52-Week Photography: June 2024 Edition
Plundering the Archives for Relevance
I admit to cheating a little with this challenge. I hardly ever take photographs anymore — good ones, that is — which makes me a little sad. Photography was a consuming passion for about a dozen years, but now the romance has faded. Still, I have tens of thousands of images on my computer (if you know a surefire and possibly medium-low tech way to organize photos, drop a line in the comments), and I’ve rarely shared them. So I share them here. I’m grateful for this community, and especially for @Rodrigo S-C for conceiving and curating this opportunity. The dates on the photos below range from 2011 to last winter. Enjoy them — or not.
26-This Lovely Mess
Last winter while walking my dog, a glimmer of frosty white caught my eye, though there hadn’t been any snow. Peering down, almost hidden by a mess of dead leaves, I saw a tiny Christmas display. Fashioned from found objects, it had been carefully placed under a row of hedges.
I had to bend almost double to see it: a twig hung with teensy ornaments; two pint-sized doors made of cast-off wood and finished with coffee stirrers and metal latches from a jewelry box; and a minuscule bicycle fashioned from buttons and bent wire. Only the jingle bells on the “tree” and the frost-covered reindeer were manufactured, but both elevated the charm. It was as if the creator had envisioned a holiday display for fairies.
Walking past the spot each day with my dog, I would bend down, holding my breath. Was it still there and intact? Yes, it was. Every day it gave my heart the same joyful lift. Snows came and went; leaf blowers passed through the neighborhood, and still the display remained. Then, in the spring, the decorated tree and the reindeer disappeared.
Though disappointed, I felt I had developed some kind of communion with the artist, something like the children in To Kill a Mockingbird who find carved figures and sticks of chewing gum in the hollow of an old tree in their neighborhood, placed there by an unknown, benevolent hand. Perhaps there will be another display one day soon, said my hopeful heart.
24-Ordinary World
When I got my first SLR, I traipsed all over public grounds looking for odd subjects to photograph. One of my favorite spots to find inspiration and good light was the property of a former convent that had been converted to a spiritual conference center.
The grounds were welcoming, providing visitors with a labyrinth, a meditation hut, and a gravel path that led to an overlook where visitors could sit and gaze at the sunset over the Hudson River. I spent many hours there, photographing a splintered barn, the gnarled trees, the shimmer of sunlight on the river.
In the middle of a field adjacent to the walking path sat, inexplicably, a fire hydrant. What twist of fate had brought it here, to this ordinary world of nuns and spiritual seekers? Why was it so small — a mere 18 inches high? Where did — or could — the water come from? How could it possibly aid in extinguishing a fire from its station in the middle of a field? Yet the little fixture seemed at home there among the weedy grasses. Rusted and worn, it stood as sturdy and permanent as the wooden post beside it.
23-Crushed
Vermont is my happy place. Whenever I go, the hours I spend traveling north on I-91 feel like a pilgrimage. Crossing the state line effects a transformation: I let go of everything unimportant. Even though my house is nearly two hundred miles to the south, I am home.
Vermont served as the muse for much of my early photography. I’m especially drawn to structures like this one, which appeared to have been crushed by a falling tree limb. Vermonters seem to be okay with letting buildings die of their own accord. When the life and use of a building are finished, they sometimes just let the land take it.
I took a series of photos of barns and houses like this one, roof caved in, porch sagging, windows yawning. Something about buildings falling into ruin, the acceptance of life being over without struggle, quiets my spirit.
25-Flower Power
Roses display such power in their beauty, such hope in their vibrance, even in their transitory nature.
Thor was a dappled miniature dachshund who’d been put up for adoption as a puppy when he persisted in terrorizing the chickens on the farm where he was born. He was our second doxie, and he brought life and laughter to our lives, a natural comedian with hazel green eyes.
When he was six he developed spinal stenosis. He survived the very expensive surgery and for a while couldn’t walk without being half-carried in a sling. But eventually, he did walk, with a comedic gait that never seemed to trouble him. At this I marveled, inspired by the utter acceptance modeled by that little dog.
Thor lived a few more years before a recurrence of the disease felled him for a second time. We told ourselves he would recover again, but soon the truth became clear. He was suffering. I remember his eyes, imploring us, in those final days. The vet came to our house and administered the shots while he lay in our arms.
Afterward, I stood at the door to our backyard, hiccupping with sobs as my husband dug a small grave. That afternoon I placed a riot of roses on the spot where Thor was now part of the earth. This photo and this memory continue to send a shard of grief through me, a dozen years later.
