise left from when the store closed.  When I first spoke to Michael, I knew that's where I wanted to place him for his portrait.   For me, the few items on the shelves, the price stickers, and the signs provide the necessary context to tell a bit of his story.

It's meeting people like Michael that give me the courage to keep fighting my tendency to hold back in new situations.  Everyone has a story to tell and I'm glad to be the conduit to make that happen.

Great Moments In Advertising

I'm puzzled as to why this little restaurant in Las Vegas hasn't become a national chain.  The name is so much cooler than Taco Bell!  

Freedom of Expression

I live in a deed restricted community where there are rules regarding the exterior colors of homes, types of landscaping, fencing options, the number of pets per household, how long your trash cans can stay on the street and what your mailbox can look like.  Just in case you are wondering, this is not my neighborhood.

 

Painfully Beautiful

There are lots of reasons I love walking on the beach early in the morning; the breeze, the sounds of the waves, the small number of people I encounter, and the mystery of what the tide will bring in.  Perhaps someone can predict with a certain level of accuracy what will be washed onto the sand on a given day, but I can't.  Somedays there will be a stretch of the beach covered in broken shells, but only in a couple of areas.  How did they end up in just these two spots?  On other days, there are intricate designs lightly carved in the sand, though just for a few hundred yards.  Why does this occur only in certain parts of the shore?  Rather than give myself a headache trying to figure it out, I've decided to just enjoy the show.

Today's sunrise presentation consisted of a large number of these beautiful gelatinous creatures spread randomly across a large section of the beach.  They came in various sizes and, while most were in this orientation, several were inverted showing various shades of translucent blue to contrast with the hot pink displays at the edges and base of the sail.  The early morning light made the colors even more striking and the incoming waves would leave them covered in bubbles.  All this combined to make a wonderful stroll on the beach even better.

Being a relative newcomer to living near the shore and having an inquiring mind, I did a bit of research on the creatures when I returned home.  As it turned out, I was glad I encountered them on the sand instead of in the water.  They are Portuguese man o' war and the toxins in their tentacles can paralyze fish and inflict painful stings on swimmers.  No need for experiential learning in this case.  I've decided to trust Wikipedia's explanation on this one.

Signs - Part 10 - Disco is Still Dead

Just when I was hoping to find a mirror ball, platform shoes, and a really gaudy polyester shirt, I discovered the sign maker had used DISCO as an abbreviation for DISCONTINUED.  It was hard to conceal my disappointment.

The Importance of Unplugging

It's a gorgeous Spring morning and we're on the beach about 20 minutes before sunrise.  There are a few other folks who have arrived before us, but not more than a half-dozen.  When the sun comes up, people you meet get more sociable, but right now no one is talking.  The two couples lying supine and covered by blankets do not appear interested in anything except each other.  The solitary walker is headed in the opposite direction from us and seems to be relishing all that starting the day on the beach has to offer.

The gentleman in the photo had staked a temporary claim on this oceanfront property and furnished the place with a beach chair and an insulated beverage container--everything required to make the most of what's about to happen. While we were there he didn't take any phone calls, update his Facebook status, check on the progress of his fantasy sports teams, or see what was going on in the world.  I'm not sure he even twitched.  People who arrived after us seemed to sense that the man was in a special place as no one walked in front of him.

Before heading down the beach, we stood behind him for a while as the horizon started changing color and a few "god beams" preceded the sun's arrival.  It was one of several beautiful sights.  The tide had created some small islands and the water, picking up the color of the sky, twinkled orange and gold as it rippled between them.  Bits of shell littered the beach in some places while other stretches of sand were covered in fine lines like pin striping on a custom car.

It was one of those mornings when it's easy to lose track of how far we had walked.  By the time we made it back to our entry point, the only evidence that remained of the man was the imprint of his beach chair in the sand.  I'm not sure how the rest of his day went, but it started spectacularly. 

To just be in the presence of nature's glory and, if you're lucky, to share those moments with a loved one is a gift best enjoyed without external connections.  Unplug for a bit.  The world will still be there when you reconnect.  

The Real Cirque du Soleil

Please look carefully at the picture.  These fellows are operating more than 75 feet above the ground as they make connections on high voltage lines in northern Colombia.  The temperature is hovering close to 100 Farenheit and the best work platform they have are ladders laid horizontally and connected to the power lines.  The man on the right maintains his balance by draping a leg around the de-energized line. This is what they do all day.  

So, what were you saying about the a/c being out in the office for a couple of hours today?  

This Isn't Rooms to Go

If hustle and bustle could be converted to currency, Haiti would be one of the wealthiest nations in the world instead of being a perennial contender for poorest country in the western hemisphere.  It's mid-afternoon and a steady stream of buses, tap-taps, motorcycles, and trucks rattle and honk their way past the woodworking shop where I'm standing.  The building is slightly larger than a decent sized bedroom in the U.S. and it's pretty much chock full of wood pieces and furniture in various stages of completion.  The structure is made of corrugated tin nailed to a minimalist framework.  There are sizable gaps between the sides of the workshop and the roof, which is by design.  Without these, the combination of the Haitian heat and metal exterior would turn the place into a large oven.  

As it is, I've already sweated through my clothes and the evening breeze that precedes the storms this time of year can't come fast enough.  The owner of the shop and his three helpers are busy cutting and sanding pieces for what will be a very attractive cabinet.  The building is close enough to the road that the traffic sounds drown out the woodworking noise, which seems strange until I notice there is no electricity in the shop and no generator in sight.  Everything is done by hand and the finished pieces appear to be as nicely constructed and finished as they are heavy.  

The owner stops working long enough to show me around and through my translator, Junior, he talks me through his construction process.  The fellows doing the sanding seem to welcome my presence, though I suspect it's because my arrival has given them a much-deserved break.  I think the image of the owner shows someone who is confident in his abilities.  He knows he's good.  As much as I like that photo, I prefer the one of his helper's sawdust covered hands.  It tells you all you need to know about this enterprise.  The only thing that is missing is a sign above the door in Creole that said, "Yesterday was the only easy day this week."  

The Mason and His Apprentice

These gentlemen were building a detached kitchen at an orphanage in Haiti.  Prior to the construction all the cooking was done in a small space outside between the house and the bathroom.  Even though it was hard work done under challenging conditions with minimal tools there was no grumbling.  They seemed to know their labors would make life better for the cooks and the kids they served.  

No matter where I've traveled it seems there is a universality to deriving a sense of accomplishment from helping others and being a part of something bigger than one's self.  I was blessed to be present while they worked and grateful they were willing subjects.