Archive for the ‘Deserted’ Category

A gallery of pictures from the recent Tall Ships Festival in Green Bay. As always, click on any shot for enlargement and/or a slideshow presentation.

My favorite pieces.

The Festival of Tall Ships was here and, as I mentioned earlier, I was most interested in capturing the scene prior to mobs of people showing up. On Saturday morning, I arrived early, but after sunrise,  and the brightly lit ships didn’t work for me. The next day, I was in place before the sun got there and was far more pleased with my captures.

The Giant Rubber Ducky was a part of the festival.

Sunrise over the Fox.  When’s the last time you saw a photograph that included a sunrise, paper mill, Spanish galleon, and giant rubber ducky?

Eat your heart out, National Geographic.

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More duckishness:

And finally, just a little Tiananmen Square vibe here:

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Downtown Green Bay. Sunrise over the Fox River, featuring a paper mill and a couple of tall ships at rest. Gallery, five pictures.

 I rarely shoot where I have to “follow the light,” but on this outing,  I had a fine hands-on experience with just how rapidly the quality of light changes leading up to sunrise.

It was the fog that woke me, trailing insistent fingers against my bedroom window, urging me to wake up.

I resisted, burrowed deeper into my bed, but one glimpse of those foggy tendrils grabbed me, pulled me out of my cocoon, and sent me in search of my camera.

Because everyone wants to be wandering around in the fields an hour before sunrise, right?

As usual, I really didn’t know what I was looking for and the first three or four dozen shots I took proved that. I kept walking. Then, I started to play with the ribbons of fog as they wound through the trees and fields.

And then fog around the abandoned farm site.

And then, the first peachy hues of the approaching sun.

And then… And then…

An oddly-stacked gallery from that morning walk, but I found that I was most happy with slices of the landscape, rather than full-on traditional ratios. Please click on any image to view the shots in a gallery format.

One more shot to share. I was out for a little more than an hour and returned home pretty satisfied with my morning’s work. Came in through the back patio doors, put down my camera, took off my wet shoes…and glanced back outside to see this display over my flower garden:

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Sunrise plus lingering fog, all filtered through the trees, equals WOW!

 

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A trip around the corner to see what is left of the abandoned farm, which continues to vanish a piece at a time.  I will give you broader views, but right now, I am just wowed by the remaining exposed wood.

Another trip to seven acres of rusty automotive heaven tucked away in northern Georgia. Please click on photos for gallery views.

A shout-out to my faithful companion, Kemo Sabe, for getting us to this out-of-the-way destination using a primitive tool called a “paper map.” Zelda, long-suffering voice of Tom Tom, the magical GPS machine, could get us ANYWHERE but here, since the junkyard and the town it is located in do not exist in the world of GPS.

Kemo and Zelda were quite the pair for the entire 1,600 mile trip, sniping at each other, ignoring instructions and road signs and each generally trying to best the other in an on-going game of one-upmanship. Zelda would indicate a split in the highway (“In 500 yards, keep left.”)

Kemo would stubbornly remain in the right hand lane.

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Wabi Sabi: “Stay in the left lane, Kemo.”

Kemo Sabe: “That’s not right. We don’t take this road.”

Wabi Sabi: “But, she SAYS…”

Moments later,  Zelda:  “Proceed 300 yards and make a U-turn…”

KS: “Trust me.”

Zelda: “At Cloverleaf Road, take a left and then another left and return to the freeway.”

KS: “She’s wrong.”

Zelda: “For the love of God, Montresor!” 

WS: “Do you hear banjo music?”

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This reminds me of the time my eldest son travelled to Mississippi to pick up a standup bass and, on his way home, decided that he wanted to see the crossroads where Robert Johnson made his Faustian deal with the devil to become the greatest blues musician in the world. He found the tiny rural community where Johnson had lived and went in search of the crossroads, but it was late in the day and road markers were a little vague and eventually, the road sort of petered out and he found himself in total darkness and sitting in a field all by himself.

In rural Mississippi.

In the middle of nowhere.

And not a light to be seen but his own headlights.

And where was his GPS in all of this? She (Zelda’s sister, Mavis) was quite sure that wherever he’d landed didn’t actually exist and refused to help, the tight-lipped satellite wife version of a cold shoulder: “You got yourself into this, mister. Now you figure it out.”

Which he did, eventually, though he has not spoken with Mavis since.

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Petite wet-snow blizzard Friday afternoon. It was like shooting in the rain.

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I’ve driven over this little overpass a few zillion times in my life, but it never occurred to me to stop until I caught a glimpse of it in the storm on Friday.

Just when we think our lives are settled and predictable, circumstances can change abruptly,  rocketing  our complacent selves into a whole new narrative. That doesn’t mean bad things are happening in Wabi Sabi land, but an unexpected turn of events has switched us all onto a wildly different track. I put aside my camera for a while, something I haven’t done in years, but I’m thinking it’s maybe safe to quietly exhale now.  Even new narratives should yield a little creative space.

Hmmm…maybe I should buy a new lens. Major metaphoric statement, yes?