My granddaughter, Hailey, asked, “Do you have mountain lions there,” and I said, “Maybe. Why do you ask?” “You must live in the wilderness,” she said. Her voice was thin and reedy and filled with a curiosity that bordered on uncertainty if not fear, and on this evening she was filled … More Where the wild things are
I didn’t want to go out into the cold and ice and snow and so fretted over it with altogether too much energy. It was the last night of 2012 and I was tired. My wife had been working crazy long hours so we’d barely seen each other for several weeks, and … More The last picture, in three parts
How we appear to ourselves is rarely how others perceive us. This is doubly so when trying to infiltrate any form of gathering of “locals,” a weasely term that at once distances the bulk of attendees from a smaller fraction of those relegated to outsider status. Freelance writers and reporters are familiar … More Another form of witness
The process was as slow as it was detailed: select an image in Lightroom, transfer it to Photoshop, increase the canvas size one inch on each side, type the name of the person in the lower margin followed by the name or nature of his or her business, center the type, … More When you’ll know when
Before the opening last week of the new low-slung concrete bridge spanning the banks of the Big Blue River, residents worried that the old bridge would fall apart before its replacement could be built. Closing it was unthinkable—a detour would require a minimum of 45 miles one way on dirt and gravel … More The bridge over the River Blue
How we appear to ourselves is rarely how others perceive us. This is doubly so when trying to infiltrate any form of gathering of “locals,” a weasely term that at once distances the bulk of attendees from a smaller fraction of those relegated to outsider status. Freelance writers and reporters are familiar with … More Witness
By Lori Parker I love old photographs. To me they bring back memories of people and places of times past. Some have more meaning than others as I am sure it is for all people. Over the years, friends and relatives have given me many photographs of my mother, Catherine … More A bridge between the past and present
On the eve of destruction a brown thrasher paced through its liquid repertoire, each note dripping with lyricism, lust and a hint of threat. Beyond the thicket where the horizon opened to infinity and the terrain fell away to distant Fawn Creek, skies darkened to a purplish bruise and darkened still. Leaves … More Watching and waiting
We hadn’t been in the small town of Cuba for more than 15 minutes when an elderly lady approached to express how much she enjoyed my photography. I thanked her, flattered at the recognition, when a sudden infusion of doubt poisoned the compliment. No good deed goes unpunished, I … More Not who you think I am
We were a few miles east of the small town of Goff when I realized I’d missed my turn. Or, to put it another way, I’d missed what I thought was my turn. The road in question, something Google maps had assured me was the fastest, most direct line … More Old road, new road
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