On Any Given Day - Rural Kentucky - The Pond

Sometimes we pass by locations and never give them a second look. That is unfortunate because many of those places often provide great photo opportunities if we just take the time to see it. One such place is where a pond and barn are located just off the road on my way to work. I drive by it almost everyday, early in the morning and then again in the afternoon. I've seen it through various seasons and it changes its personality with each of those seasons and time of day. I've grown to like this location because by itself it defines the best of rural Kentucky and it has become one of my favorite photo op locations. I'd be willing to bet that most people drive by it and never see it.

Seeing is what separates a photographer from a snapshot shooter. Snapshot shooters tend to take random pictures of things rarely giving any thought to the lighting or composition. Every once and a while they will take a pretty good picture, usually more because of the high scenic value of the location that even a snapshot shoot couldn't foul up.

Although it is not always practical to do so, being able to photograph one location during different lighting events is a big time advantage. It gives you a sense of location and a feel for photographic value. That is why I encourage photographers to know their home range, to look for those iconic locations that define where they live and take advantage of being able to be there on any given day.

Oddly enough, this particular pond is no longer there. The year 2013 there was lots of rain and we live in cave country and that mean lots of sinkholes. One day I was drivng home from work and cast a quick glance at the pond as I passed by. The next morning as I passed by heading to work I through another quick glance and had to slow down to take a second look...the pond was gone and a large hole had opened up in the bottom near the outer edge and drained every last drop out of it.

It's still a scenic location, just the pond will no longer be a part of that scene. You neve know what might happen on any given day, so if you find a great location take advantage of it and capture its morning flavor and its evening taste through all the seasons. It may not be there one day.

Keith

What I see

Discovering a new way to observe the beauty that surrounds us can be an amazing revelation. Learning how to capture it photographically can be a challenge. Sharing it with others is the reward. This past summer I rediscovered the night sky and spent a great deal of time and energy learning how to not only observe it, but to capture it. It was a challenge that evolved into something much more than an exercise in technique or skill. It became a revelation of seeing.

I've often written about how photography is mostly about seeing light. But it is more than that really. It's about understanding what it is you see. There was a time I saw mechanically meaning I recognized the intrinsic value of what I was photographing, but failed to see beyond the superficial and cliche. Seeing photographically means to see through the superficial to find the solution.

More than likely last summer the efforts I placed on photographing the night sky may have seemed a bit over the top to most of my photography friends. A few of them gave it a try and then went on to other things that interested them more...and rightly so for them. Recently, I began to wonder why I was so captivated by that exercise. Night after night I would stand in some open field staring up at the night sky and painstakingly adjusting the homemade tracking devise I used to follow the stars across the field of view. Then later, after downloading the images and searching through the better ones I would spend time bringing out the best of what they were. Most of those images no one other than myself saw them, but that was okay. Because I wasn't taking them for someone else. I was taking them for myself.

You see what I saw was not just a night sky filled with stars and subtle colors of glowing dust along with nebula's filled with radiant gases. I saw a part of myself. In order to bring out the subtle nature of those glowing nebula's and radiant gases,  a long exposure was required along with patient and attentive tracking. When it all fell into place and that one moving image out of dozens materialized, well, a sense of satisfaction filled my heart.

As a result I began to understand how that experience revealed a great deal about life. Everyone has subtle light in their lives that requires a long personal exposure along with careful and attentive tracking to see. With the right amount of effort and understanding, the light in their lives regardless of how faint, will over time begin to glow with it own unique radiance. When I smile as an image of the night sky begins to form, I am smiling because what I see is so much more than stars floating in the sky . . I see lives beginning to shine.

Keith

Thoughts

 

There is a Moment of Light at dawn whose glow is far too brief…Whose age of radiance hovers in silence, yet whose adornment is ageless.

There is a Moment in Time when one should walk amongst the reflections and perceive with the Heart what Nature gives so freely.

 

 

Light has many qualities, few finer than when it interacts with nature. 

 

Light abruptly comes and goes. Clouds separate and golden beams race across the rolling hill of Kentucky. There is a moment of brilliant reflection…then it is gone.

Selected Excerpts...

Recently I spent some time browsing through the collection of blog posts that have accumlated since 2010. I did not realize just how many there were. As I skimmed over some of them, certain quotes stood apart and seemed to define what the essense of this Blog is all about...I'd like to share some of them from across the past four years.

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The diversity of nature may surprise us if we stop and observe closely enough. Photography presents us with opportunities to witness more closely subtle events that we more often than not simply overlook. Things we take for granted take on a new life when viewed from the perspective of a photographers eye. (Take a Closer Look - Dec 2010)


That one defining moment may never happen...but I'll continue to search for it and even though I'd rather be good than lucky...maybe a little luck will come my way and I'll stumble onto a magical moment of light and actually have my camera in hand. (That One Defining Moment - Dec 2010)


Never again would a sunrise simply be a sunrise. It would be a unique moment of time and place forever bound and tested against that morning...forever etched as a defining principle of what a relationship with God is all about. Few images can stir the soul like witnessing God's creative hand as it unfolds across his natural palette. Every morning...every new dawn...is a unique creation there for the taking...there for all to share. It;s just a matter being still long enough to not just view it...but to experience it. (When Nature Wins - Dec 2010)


I've heard it said that an artist begins with a blank canvas and adds the elements required to create his vision. A photographer on the other hand, begins with a full canvas, and must remove those elements that interfere with the vision he has...(Imagine the Extraordinary - April 2011)

 
Photographs capture a single moment in time…being there at those remarkable times to experience a new day from its first moments of life generates a prolonged feeling that lingers well past the actual event. Every similar outing provides for a new experience…a new understanding of what is important. Being able to capture a few moments afield photographically…well, it’s sort of like catching a bass while fishing...fun and rewarding, yet, that’s not the main reason why I traveled that journey...it’s simply the bonus for having done so. (For Having Done So - More To Photography Than Taking Picutres - Sept 2011)


Experiences such as those generate unspoken words that attach themselves to our young minds as we grow older...words that echo across time attached to memories...it is those words that still encourage me...words that carry with them reminders of how those years provided a True Tempering in my youth that only now is becoming evident.  (True Temper - Oct 2011)


That day would have been just another ordinary day in the lives of two rather ordinary 13 year old boys…had we not had the run in with those mean cows and the evil intimidation of all those snakes. As it turned out…well, seems we’re still talking about it forty seven years later, so we must have enjoyed the day…at least part of it…anyway. (At Least Part of It...Anyway - Jan 2012)


Creating an image with impact involves blending composition with light…and using light to generate mood…using mood to influence purpose…using purpose to dictate timing…using timing to generate drama…and using drama to tell the story. (Creating Images With Impact - May 2012)


There are country sounds, feelings, and aromas that only summer can generate…farmers working their fields, hay being cut, and that warm breeze that makes the trees shake with life...and experiencing its warm embrace while sitting under a shade…I love sitting on the front porch listening to and feeling the spray from a summer rain shower…oh those summer rain showers that fill the air with their moisture laden aroma. It’s a great time of year for photographers as well. (Visual Sounds of Summer - July 2012)


No camera could have captured nature’s poetry spoken that morning...but, the images, sounds, and power of those visual verses that were performed then, have stood the test of time…for all other mornings have been tested against that single poetic example. (Poetry of Morning Light - Oct 2012)

 

Moments of the Heart are what I call them - moments of time and place blended in such a way as to carve new meaning into a faded identity. (Moments of the Heart - Sept 2013)


Echoes through the hills are made only from living forward, yet there will come a time when those harbingers from the past catch up to us, to reveal new meaningful purpose to why those adventures were important. By living forward each day, new meaningful echoes will follow you into your future.  (Echo's Through the Hills - Nov 2013)

Cameras Do...Photographers Dream

The sophistication built into cameras today is quite phenomenal when compared to what was available even just a few years ago. But cameras by themselves do not take photographs they simply do as they are told. It is the visual dreams of the photographer that creates the magic of a great photograph.

I’ve been asked a few times more often than not, questions focused around learning the technical aspects of how to use the camera. Understanding the technical elements is important, but it is not all important. As in most things, you can teach technique, but you cannot teach someone how to dream.

When I speak of visual dreams I am referencing how the photographer imagines the world. It is more emotional than technical. When photographer’s tap into what stirs their imagination and then applies that emotional connection to the world around them, their photographic artistry is magically influenced by those visions.

Seeing the world from an emotional point of view can alter your visual perspective about photography. If all you ever achieve is capturing images of things, then you tend to rely on the intrinsic values of the thing to create your photograph. But when you rely on visualizing the world based on what stirs your emotions, your photography elevates to a higher plane of understanding.

Mechanics can only take you so far, but creative dreams are endless. It is the photographer who taps into that creative desire, who allows himself to focus emotional energy, that will capture amazing images of ordinary things. If all we do is look at objects and photograph objects, we limit ourselves to settle for what that object represents. But when we look beyond the object and see it within the context of our desires to create something beautiful, then something beautiful happens.

The Emotional Impact of Working with the Homeless

There was prolonged silence after my wife Kris finished praying for a homeless man she had just met. His worn down physical appearance belied his true age and his hollow eyes betrayed the emotional scars that resided inside. She respectfully waited for her new friend to raise his head and open his eyes.  With a downward gaze he slowly tilted his bearded face toward her and she saw tears hover and pool above his sunburned cheeks. In spite of his tattered and unkempt appearance, she put her arm around his shoulder and asked if he was okay. He let out a soft breath and with a tension releasing sigh his shoulders relaxed. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since someone had physically touched him in a gentle way. With a broken, barely audible voice he whispered, “Thank you for not treating me like trash.”

With all of its trappings and causes, homelessness is one of the most demeaning of human tragedies, a tragedy that all too often remains lost in the vacuum of the back corners of a community.

When working with the homeless one must be willing to cross many poignant emotional bridges.  Along the way, we discover that by doing so an emotional cost is extracted for that right-of-passage. It is a cost most people would find too high a price to pay. 

 

Working with the homeless is not a feel good adventure. It will challenge the most enthusiastic of volunteers. We have seen well intentioned wonderful people with good hearts succumb to the realities of this denigrating environment and quickly drop away retreating to a safer emotional haven. Having made a nobel attempt to help someone in need, they purhaps experience for the first time just how difficult it is to confront this tragic loss of human potential. This is not intended as a general endictment of those who find themselves unable to connect emotionally, because all of us are in many ways guilty of this same reaction.

More often than not, a homeless person will be handicapped by some kind of physical, emotional, or circumstantial issue, sometimes all three. There are times a well meaning person can do all the right things, say all the right words, have all the right intentions, only to experience dejection when the hopefully expectant response does not materialize. This is a normal human reaction to such a delicate situation and it contributes a great deal to the reluctance of people to follow through with their good intentions.

If care is not observed with our personal emotions, one can grow frustrated if not callous and indifferent. It takes a great deal of perseverance and a thick skin to work with the homeless. More often than not, even after repeated attempts to positively connect and to encourage them to make life altering changes to their situation, they continually fall back into their old ways. As bad as those ways can be, they are a familiar comfort zone for them and when you live on the streets comfort zones also become escape zones. It would be easier in many ways to simply walk away and leave them to their often self inflicted miseries. Yet, solving the disaster that is homelessness requires more. It requires that we look upon those trapped within its grasp through the filter of a Christ-like heart.

Our emotions are tested beyond what we as ordinary people might otherwise be willing to endure. Our emotions though, are not strengthened by our own abilities. They are emboldened when we begin to understand the homeless as Christ would understand them.

All homeless have a back story. Somewhere in their past something happened that triggered a downward spiral that eventually landed them on the streets alone and with no means to recover. Those back stories can be tragic, they can be improbable, they can be circumstantial, but most importantly they belong to the individual. One revealing observation that holds true to almost all of the homeless people we have encountered is this; they will speak about their now, they will speak about their past, but they rarely speak about their future.

Their now consists of continuous trials of surviving day to day, often struggling with alcohol abuse or emotional turmoil. Their past is often filled with tragic events, but almost always there is one good thing from an earlier happier time they cling to as a life preserver, as a way to say, ‘You see…I do have value’. Their situation often circumvents any thoughts of a new future. The future to them is too far away, too distant a hill to climb and one that is too steep. Alcohol, drugs, and just as importantly, a lost sense of who they are keep them locked inside a prison of emotional stagnation. They have lost the ability to give, lost the ability to care, and lost the desire to try. In short they have lost their identity.

Working with the homeless is not pretty. It is an emotional rollercoaster filled with dashed hopes, crumbled expectations, and broken dreams. But all it takes is one miracle moment where the spark of life returns to eyes that were once hollow and a flash of warmth returns to a heart that was cold for far too long, to realize that in spite of the emotional drain, this is the right thing to do. Like when the man said in the opening statement, “Thank you for not treating me like trash,” those are the moments when you know it is all worth it and realize that lives are changed one heart at a time. What we should understand is that the first hearts that require changing are often our own.

Our homeless friend Greg would say, “Ya got that right…Ya know what I’m say’n”.

Keith

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My amazing wife Kris began a journey in 2009 to connect with the homeless in our community. She started with a simple objective; to provide blankets for those who live on the streets. Through those blankets she met those who were silently suffering from untold hurts. Through those blankets she was able to share her love for Christ and by doing so was often able to plant a seed of redemption into their hearts. 

Along the way she met a homeless man named Greg and through his tragic life, her life working with the homeless became an adventure filled with challenges she never expected.

As she listened to the heart wrenching stories shared by the homeless, they filled her heart with compassion. Feeling led by God she began to write about her encounters, to give the homeless a voice. Those writings became the foundation for a unique book, a story that allows the reader to understand firsthand what it is like to live on the streets. It is a book about lost dreams, empty hopes, and lives searching for significance and meaning. It is about how simple acts of kindness can generate a positive moment of reflection in a homeless peerson's life. It is about how the world of the homeless changed her life. You will find it a revealing, intimate, and emotional look at what it means to be homeless.

The book is appropriately called "Ya Know What I'm Say'n" and will be released soon through Christian Publishing House...and available on Amazon.com, Barnesandnoble.com, Kobo Books, and other outlets.

 

Creative Angles

I stood on the far side of a narrow street next to a set of railroad tracks and tried to frame a three-story, old red brick building in my view finder. The pictures I was capturing did not carry much punch and I could not figure out why. The old building was a beautiful example of turn of the century architecture with an amazing rustic look with the word HOTEL embossed in a lighter shade of brick across one corner, but my shots were ordinary. I knew something was there photographically, I just was not seeing it. Then I tried a different techique; I rotated the camera to about a 30- 35 degree angle and lined up the word HOTEL so it appeared almost horizontal and placed it in the upper left corner of the composition with the windows angling across the frame instead of vertical. What appeared became the striking image I knew was there.

Creative angles in a photograph can stir things up to where what might might otherwise be ordinary becomes distinctive and eye catching. It is a great technique to use to create images that surpass what we see everyday and expand those visualizations into something that is at once recognizable yet extraordinarily different.

Using straight leading lines combined with offset vertical lines will break up the image to generate visual interest. Take the image above. Railroad tracks are often used as examples of leading lines, but notice the straight vertical lines of the old smoke tower on the left and the horizonal lines of the yellow school bus on the right and the level lines of the horizon in the distance at the end of the tracks. Combine all of those elements with the stark gray nature of the overall image and you have a striking example of how creative angles and lines can define an image.

Creative angles can be generated by the photographer as in the first example, or they can be used by the photographer as found in the composition. The image below is good example of using creative angles that were a part of the scene being photographed. Do you see them?

Curves make for great creative angles. They add a graceful element to any composition and when combined with powerful lighting effects, they become a powerfully creative, eye catching style. Here's an image where the gentle curve of the long leaf and the gentle arch of the background foliage was used to great effect in great light.

 



There are many subtle ways to improve your compositions photographically. Thinking in terms of creative angles will add a dynamic to your images that will separate them from ordinary snapshots. Creative photography is exactly that...that is to think creatively. Simply photographing objects alone will often create cliche looking photographs, but adding simple elements of design such as angles or curves changes the dynamics of the ordinary into something much more asthetically pleasing. By doing so it not only adds a unique flavor and style to your images, it will stimulate your own creative instincts.

Keith

The Winter Woods

I am often struck by the seasonal colors that nature chooses to share with our senses. No single season is better than another in that regard, just different. Some may prefer the colors of summer, or spring, and of course fall, but for some reason the colors of winter tend to get overlooked.  

I enjoy hiking in the winter woods and I am fortunate to have several locations nearby where I can do so. Each location retains its own flavor and atmosphere but it is the season itself that imparts that special feeling one experiences when exploring this moment of nature.

 

The colors are soft, often a blend of gray and shades of brown. Light from an overcast sky filters through the canopy of trees filling the woods with a soft glow that appears to engulf everything with a constant all encompassing light. There are virtually no shadows, just subtle variations in textures and tones. Light from a blue sky day on the other hand penetrates at sharp angles deeply into the woods and creates an atmosphere of harsh and brilliant colors. 

 

 

 I much prefer to hike through the woods on an overcast day. The color of the woods is transformed into a single hue that appears as a homogenized brown where greens, grays and pale yellows provide highlights and accents. The song of a small creek performs a constant symphony as it adds sparkle and life to an otherwise silent woods. Depending on the weather, across the ground dried leaves crunch and crackle, or are soft and silent, and the aroma of fresh earth fills the air. Throw in a blanket of snow and the woods takes on an entirely different feel and look.

 

 

The winter woods can provides a welcome relief from the pressures of life and soothes the soul so completely that all the anxiety and stress we force ourselves to endure seem ever more insignificant. The colors of winter are soft and reflective like the soothing words of a poetic lullaby. We only have to find time to seek out their curative words.

 

Keith

Capturing Rural Kentucky

Rural Kentucky just may be one of the most enduring charms that reflect the nature of this state. There are so many variations on that theme a photographer could spend a lifetime chasing all them. Travel down almost any back road and before long one of those iconic scenes rolls into view. Time it with the best light or seasonal conditions and a wonderful opportunity to capture something amazing will make your time out and about well worth the effort. 

About a month ago I managed to rediscover an area located just a few minutes drive from my home. How and why I managed to pass up this location over the years I can only wonder, but it did not take long to see the merits of the scenic value that presented itself. 

Capturing Rural Kentucky requires a rustic artist mentality. The photo mechanics are the same, but visualizing the shot first is most important. Oddly enough, I tend to look at rural Kentucky from a black and white perspective. The captured images may be in color and have their own strengths and impact, to truly capture that nostalgic sense of what the area holds, you have to look beyond the distraction of color, and see it as a black and white image. 

 

The sky is most important and in most cases needs some kind of texture and of course clouds are what provide that texture. A flat gray sky by itself is rather…well flat and gray and provides little impact to the scene in most instances. That can be overcome by using the values of other elements in the scene to fill in the sky. By changing your camera angle to fill the sky with a tree or a grain silo or something different can break up the bland nature of a gray sky. Another trick is to keep the sky element to a minimum by cropping the shot to create a suedo-panaramic effect. This technique can produce a wonderfully nostalgic look to you shots.   

If by chance you have clouds…and almost any kind of clouds with texture will work…you now have an opportunity to include the sky as part of the rustic scene. By using a polarizer filter you not only reduce glare, but darken the sky to add a dramatic look that can enhance the effect of the shot.  

When thinking in black and white, I often think in terms of sepia tone or at least something in that regard to give the image an old time look. Often what appears like an ordinary rural scene that we simply ignore most of the time can be transformed into a throw back rustic style image that carries an amazing amount of charm. 

Rural Kentucky is one of those almost never ending supply of photo opportunity that those of us living here should take more advantage of. With a simple change of light, season, time of day, or camera angle, one location can be captured in multiple ways…all of them exhibiting a unique flavor of Kentucky. 

Keith

Cleaning Out the Tackle Box

About this time of year cabin fever noticeably sets in. Here in Kentucky anyway winters tend to be rather gloomy and overcast much of the time and this season has certainly lived up to those expectations. Got to watching a fishing show over the weekend and that prompted me to want to clean out my tackle box which over the years has become an annual event whether it needs it or not. Doing so brings back many memories as I elevate each lure out of its holding slot.

Last season I did very little fishing. Seemed circumstances and other priorities interfered with my ability to get out much. About the only outing I made was a five day float fishing trip down Arkansas’ Buffalo River. During that adventure I managed to lose my favorite fishing rod and ruin a camera after taking an unexpected spill…but that’s another story. Oddly enough, that spill came back to haunt me as I started to clean out my tackle box the other night.

Guess I forgot to dump all of the water out the box after that spill and many of my old time favorite lures succumb to the effect of being submerged for an extended time. Paint peeled off…hooks rusted and corroded. Man it was a mess. As much as I hated to do it I had to throw out six or seven of my favorite lures, but did manage to salvage two or three others by replacing their corroded hooks. I also pricked my fingers several times during the process…hope my tetanus shots are up to date.

For many years I've understood that there is more to fishing than catching fish. Usually, I will only fish once with someone who does not understand that age old axiom. Once is all it takes to realize that someone doesn’t understand what that means. There was a time some years ago when I went fishing with a co-worker. He complained the whole time about how slow it was catching fish. Gripe, gripe, gripe…for four or five hours that’s about all I heard. He was constantly snagging his lure on something and that would initiate another tyrade of complaints and gripes. I must say I've had better company fishing alone than on that trip. To me, it was a glorious day just getting away and enjoying being out. I never went fishing with that guy again. Cleaning out the tackle box involves more than simply rearranging the lures…sometimes you have to rearrange your priorities and maybe even who you spend fishing time with.

 

There is a new movie about to open soon about my old pal Walter Mitty. He and I have a lot in common actually...well...maybe not a lot but certainly his and my tendencies to day dream are rather similar. I found myself daydreaming the other night as I cleaned out that old tacklebox. It's funny how an old stinky and beatup lure can transport one back to another place and time. Guess maybe that is why I spend time sorting and resorting old wornout fishing lures...it's good therapy for the soul, only now I must again find time to generate new memories...there have been too few of them as of late.

 

Keith

Red Letter Days - Time Capsules

Deep into the winter, teaser days always arrive to announce the approach of spring. Every season I anticipated its coming as I understood that upon its arrival, warm days of fishing awaited. I can remember almost every day I have spent casting a line. They became time capsules stored safely inside a vaulted memory waiting for an appointed moment to be reopened and examined for their contents.  

That first day of the season was treated with deliberate fanfare. The night before was the best as time was spent sorting through the cluttered tackle box arranging and re-arranging the lures according to size, then color, then back to size and color. New line spooled onto the fishing reel and a fresh drop of oil and reel grease was applied to the gears then worked in with a few spins of the handle. A few days before, another coat of varnish was applied to the wooden paddles and the canoe was staged ready to be loaded.

Sleep became a rare commodity leading up to that first outing of the season and when that first morning finally arrived I was up earlier than anticipated loading the canoe…testing the tie downs for tightness. Fishing rod and tackle box along with paddles and a snack were stowed.

The air is always better early before the sun comes up. On that first outing the cool air of late winter still lingered across morning, but early on the Oklahoma wind would remain subdued. Off loading the canoe retained its own sound and if I listen long enough today I can still hear its rumble as it slid off the canoe rack. That first moment when the paddle met the water marked the event as having finally arrived.
 

A few moments later, the bale of the spinning reel was opened with its distinctive clinck and that first cast was made with rusty technique…another clinck and the slow retrieval produced the most anticipated moment of the day. Sometimes that first cast would produce a strike and how fun that was to experience, but it didn’t matter if one the first cast or twenty or thirty later, for just being there is what counted most.

Many fishing trips began in such a way, all were unique and generated their own sense of moment, but a few stood out as true red-letter days. One such day occurred as Ralph and I managed to find time away from work on the same day and made the thirty minute drive to Old Beggs Lake. It was a bit later in the season well into the spring and the trees were by this time full with healthy green leaves and the air was warm but not hot. The Oklahoma wind more often than not would blow you off the water in a canoe, but on this morning it remained just gentle enough to cause a steady ripple to ride across the surface.

As we drifted along a grassy lined bank I tied on a yellow and green Rebel Minnow and started catching and releasing bass from ten to twelve inches long on a regular basis mixed with an occasional larger one. Ralph, a few weeks before had found hung in a tree limb a similar lure with the same color pattern and switched over. In short order we both began to get regular hits. We would drift to the end of the bank then paddle back up wind and start the process over and with each pass the bass would attack our lures. On one occasion Ralph cast a few inches too far and hung his lure on the edge of the grass at which he began to flip his rod trying to pull it loose. If I had not seen it happen I would not have believed it, but just as his lure came loose a good sized bass leaped out of the water and grabbed it in mid-air a few inches about the surface. Those are what time capsule moments are made of.

It was the best day for bass I’ve ever experienced. What made it even better is that it became one of those time capsule entries that defined a single day in an iconic way of life.

Time Capsule entries are more often than not, simple events that by themselves carry little significant impact at the time they happened. Collectively, they combine to become a greater measure of a person’s life. These are entries that often remain dormant for many years until something triggers their memory back to life.  I am continually amazed at how often the least significant of events grow in their importance through time…an annuity of memories in a way…one that compounds in value the longer they remain stored. They only become a reality if one chooses to pursue them in the first place as an often repeated word…an action…an aroma or sound…the feel of the wind, whatever their significance, they become automatically data-banked in the capsules of time.

 

Keith

Echo's Thru the Hills - Part 2

The legacy of a life is best measured by the impact it has on those who knew that life. My brother Ken passed away almost two weeks ago now and a few days later as his family and friends paid tribute, the echo's from his life became evident by the number of people who were there.

As difficult as it is to know that he is no longer with us, we can find comfort in understanding that the echo's from his life are the kind that do not fade, but are carried forward with us through our lives. We can clearly hear them when we gaze upon the lives of those who were the most important to him; his family.

We see them in the life of Brian his son who learned how to persevere through difficult challenges through his example. We see them in his daughter Michelle who blossomed into a beautiful young lady and who carries a quiet confidence as a testament to his gentle nature. We see them when we look into the eyes of Logan his grandson, for through those windows we can see the legacy of a life that is now entrusted within him, and we see them in the ball of energy that is Makenzie, his granddaughter who expresses a radiance of life that reflects all the goodness that was his.

We see the evidence of them by the number of friends and coworkers who came to honor this family.

Most of all we see them in Jennifer, his beloved wife who faced down life challenges standing by his side. She knows first hand the quiet strength that was his, and it is this strength that will sustain her through these first days of grief.

You see, even though he is no longer physically with us, if we listen through the silence we will hear his voice of encouragement, for he is all around us because of the shared lives of those he knew. Goodness always trumps sadness, and as for me, I chose to remember the goodness that was my brother and refuse to allow the sadness of his passing to burden my soul. For those who knew him, we all know that he is certainly in a better place and as long as we cling to that knowledge we will find the comfort he would wish for us.

The last day before returning to Kentucky, I made time to visit again the rolling prairies of the Tallgrass Region. It is a good place to reflect. A beautiful cobalt blue sky broken by wispy winter clouds encapsulated the now winter brown landscape. As I sat atop a grassy knoll and listened to the Oklahoma wind as it swept through the grass...I heard an echo that reverberated through my memories as a reminder of what once was, what is now, and what will be someday. It was an echo from my brother's gentle nature that said all is well and that he is doing just fine now. These are echo's from his life that will not just follow us, but that will walk ahead of us...we harbor them in our hearts and in our memories where they are safely kept for when we need them.

Keith

Echo's Through the Hills

This week my brother Ken passed away rather unexpectedly. I've still not come to grips with the situation and struggle at times to place context within the moment. I keep remembering the many hours of fishing we did together, not nearly as many as there should have been though, even so those memories reverberate like echos through the hills of time. It has caused me to reflect even more deeply about those fleeting shout-out moments of my own life that generated meaningful echos that follow me across time. In the near future after I have had time to shake off the impact of this week, I will write another Part 2 to this story about his echos of life. For now, I'd like to share a few of the more memorable ones that I've experienced with my own family.

 

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I can still hear the echoes that return through the hills, echoes that speak of those days when I could hardly wait to return to the outdoors. Sometimes I hear them when reminded by a sound, or an aroma, or something I see. They still float across the hills of my imagination having been launched by adventure episodes so enduring their memories still resonate like the perpetual flow of a timeless waterfall.

Echoes like the warning chatter of a gray squirrel shouted from atop the tall hickory tree when I took my two young boys on their first squirrel hunt. I hear it now, echoing back from the past haunting me as to why I did not take them more often. It was a simple memory made during a simpler time, one I relish more than they can ever know, more than I ever knew…until the echo returned one day. The rattle of the BB’s in my youngest son’s Red Ryder…not quite old enough to handle a real gun. The reflected light dancing off the oiled barrel of the old single shot 22 caliber rifle my older son so carefully cradled across his chest as we hiked across the dew moistened field, it is as fresh today as on that morning. I hear the faint rebound of the moment as it calls back to me.

I hear the anguished cries of my younger son when he discovered that I and his brother had left him behind for a camping trip. He didn’t understand…I didn’t understand how important it was for him to go with us…and this echo still breaks my heart today when I allow it to resound through the hills of my most difficult memories. We tried to make it up to him after we returned and to his credit, his loving heart responded with joy and excitement and all was forgiven – by him – but I have yet to forgive myself for leaving him that day. It’s an echo whose resonance has never faded and I still fight to keep that heavy lump from my chest when it pays a return visit.

 

The Oklahoma wind carries many a visual echo across the prairie, echoes that travel great time distances and never grow faint. I stand on a high knoll surrounded by nothing but a sea of grass that rolls to the horizon and beyond…the largest remnant of Tallgrass Prairie that remains. The wind whispers its greeting, ‘Come, join me and rest as I speak of times past…’ and I do, and I find a God measured peace and rest.

Echoes are often best heard during the silence…I rest upon the ancient prairie ground and allow the wind to transport away the scars of having not allowed myself more time to experience such moments. And only after the sun creates another legendary end of the day, do I reluctantly leave that refuge. These are the silent echoes that are locked into the desires of men, silent echoes that define who we are.
 

The Pacific Ocean rolls ever onward and crashes against the Oregon beach. I feel the buffeting wind against my face and inhale the fresh aroma of the sea as I stand alone amongst the miles of tangled driftwood. An overcast sky is suspended low and I raise the collar of my field jacket to block the chill. At home I feel here, in a strange way, far from the prairies of the native land of my birth, I understood that as foreign as this place was for my senses, I knew I belong there…then. I am a part of this echo, one as vivid as the beams of light that arched across the sand dunes from the lighthouse high on the ridge. It is an ancient place with a rich history, a place that echoes its story forward to another time.

Echoes through the hills are made only from living forward, yet there will come a time when those harbingers from the past catch up to us, to reveal new meaningful purpose to why those  adventures were important. By living forward each day, new meaningful echoes will follow you into your future. 

Keith

Red-Letter Days - Canoe Fishing

I found it intriguing to watch as the operator of a large, late model bass boat zipped full speed from one side of the cove to the other. With each stop he might have stayed two or three minutes, maybe five at most, before he fired up the hundred-fifty plus horsepower outboard motor and flew back across the two hundred yard wide stretch of open water. He was fishing, that I could determine, but he seemed so impatient that I would venture a guess that he did not catch anything, at least I never saw him pull anything in. He appeared more intent in speeding around for the sake of speeding around than anything else. In contrast to his neurotic boating behavior, I drifted along with the gentle breeze in my light weight canoe and managed to catch several scrappy bass during that same stretch of time. After maybe thirty minutes of changing locations, out of frustration I would imagine, he finally fired up the over-powered vessel and zoomed away throwing out a giant rooster-tail behind his boat having never caught a single fish from that twenty-thousand dollar fishing rig.

Bass boats are marvelous contraptions with all of their high tech gear and comfortable seats and powerful motors. Flying off down a lake at sixty miles per hour certainly would provide a thrilling adventure for most anyone, but, I don’t know, they seem like an overly expensive and cumbersome way to go fishing. Oddly enough, even if I could afford one, I wouldn’t buy one. Maybe it’s just my temperament, but I prefer slower paced, smaller water, style of fishing and there is no better way to pursue those desires than fishing from a canoe.

I was first introduced to this unique way of fishing probably close to forty years ago now when my old friend Ralph took me with him in his venerable seventeen foot, Grumman aluminum canoe. Even then that old canoe had seen better days, but it was practically indestructible. It no longer had much shine to it and there were so many dents scatter down its length it looked like something from a demolition derby. But, it was stable and solid, and except for a popped rivet or two, it didn’t leak too much.

I was immediately struck by the simplicity of the craft and its closeness to the surface of the water provided a unique perspective to the environment. It was a simple matter to reach down and pluck a bass out of the water by hand. I don’t remember how many fish we hooked that day, but by the time we pulled out I was hooked on canoe fishing. Before long I was able to purchase my own second hand one, a Coleman, not exactly top of the line, but functional and after all, it was only meant as a temporary solution until I could afford to buy a real canoe.  

What I discovered was that temporary solutions tend to turn into permanent ones for those of us who must function within limited resources. Actually I used that canoe for a couple of years then sold it and ended up purchasing another slightly newer Coleman. It was the second one that proved to be long-lived and I drug that vessel all over the place and eventually wore it out.

It wasn’t much of a canoe by the standards of modern designs, but it served its purpose and provided countless hours of great fishing and floating. My good friend Rocky eventually purchased his own Coleman a few years later and so our fleet of low riders began to grow. Another fishing buddy Curt did the same and before long my brother did as well. Between the five of us we had five canoes, a collection of fifteen and seventeen foot models. We looked rather rag-tag at times, but we didn’t care, the results far out-weighed the lack of finesse. Rocky eventually stumbled into a bargain and was able to purchase a somewhat heavily used, but still functional Old Town Tripper. It provided an immediate and much needed upgrade to the quality of our fleet.

Old Beggs Lake, an old impoundment built back in the late 1920’s that sprawled for about twenty acres, became our favorite rendezvous as it was close and not heavily used. A number of good sized wall hanger bass greeted us on occasion along with smaller ones too numerous to count, but what was most important was the time spent getting away. It was a great place to be alone with your thoughts. 

March 12^th 1978 was a Beggs Lake red-letter day, the day I felt like I had graduated to become a real fisherman. Spring came early that season after an unusually difficult, cold and snowy winter. The first breath of the new season embraced the landscape and the first signs of green were beginning to appear. I left early that morning and arrived just after sunup after having been greeted by the pastel and bold explosions of sunrise.

The air was cool at first and a light jacket was in order, but grew warmer as the morning progressed. The first hour or so I managed to catch a couple small ten inch bass along with a bluegill or two. It felt good to once again feel the tug on the fishing line. Eventually, I drifted over near where a large tree limb had blown down during the winter and extended well out into the water from the grassy edge. I was using a mid-sized, black and yellow spinner bait and cast the line next to the exposed branches.

Upon the first couple retrieval cranks the line grew heavy and I thought it had hung up on a hidden limb. When I pulled on the rod, what was on the other end pulled back and I realized that a fat bass was attached. The light weight rod bent almost double with line peeling off the spool and the gears of the spinning reel screamed in protest. It took a few moments but I managed to pull the big ole gal alongside the canoe and lifted her into the air. That’s one of the great pleasures of canoe fishing, being so close down to the action, seeing, hearing, and in some cases tasting the result of the spoils. She went about four and half pounds.  In hindsight I should have released her, but I strung her up for safe keeping and let her swim alongside the canoe.

Two casts later I tossed my line along the other side of the downed limb more toward a small inlet. I barely started the retrieval when the line grew heavy again…another larger bass had grabbed hold and the fight was on. I thought for sure my line or the rod would break, but both of them held and I again lifted another trophy into the air. This one went closer to five pounds. A red letter day for sure. Later, when I showed my catch to my old friend Ralph, a grin arched across his face as wide as those fish were long, exposing his tobacco stained teeth.

“Boy, boy,” he kept saying over and over. “When are we going?”

We were on the water that next Saturday morning before I had to go to work.

Canoe fishing became a part of me after that, and continued to provide an important outlet during sometimes difficult and challenging times. Not sure what I would have done had I not been able to pursue life through that avenue. Important life lessons were learned through the venue of fishing and Old Beggs Lake is where I learned an important axiom; there is more to fishing than catching fish.

 

Many years later after countless miles of use, I retired the old Coleman before moving to Kentucky and a new life. Once established in the new home and job, I was able to purchase a real canoe, an Old Town Camper model, and she is a beauty. I never realized just how much difference there could be until I first pushed off the bank in the new Old Town and began to paddle across the calm waters of a mirrored surface lake. She glides like being on angel’s wings and has a look about her that defines the classic profile of what a canoe should be.

 

Nothing could ever replace the icon of time of Old Beggs Lake and the memories made there, but I have found another location that is somewhat larger and maybe a little tougher to fish, but in its own right it is a perfect spot for canoe fishing. It’s called Shanty Hollow, but that is another story I’ll share another time.

For now I am encouraged to remember old times from the past. Oddly enough, there are days I feel like I’ve lost my identity. Circumstances often prevent me from getting out as much as I would like, either that, or I’m just getting older and find it more difficult to do so. It is a shame really to allow such things to happen. Yet on those days when I can drift on silent canoe wings, I remember once again why those days were so important. I am haunted by those memories and long to discover them anew. 

Keith