Installment #3:Lessons From a Wood Pile and a Paint Room

I always thought it was a little odd that he would keep every little scrap of wood. They were little nubs or long thin strips, which, in my mind, were good-for-nothing pieces that should have been tossed directly into the fire. (Partly because I liked feeding the pot-bellied furnace.) But sure enough, against my wishes, great-grandpa, and later grandpa, would toss the scraps into the graveyard of useless wood.

There was also the cans. Shelves of partly used stains, paints, varnishes and other odiferous liquids, once quitessential to a project, now .... And from little hooks, there hung paintbrushes. Little, big, skinny, broad. Some bearing signs of previous use and others looking as if they came off the hardware store shelf just yesterday.

I didn't get it at the time. Why would you keep around these scraps, cans and brushes? I think I now realize what it was. It was the foresight to know that they might be needed someday. Why would you throw away perfectly useful wood or stain or brushes? You never know when you are going to need that same shade of green you painted on the chairs. Or a little strip of wood to shim a doorway. And, heck, it sure beats having to buy new supplies every time.

I think my generation misses it. They want the newest and trendiest. They think that something has become obsolete when it is no longer amusing or immediately valuable. I guess some might call it 'short-sightedness'. Well, whatever it is called, I think I would rather have my grandfather and great-grandfather's foresight.

The Wood Pile, Hoyleton, IL

The Paint Room

Installment #2: Mr. Fix-It

Spring breaks weren't really a big thing in my house. We didn't take big trips or anything. It was mainly a time for us kids to not have to go to school...except for one spring break. I am not sure where my sister went, but my brother and I ended up at my grandparent's house for the week. We actually highjacked our passage with a truck driver from the company my aunt works for. (Josh, you remember taking the football to throw around in the back?) And after breaking a window in the rear of the cab of his truck, we arrived in sounthern Illinois ready to begin our adventure with our grandparents.

I have quite a few memories from that week: Being reprimanded for throwing a ball against a brick wall, missing television, being unable to eat all the food that we requested grandma and grandpa buy for us. But most of all I remember spending time with grandpa in his workshop. The big project was to craft a candle holder upon which the special Easter candle would be perched. This would be done for the Lutheran church my grandparents attended (any number of stories could be told about my time in those pews). Grandpa had been specially asked to do the job because of his skills as a woodworker. But as I got older, I realized it was because everyone knew my grandfather was the one who could craft or fix anything. I guess those years of being a woodworker's son and later an engineer came in handy to firmly establish him as Mr. Fix-It.

The final product was fairly simple. It was stained deep brown wood with four handles, if I remember correctly, and able to hold the substantial candle quite well. We were proud to see it in use later that Easter. The thing that really gets me is that it is still used to this day. Years later, when I was in high school, I remember seeing it go down the aisle one Sunday we were in attendance. And though Josh and I played a menial role in the matter, most likely slowing the process more than helping, I still felt a little pride well up in me because, if nothing else, I was there for its creation.

Even though the workshop has been out of use for years now, there are still a few things laying around that can make you feel like the band saw was fired up yesterday. The coffee mug in the picture that follows is fitting for so many reasons, but one of them is that my grandfather could fix, build, or draw up plans for anything, whether it was finishing a basement or building a wood candle holder.

Mr. Fix-It's Coffee Mug

Hoyleton, IL

Installment #1: Driving Into Town

Family is hard to write about. The point of view is skewed, emotional, and is supported by old memories from childhood and not always fact. Yet I find myself compelled to share and write about a group of photos I took in my great-grandfather's old workshop. If memory serves me correctly, he passed away when I was 11 years old and after that I came to identify the workshop with my grandfather. It is a simple place; two stories connected by a wood set of steep stairs. The top floor, containing mostly old family relics or odds and ends, was the area I knew least of. The first floor contains the workshop, a paint room, and a barn area. It has been around quite a bit longer than I have and has the character to show it.

So trepidation aside, here comes a slice of my ancestry, family history, and childhood memories.

There were usually two times of the year that we would be guaranteed visits to Hoyleton, IL: Christmas and Easter. There were others, but these were the staples of connecting with my dad's side of the family.

Taking I-57 south to, what seemed like to my childhood brain, a labyrinth of state and county roads, we would then arrive on the north side of the tiny community of my dad's hometown. When making our entrance into the village (yes, that is its official classification), we would always pass by my great-grandfather's old workshop. A structure with nothing but a wood stove to keep the worker within from freezing during the winter. And until the age of 11 we would look to see if the light was on in my great grandpa's house, which was no more than 60 feet away from the workshop. It was one of the first landmarks which denoted our arrival. It was the first memorable sight for us kids as we came and the last one we bade farewell to as we left. And though I didn't grow up in that town and spend endless hours working in the workshop, it is one of the first tangible locations I can attach to the people from whom I came. So here is a simple shot of the front of the workshop; a common sight even today.

Great-grandpa's Workshop

Hoyleton, IL

In My Mind's Eye

Of course everything else wasn't grey. What do we live in...a 1940's TV show? But when I walked into that little park at the base of the cable cars, it didn't take me long to spot the flowers, in blazing pink, resting amidst the otherwise seemingly drap backdrop of the French park. Colors do that. They grab you, bring your focus to a point and won't let you go. Who says you need to shout to be noticed. At times it is the quietest thing in the room (or the park) that can steal your gaze. This is just a photo that accentuates what took place in my mind's eye.

In My Mind's Eye

Grenoble, France

I haven't done much work on Photoshop before, so this is one of my first attempts at doing so. I am just teaching myself right now as time allows, so hopefully, you followers of mine (all 2 of you), will be able to see my work improve as time goes on.

Ayla Happy with Jo

There is a sense of comfort being near your mother as a young baby or child. The closeness, knowing the care taken to keep you safe. At that age, you receive something from her different from anyone else in the world, even you father. A nurturing and familiarity. As if the outer world could evaporate away and you would be none the wiser. It can cease a crying spell or bring a smile to an otherwise mundane moment.

The best part of witnessing this take place with your own child is watching your daughter soak it up and seeing what it does to your wife. Here is one of those moments caught on camera.

One of Those Moments

Franklin, TN

Me, Dad, and a Blue Sky

No one else really wanted to get up early that morning. Maybe it was the fact that it was vacation and you are supposed to sleep in, but my dad and I had other plans. Both being fans of photography, we knew the best light is in the morning and evening. But beyond that, I think we both knew it was the most dramatic part of the day as well. Like a symphony starting with a tap of the sun's wand on the pedestal. Then a slow addition of instruments as new corners of nature came to light with each wave of the conductor's arms. Why would we miss it for a few more hours of warmth and rest?

When we got on the road, we could see the sun was already on its way up, as if approaching the stage. So we took off up the mountain and when we realized we were high enough and the and sun was ready, we pulled off and gazed at the shadowed valley floor with the thin silver stream weaving like a serpeant toward the town below. The morning light peaked over the jagged horizon, catching a glimpse of who was willing to sacrifice their bed for the start of the show. And there we were, with no regrets for our beds, but enjoying a little father-son time...and the best show money can buy. I actually think I remember the rapping of the conductor's wand on the music stand.

The following picture is not the symphony, but two happy concert goers reveling in the brilliance of the show. And we weren't even thinking about our beds.

An Early Morning Symphony

Rocky Mountain National Park

They Were Simpler Times Back Then

Ayla is coming up on one-year old and what better way to commemorate her birth by looking back at the first year. It is really bizarre to think about how much she has changed. She can roll over on her own, shoot, she can stand by herself too. She has 2 teeth, eats solid food and is can hold her liquor with the best of them. Just kidding. But all these changes, though they are good, makes life a little more interesting around the old homestead.

So I wanted to post a photo of when times were simpler. When she pull things off the shelves and follow us all over the house. A time when she wouldn't throw food off her tray. A time when the worst thing that could happen would be that she drooled like a...well, a baby.

Simpler Times

Franklin, TN