we are going camping again this week. just the two of us, mostly

home church

We visited my favorite church a bit back.

It is a 3500 member college, now university church. It is what I call “high church.” The musicians are professional quality, the speakers gifted, even the members look like they were were hand chosen.

I photographed the progress in the construction of the church building 40 some years ago. I have served as a deacon and as a helper in one of the kids departments. I attended the nursery class for a very long time, since we had two daughters about a year apart years and years ago.

So it is really is my home church. When we are in town we always go there, or nearly always.

We were quite early today, on purpose. The speaker was waiting on the front row, he is an old friend and I visited with him a bit. We sat down and an old friend from photography days stopped to visit, then one of Miriam’s colleagues at her art job was there.

The economy is tight everywhere. The one friend had just been pushed into retirement, the other had just been terminated, both are very capable hard working people.

It was good to be “home.”

portrait of a Raptor

knife sharpening

Today I was cleaning up the garlic crop.

I picked out a knife out of the travel trailer.

The knife had a well used wood handle, along with a bit of a burn.

But it was the bade that intrigued me. I was taught to sharpen a Linoleum/Carpet knife by a real master. The whole blade is sharpened, not just the point. This 8 or 9" blade had been sharpened well. The blade had been sharpened almost a quarter of an inch.

That made me wonder where that knife came from. It has been around our house as long as I can remember, it is not a new knife.

Miriam's grandfather owned a small corner grocery store. Her father, as a young man, worked in that store, partly as a butcher. I can't prove anything, but it seems possible that this knife goes back that far and was sharpened often by a very capable hand.

I own a fair amount of used tools, and I wonder what the story is about each one of them.

There is a draw knife in my collection of tools that belonged to my own biological father. Mom told me, a very long time ago, that while dad was using the tool, it slipped and took a hunk of my father's knee.

I wonder about the other stories my tools might tell.

The knife I was using today was not really sharp and I was using it carelessly (I know better) and I cut my thumb. That is not remotely unusual, unfortunately.

self portrait

visiting

It has been a visiting month.

We have been company at two daughters houses and we have had company. We enjoyed it all.

Today my brother and his wife (along with two very picky eater grandkids) leave heading back to Georgia, but going the long way, via Glacier national park.

Tomorrow it will be grandma and grandpa at the old ranch -- alone, just the two of them,

But that is OK too.

the B word

There was one word that was forbidden in our house when my kids were growing up. That was the infamous B word.

Should some one say the word they were reminded that it was not allowed.

Now i find myself deep into the space where that word applies.

For the most part I am bored out of my head. I take care of the garden, I write in my journal, I sit.

Of course I should follow my own rule: “Find something to do so you are not bored.” At this age that is not as easy as it once was. I should and could be making art, but there is no fire about it. I might be writing a book, but for sure there is no fire there.

Maybe it is not about fire or fun. In art, particularly sculpture, the idea, the real creative part is the fun and quick part. The rest of the piece, up to the point you put your name on it, is just plain discipline and hard work.

So, get back to work little davy. Churn out something or other.

Just do it.

We are back home again. The garden is watered (good neighbor) but the grass and weeds are high.
Still home is the most wonderful to be.
For a while, at least.

tools

When Daughter 1 asked/told me we were going to her house, I asked her what she might want me to do while I was there.

Few things are worse than wanting to do something useful and not having the right tools, even though I own the right tools. So I asked.

“A simple trellis over the trumpet vine, would be great.”

I am not sure she used the word “simple” and if she did i choose not to hear it! A good trellis does not touch the wall, but sits out a foot of so. It also is hinged in such a way that it can be lowered, in case the wall needs to be painted or such.

As you can see this is getting more complex. I brought most of the right tools, and son in law had the rest, so that was OK.

But it was hot and I do not do well working very long in high heat, so it was done in bursts. By the time it was finished it was a couple hundred pounds of wood, but once in place it worked and looked just as I had envisioned.

These vines are on the west side of the kitchen. The summer sun beats against the wall raising the kitchen temp. Even an empty trellis will help cool the house.

We are going camping for a couple of days. No phone, no internet, lots of quiet.

fair?

Life is not fair said the preacher.

He knows of what he speaks. I have known him since we were in college together a very long time ago. His wife was editor of the college year book and i was the photographer.

It was a summer sermon at the college, now university church. The regular pastor was on vacation as were the students. My friend had been pastor, but years ago he gave that up to be a chaplain and a professor. He is in the navy reserves as chaplain and is very high rank. He is a really good guy.

He and his wife had to daughters. After one of them graduated from college she got a summer job in Washington DC and there she was tragically and brutally murdered. She was about 22.

Not too many marriages survive that kind of thing but theirs did, and yet when he spoke about all of this he was sympathizing with his audience and if I did not know his history I would not be at all aware.

But he was right. Those who deserve to die young of horrible diseases do not, and the good go way too soon. The bright do not always inherit the kingdom, nor the good the large pension.

But what do we do? We can feel superior or we can feel neglected, but neither is really best. In spite of it all, there is a great deal of randomness in our universe. We, the good guys, do not always win.

analog

While visiting/working (my fingers past the bony parts -- haha), I have become inspired to break out my Nikons and Leicas. I cannot begin to afford digital cameras that come close to those old workhorses, at least in my tired old hands.

What got me thinking about all of this was looking at sites that show really good “analog” photography, and realizing that I used to do things with my film cameras that I simply cannot with the digital cameras I have. (Better cameras are available, but are "over budget").

I found a lab that will sell me print film at a decent price, process the film, post digital copies on their website that I can download as well as send me the prints.

Not a free system, but it deserves some consideration.

One of my favorite portrait photographers uses roll film in his Hasselblad, then has that digitized and, after being photoshopped, is digitally printed. Best of both worlds? Hard to know.

But when we get home next week, I’ll break out the trusty Leica M2, exercise the shutter a few hundred times and shoot a roll of film.

You just never know.

We are going camping here again next week, this time with Josh!