First Role of Film

Hey friends!
These pictures were shot with a Pentax K1000 using 200 speed Kodak film.
The little dusty stuff isn't part of the image, it's from my low-quality film scanner.

Film is satisfying. I went into it with an open mind, willing to take risks with my limited knowledge and not expecting perfection. When I got the role developed, I didn't really care that a few were overexposed or out of focus. It's ART, you guys.
Okay so yes I actually did care that some of them didn't turn out, but it's exciting to just roll with it (there's a pun in there) and to be honest, I wasn't quite sure what I was doing, I just breathed out and clicked the shutter.
You have to be more deliberate with film- there is no delete button- so I only pulled out the camera when I wanted to intentionally capture a moment. Here a few!

My handsome brother builds handsome bicycles. 

Early morning company.  

Ruthie.

Go buy yourself a piney wood
If you have gold for spending
Where you can dream in mellow mood
With peace and joy unending.  

Gavin.

Stacey. 

From the hay loft, looking out. 

That fuzzy lump is a cat. 

I like the harsher color in this one. 

Afternoon light + amused friend. 

Our deer friend. She comes around now & then. 

Abram & Stacey. 

The picture is blurry, but Bonnie is on FIRE with life and rarely sits still, so I'm calling it intentional art. 

Everything Has Rhythm. Everything Dances.

Music festivals are ideal places to turn strangers into friends and sunny days into adrenelinized nights. People from all walks of life come together and are united, if only for a weekend, by the love of music. It's a beautiful thing. Now I haven't been to any huge fests such as Bonaroo or Choachella, where the craziness is real, and I know that sometimes these gatherings aren't so pretty. Nonetheless, even if the particulars get messy, I think the overall concept is terrific.
The best summers, for me, are summers of music and community, with a touch of nuttiness in between.

Last weekend, my family trucked out to Roots N' Blues music festival, which is held every year in Columbia, Missouri. The weather was perfect, the artist line-up was top-notch, and my girl Ruthie was there with her family too. It was a joyous weekend.

Making friends by the VIP fence.

"We feel kinda embarrassed to be groupies..."
"Oh, believe me, it's worse when you're a 40-year-old man."

John Prine, now 68 years old and battling lung cancer, had a little grin on his face for the entire set. The majority of the rowdy 20-something audience didn't realize who he was (based on what people around me were saying), but by the second song, an awe-like breathlessness hung over the crowd. We were captivated.
I cried when he sang 'Hello In There'. 

ANTICIPATION. 

To see the Avett Brothers in concert is to experience an hour-and-a-half of pure celebration. It's loud. It's soft. It's swaying, now jumping, always with eyes closed and hands upraised. It's spontaneous dancing with your neighbor. It is bliss.

Scott Avett. 

Seth Avett.

Both Avetts.

One man surrounded by hundreds of breathless souls, all connected by a song.

Explore genres, sing in the shower, admire the legends, dip your feet and then dive into rock n roll. Go to a music festival. Music is one of the greatest gifts that the Lord sent down, and it calls for a hootin' & hollerin' celebration!

There's a Lesson Here, I Think...

This morning was a bit rough. The afternoon wasn't looking much better, so I dragged my moody self down to the park where I managed to lay on my back for an hour and stare bleakly at the perfectly blue sky. Finding the cheeriness to be more mocking than helpful, I took to scribbling down thoughts in my journal (so much teenage angst oh my what is happening here). I mused:

If I had wings, then I would fly  

Like a bird, forever, in the winter sky

Let moonbeams slid across my wings

Caring little for other things.

As I wrote the last word, a bird flew overhead and anointed the page. Generously. 

That's all I've got for today, folks!

Full Moon

     Last night I sat behind my dad on the seat of his old Honda motorcycle, and we cruised the streets. As I didn't have a helmet, we didn't go fast or far, just around the adjoining neighborhood. I oohed and ahhed softly as we puttered past row after row of beautiful 1960's homes, with front and center living rooms lit proudly. The manicured lawns and fenced flower beds glowed with incandescent outdoor lighting. That lovely stillness of the night settled in, and the motor purred right along. 

     Then something odd stood out to me. Each house we passed was unique and sprawling and handsome, yet nearly every one had an unfortunate thing in common: at least one room, as far as my snooping eyes could tell, glowed with blue, electronic light. Quite a few of the glowing rooms were empty, save for a demanding television which flashed red, then green, now blue. I could see one or two people in others, their faces radiating LED light. 

I felt horribly lonely all of a sudden. 

     We rounded a cul-de-sac. As we circled around and the bike straightened up, I saw ahead of me a family standing in their yard. Mom, dad, and teenage daughter stood close together, in their pajamas, gazing with shiny eyes and open mouths at the moon. Grinning, I turned and looked. There was a full moon.  

    I snuggled down behind my dad as we rode into the early autumn air, past the picturesque and hollow houses, with the moon smiling down from above. It glowed a pure, soft blue. 

And I felt just fine.  

**Also it sounds like I was hard-core snooping, but 60's homes have extensive front windows, plus people don't seem to be keen on curtains, so, I mean...

A Story of Penpalship

One really neat thing about life is the variety of friendships you encounter. Childhood pals, classmates, that girl you say "hi" to in the hallway, your kindred spirit, the up-for-anything neighborhood chums- these relationships may be valued differently, but I think they're all significant and EXCITING. 

I crossed paths with a girl at camp two summers ago. Like, literally crossed paths. We didn't introduce ourselves or have a conversation, we just stood there, looking at each other. I think I may have made a comment about her shoes (which were Chacos, holla), and she may have said something about my glasses; I don't exactly recall.

Nine months later, I was thinking about the friendships I made at camp, and remembered there was a friendship I didn't make. And that needed to change! I messaged her on Facebook and asked if she would like to be penpals. She said YEAH. I was over the moon, and yet, suddenly, a little nervous. The last time I had a penpal was in 3rd grade, and the letters went something like:

"Hi. How are you? I am fine. My favorite color is blue. What's yours? I would like to be a cat. Would you?"

For the record, I did actually ask that question, and was miffed by the answer.

Thing is, I've never been able to comprehensively describe myself. Emily seemed way cooler than me (yes, I occasionally still think like a middle schooler) and my words seemed inadequate. 

I had nothing to fret over. Emily is one of the sweetest people you'll meet. We wrote back and forth through the spring and summer, getting to know one another through good ole' handwritten letters. This was a different kind of friendship- definitely significant, and very exciting. 

Pretty soon we hatched a top-notch rendezvous- she would ride the AmTrak down to our family farm, where we would sleep like primitives and adventure through the woods for a coupla days. BOOM. 

I met her at the station two weeks ago. We stargazed, spent a whole afternoon in a hammock, and roamed through woods and pastures. It was quiet (mostly), peaceful, and summery. . .

    

     

Moral of the story: go get yourself a penpal!