As a photographer it is my role to capture the elements of life people do not want to forget. Wedding vows. Little newborn fingers and toes. Anniversary parties.
However, what I have always found ironic is how intriguing I find the moments where no camera is around. I am keenly cognizant of the times in my life where I had to take a picture in my mind. In these cases, the "photograph" is omniscient, capturing the whole scene and not limited to the small frame of a camera lens. When I catch a moment I want to remember I will say, “Click” for I find it is important to acknowledge when life hands you something sublime.
This past weekend my mom’s family gathered together for the annual campout. While I could entertain you with the joys of attempted tent camping with a 5 week old, the picture I mentally took is I know the moment I will never forget.
Uncle Ron’s farm is the one consistent home I have always known. Unlike all other family members, who have moved or built new homes, the farm has been a stable icon of my family. There is something so concrete and safe about having a constant such as that. I can look across the yard and envision moments of my entire life and the lives of those I love so dear. Getting together is more than just being with family. It is easy conversation and unconditional love. It is ancestry and refuge. We are all of us sitting in our usual circle under the shade of a tulip or maple tree in the breeze of a gorgeous day and there is the single thought, “I love these people as much as I am loved by them.” What a magnificent feeling.
Click.
My thoughts fall back to a year ago to a moment I never told anyone about, but equally don’t want to forget. I left the family campout to visit my Granny at the nearby assisted living facility. She was new to these accommodations and to visit her there needlessly took courage. When I came to see her that morning she was slowly getting herself dressed. She was still mostly lucid then, although I remember thinking her eyes had taken on a cloudiness and confusion that would soon become her existence. She had tired herself and sat on the edge of her bed. I sat first on the nearby couch and then on the floor on my knees to be closer to her. Even though I was personally doubtful, I told her how we hoped pregnancy would be imminent. I didn’t burden her with my reality of medications and diagnosis that seemed to indicate otherwise. “You will be a mother soon,” she said with her standard finality that you knew was senseless to argue against. Her confidence brought me to tears. And we stayed hugging in that position for many minutes. That well-worn skin. That bony frame. That embrace I miss so much.
Click.
However, what I have always found ironic is how intriguing I find the moments where no camera is around. I am keenly cognizant of the times in my life where I had to take a picture in my mind. In these cases, the "photograph" is omniscient, capturing the whole scene and not limited to the small frame of a camera lens. When I catch a moment I want to remember I will say, “Click” for I find it is important to acknowledge when life hands you something sublime.
This past weekend my mom’s family gathered together for the annual campout. While I could entertain you with the joys of attempted tent camping with a 5 week old, the picture I mentally took is I know the moment I will never forget.
Uncle Ron’s farm is the one consistent home I have always known. Unlike all other family members, who have moved or built new homes, the farm has been a stable icon of my family. There is something so concrete and safe about having a constant such as that. I can look across the yard and envision moments of my entire life and the lives of those I love so dear. Getting together is more than just being with family. It is easy conversation and unconditional love. It is ancestry and refuge. We are all of us sitting in our usual circle under the shade of a tulip or maple tree in the breeze of a gorgeous day and there is the single thought, “I love these people as much as I am loved by them.” What a magnificent feeling.
Click.
My thoughts fall back to a year ago to a moment I never told anyone about, but equally don’t want to forget. I left the family campout to visit my Granny at the nearby assisted living facility. She was new to these accommodations and to visit her there needlessly took courage. When I came to see her that morning she was slowly getting herself dressed. She was still mostly lucid then, although I remember thinking her eyes had taken on a cloudiness and confusion that would soon become her existence. She had tired herself and sat on the edge of her bed. I sat first on the nearby couch and then on the floor on my knees to be closer to her. Even though I was personally doubtful, I told her how we hoped pregnancy would be imminent. I didn’t burden her with my reality of medications and diagnosis that seemed to indicate otherwise. “You will be a mother soon,” she said with her standard finality that you knew was senseless to argue against. Her confidence brought me to tears. And we stayed hugging in that position for many minutes. That well-worn skin. That bony frame. That embrace I miss so much.
Click.
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