Bosca Dubh

From ruin or from ancient trees

I pace upon the battlements and stare
On the foundations of a house, or where
Tree, like a sooty finger, starts from the earth;
And send imagination forth
Under the day’s declining beam, and call
Images and memories
From ruin or from ancient trees,
For I would ask a question of them all.

The Tower, William Butler Yeats

I stopped at the Washburn Water Tower at the tail end of our last snow storm; I hadn’t visited for almost a year. It’s still a magical spot.

Winter kept us warm

Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.

The Waste Land, T.S. Eliot

Three selections:

• LIE IN THE SOUND NO.2 from Wink
• Y’a toujours min copain Pierrot… from Irregular Photoblog
• untitled from Visions

The filling places

Soft as a shadow on fur
The filling places
Where his footsteps were;
Lost without shape or grime
His path through the level spaces.
How can we certainly know
If this is time
Falling, or snow?

White Darkness, Virginia Hamilton Adair

Four selections:

• … not that far? from XoverIP
• Parisian Cotton Candy from rion.nu
• Canada Geese Overhead from A Walk Through Durham County
• Shooting Star from polom.org

against a sure winter

Thus having prepared their buds
against a sure winter
the wise trees
stand sleeping in the cold.

Winter Trees, William Carlos Williams

Our own sure winter is surely on the wane here in the upper Midwest–the snow is turning to fog today, and with temperatures near 50 degrees predicted for next week it looks like Spring is on the way. I probably only have one or two more days where there will be enough snow for my snowshoes.

Four selections today:

• Untitled from Populuxe
• 春の影 (Shadow in spring) from Million-Year Picnic
• alaska highway moose from the narrative
• fruits of labor from bea

Now whispered and revealed

This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.

Snow-Flakes, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

so poured in and out

By day the skyscraper looms in the smoke and sun and has a soul.
Prairie and valley, streets of the city, pour people into
it and they mingle among its twenty floors and are
poured out again back to the streets, prairies and
valleys.
It is the men and women, boys and girls so poured in and
out all day that give the building a soul of dreams
and thoughts and memories.
(Dumped in the sea or fixed in a desert, who would care
for the building or speak its name or ask a policeman
the way to it?)

Carl Sandburg, Skyscraper

Three cullings for today:

• Winter Squall from No Traces
• 01.28.2007 from shadowphoto
• 299 from Edmund Leveckis

There’s a new on-line lit mag in the neighborhood! Check out TorkStar–you won’t be disappointed.

The flickering shadows have not answered

Over the dead line we have called to you
To come across with a word to us,
Some beaten whisper of what happens
Where you are over the dead line
Deaf to our calls and voiceless.

The flickering shadows have not answered
Nor your lips sent a signal
Whether love talks and roses grow
And the sun breaks at morning
Splattering the sea with crimson.

Carl Sandburg, To a Dead Man

Three cullings for today:

• FAIRYTALE IN B-MINOR from Wink
• a river runs through it from twenty-five.net
• Gateway Arch, Study 13 from Out of Contxt

and then moves on

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Carl Sandburg, Fog

Five cullings for today:

• mudeford bay from milou
• man in the train from 1965 monochrome
• approach to the shrine – 参道 from BOXMAN fotologue
• R Train ~ Brooklyn ~ 6:55pm from Express Train
• Event from bighappyfunhouse

coarse and strong and cunning

And having answered so I turn once more to those who
sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer
and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing
so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.

Carl Sandburg, Chicago

The “corn cobs” (a.k.a. Marina City) is another of my favorite Chicago buildings; there’s something wonderfully weird about them.

Three cullings for today:

• shodoshima, kagawa, japan from photomo
• On the hill of the cemetery from Richard Vanek
• redundancy… from gotreadgo

Gotham

I’ve always loved the Tribune Tower; its over-the-top gothicism would be the perfect perch for Batman to brood.

Three cullings for today:

• Place de la Concorde from Mv
• Long Shadow from Photosensitive
• Climb the Sky from Million-Year Picnic

VFD

The Woodstock, Maine, Volunteer Fire Department’s newest tanker truck.

junior firefighter

The boys’ granddad is a member of the Woodstock, Maine, Volunteer Fire Department; he was actually called out to a lumber company fire one night while we were visiting, but we were so exhausted that we slept right through it. Here Peter tries out one of the helmets.

A happy and safe Thanksgiving to all!

Dowling Garden – Sunflowers Again

Dowling Garden – Vines

Dowling Garden – Sunflowers

Dowling Garden – Maize

Dowling Garden – shed

^{Read more}

Dowling Garden – under cover

Our first taste of frost came a few weeks ago, followed by a warm spell. Taken at the Dowling Community Garden, a “victory garden” on the edge of the boys’ school.

The Secret River – Goodbye

This is the end of the “Secret River” series, at least for a little while–I may have some Spotmatic shots of the Peabody as well. Tomorrow is the first day of kindergarten, so a whole new kind of adventure is starting…

The Secret River – Brothers

Jack and Peter on the Peabody River, a few days before their fifth birthday.

^{Read more}

The Secret River – Selkie Boy

An’ it sall pass on a simmer’s day,
When the sin shines het on evera stane,
That I will tak my little young son,
An’ teach him for to swim his lane.

The Great Silkie of Sule Skerrie from The Oxford Book of Ballads, Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. (1910)

I’m not sure if the natives of the Peabody River area have any legends about creatures who emerge from the chilly waters to take human form for a time, the way the people of the rocky shores of Ireland and Scotland do about the selkies; if not, there ought to be some developed–a secret river like this deserves some monsters.

The Secret River – Crouch

Peter among the rocks on the Peabody River, near Gorham, NH.

The Secret River – Tree

The Secret River – Ferryman

What could be better, when you’re almost five years old, than having your Granddad carry you over the secret river?

The Secret River – on the rock

^{Read more}

The Secret River – Emerald Pool

A bit further up the Peabody River from our secret swimming hole is the site of Albert Bierstadt’s 1870 painting, The Emerald Pool. For a fascinating discussion of this painting and its place in the cultural and economic history of the region, I direct your attention to the (somewhat scholarly, but still worth plowing through) article by Nancy Siegal in the Autum 2005 issue of Nineteenth Century Art Worldwide: “I never had so difficult a picture to paint”: Albert Bierstadt’s White Mountain Scenery and The Emerald Pool.

Not that this picture has much to do with Bierstadt’s application of his approach to Western landscapes to the more intimate settings of the East, except for proximity. I’ve tried to capture here the clarity of the water (the pool in the foreground is a couple feet deep), and a lone trout flyfisher who was working her way down the Peabody while we played on the rocks. This is by far my favorite place to visit on our too-infrequent trips to see Granddad; it’s as simple a pleasure as you can find. And so long as you keep it a secret between just us, it will remain so for another hundred and fifty years.

The Secret River

Pssst… let me tell you a secret. Remember, this is just between you and me; don’t tell anyone else.

Take highway 16 south from Gorham, NH, toward Mount Washington, about five miles. On your right, you’ll see a sign for the Dolly Copp campground; don’t turn there. Go another mile or so down the road. If you pass a sign for the Dolly Copp picnic area, you’ve gone too far; turn around, being careful not to hit any moose or cars from Massachusetts. There’s a wide spot off to the side of the highway, between the campground and picnic area; pull off there.

Then make your way down through the brush and over the rocks, following the sound of the Peabody River, and you’ll come to the most magical place in northern New England.

A few hours ago, the clear, cold water tumbling through the granite channel carved by ancient glaciers was snow on the Presidential Range of the White Mountains; it hasn’t warmed up very much in its fall toward the Androscoggin. This water is so clear that you can’t tell how deep it is–at some points it may cover your ankles, at others it could rise to your chin, but all you can see are the gold and brown and green veins running through the granite, and the tiny boulders the river rolls along the river bed as it grinds them down to dust. It may take the river a million years to dissolve a stone, but the river is patient and persistent.

Cold as it is, you have to step in; make sure you remove your socks and shoes, and feel gingerly with your toes along the granite floor for the gaps and cuts where the lichens haven’t made the rocks too slippery. But if you do slip, don’t worry–it’s never terribly deep here, and slipping is the best way to get yourself into the cold. Besides, the sun will warm you up nicely if you stretch out on a rock and put your ear close to the river, and you can listen to it whispering its secrets of its journey from the mountains to the sea as you dream of silver fish and shady pools.

Remember, though, this is a secret, just between you and me.

silhouettes

What oddness is this?

The boys took my Lubitel at a gathering at my grandparents’ house in Lewiston and insisted on taking pictures of the relatives. I figured I might as well let them, and insisted only that they come back between shots so I could advance the film for them. Though I tried to get things set so the pictures would sort of expose, there’s no way a Lubitel is going to be “point and shoot” in the hands of a couple of four-year-olds.

Still, I liked some of these under-exposed, backlit, shadowy pictures–they’re a little eerie and odd.

I’m hoping the next roll I grab to develop will actually be worth scanning…

Remember winter?

I’m a little behind in processing film–I’ve got a Holga black & white to toss in the toxins tonight, four miscellaneous rolls (I think some from May Day…) that have gone off to the developer, a few other 35mm rolls floating around (including some early morning pictures from this weekend in the woods) and unfinished rolls in the Holga, Argus, and Nomad. Which leaves me scrounging for pictures, like this one of Peter on the last snowy day in March when we went sledding at Longfellow Park.

Our trip to the woods was a bit of a bust. The first night it was bug city; not wimpy little gnats and mosquitoes, mind you–these were flies that would make small birds nervous. The lake and playground were a two mile hike through forest and marsh (across a portage boardwalk–I hope those shots come out…), after which the rest of the camping party demanded that I run back to the site and get the car. Which I did–took me just 30 minutes, with a couple of photo-op stops on the way.

Though it rained a bit on Friday night, we stayed dry, and it was nice to lie in the tent reading ghost stories by flashlight while everyone slept and the rain pattered on the roof. I love reading Victorian ghost stories–the purpler the better–when camping, having discovered M.R. James by firelight at Moose Lake some years back.

Saturday started off nice enough–we did a little canoing, and I think I got some Holga shots of a pair of loons–but when we stopped for another playground break it started to rain. And rain. And rain. We played Old Maid and Go Fish, pondered the state of the runoff ditches, and waited for the rain to stop. It did not.

Then when Jack woke up from a nap, we were greeted by a little face that looked more like the Elephant Man than a preschooler. His eye was swollen almost shut, and his forehead was bulging. He didn’t seem bothered, but we didn’t think we should stay in the woods with him in this deformed state. Peter wasn’t impressed with our stamina.

So we spent Father’s Day at urgent care, while the doctor tried to figure out what was wrong with the boy–he looked like he was suffering from orbital cellulitis, but he didn’t act it; he acted like Jack–goofy and charming and unbothered by the swollen head. He was, though, greatly bothered by the two shots of antibiotics and the two pokes into his arms for blood. Now a day into antibiotics and antihistamine, Jack’s looking a little more like himself while continuing to be a little charmer. Kids are incredibly resilient.

trunk and snow

The Million Writers Notable Stories have been announced by storySouth! My story Self Defense, published in Pindeldyboz, made the list, as did many fabulous stories from around the web. Set aside some time to sample the stories on the list; you won’t be disappointed.

The Top 10 will be posted on April 1.

snowbank

The Million Writers Notable Stories have been announced by storySouth! My story Self Defense, published in Pindeldyboz, made the list, as did many fabulous stories from around the web. Set aside some time to sample the stories on the list; you won’t be disappointed.

The Top 10 will be posted on April 1.

lena cota bog ban

Nach deas í an tuath
lena cota bog ban
ina codladh go sá¡mh
sa sneachta geal glan.

Sneachta, Má¡ire Nic a’Daird

The first bit of Irish poetry I ever memorized; roughly:

How lovely is the world
with its soft white coat,
sleeping snugly
in the bright, clean snow.

Being able to recite the occasional bit of Gaelic doggerel has won me a few pints of Guinness, and redeems me for the fact that my ancestors were decidedly Cromwellian.

St. Patrick’s Day is the one day a year I’m happy to let everyone else pretend to be Irish. They can have their green beer and “Kiss me I’m Irish” buttons and bad brogues; I’ll sit in tonight with Thai takeout and a movie and leave my favorite bars to the Irish version of Easter-and-Christmas Catholics.

the snow queen’s bower

Another big snow today.

lace

We don’t see much of each other in the winter here; like bears and woodchucks, we snuggle down in our burrows and emerge in the spring, blinking and staggering, surprised to notice that we have neighbors (and that our neighbors are as pasty pale as we are, and have put on some fleshy pounds as well during the dark months).

Except when there’s a good snow storm.

If the Star Tribune article about the melting of Minnesota is true, losing winter would be quite a loss indeed. Snow storms create a sort of camaraderie that’s special to these northern parts; when we grumble about traffic in the summer, it just sounds like whining, but in the winter we all want to hear and tell our bold tales of intrepid commuting. And if everyone is late for work, then no one is late for work. People are a little more courteous on the roads and ready to pitch in to roll cars out of ditches and jump start old batteries. Snow is the great leveler; we’re all in it together.

Losing the snow would let Minnesotans drift deep into their burrows and fall into the sleepy smugness that would be our lot without the shared adventure of a blizzard.

Noted in the Tuesday Challenge “Trees” category.
Noted in the Shutterday.com The Best category.

Nokomis tree

Lake Nokomis.

Don’t forget–the 2006 Million Writers Award starts taking nominations on February 15. Start thinking about the stories published on-line in 2005 that deserve the nod! (If you’ve got one you’d like to spotlight, let me know through a comment or e-mail).

snow trail

Minnehaha Creek.

Don’t forget–the 2006 Million Writers Award starts taking nominations on February 15. Start thinking about the stories published on-line in 2005 that deserve the nod! (If you’ve got one you’d like to spotlight, let me know through a comment or e-mail).

Bark

Lake Nokomis.

Don’t forget–the 2006 Million Writers Award starts taking nominations on February 15. Start thinking about the stories published on-line in 2005 that deserve the nod! (If you’ve got one you’d like to spotlight, let me know through a comment or e-mail).

under the bridge

Taken on Minnehaha Creek.

Don’t forget–the 2006 Million Writers Award starts taking nominations on February 15. Start thinking about the stories published on-line in 2005 that deserve the nod! (If you’ve got one you’d like to spotlight, let me know through a comment or e-mail).

Jack and Mom

From the Minnesota Zephyr “Polar Express” outing.

Happy New Year to all!

love is all around

Mary Tyler Moore perpetually tosses her hat on Nicollet Mall.

Today we’re off to the water park for a little splashing about.

Zephyr

Here are the guys in front of the Minnesota Zephyr, post-”Polar Express”.

Two more days until Christmas. Tomorrow night I’ll be assembling the train tracks for Santa–it’s supposed to be “easy to assemble”, I’m anticipating a late bedtime…

Three things for which I’m thankful:

1. Not having to go in to work at 4:30AM (long story; I had to sign an NDA last night, so I can’t tell you about it, either)
2. New Holga film to scan
3. Clifford’s Puppy Days’ Hanukkah cartoon–makes for a quiet morning…

Nicollet Mall

Here’s a gaggle of kids on their way to the Marshall Field’s Cinderella display; there was much discussion about who should hold whose hand as they went past me.

Three things for which I’m grateful:

1. Co-workers who step up to the plate when funky stuff happens
2. A boss who knows when to turn a blind eye to the things that have to be done to fix the funkiness
3. Two more days of work before a long week off

Young Love

The Minnesota Zephyr “Polar Express” was packed with kids and parents. So what was this 20-something couple, clearly very much in love, doing at the table next to ours? They were so busy mooning at each other that they didn’t seem to notice the swirling chaos around them.

I wanted to sit myself down at their table and say, “I’m sure you two are very much in love, but is it worth it? Look around you–this is the future! Screaming kids, bad box lunches, and absolute mind-numbing exhaustion!” But that somehow didn’t seem appropriate.

Of course, it’s not really all THAT bad. Except the exhaustion part. I crashed minutes after the boys did last night, unable even to finish one of the shorter stories in Andre Dubus’ In the Bedroom (a repackaged movie tie-in, I realize, but hey, it’s Andre Dubus, for gods’ sake, and “In the Bedroom” was a damned fine movie).

Three things for which I’m thankful:

1. The amnesiac sleep of an exhausted parent
2. My Red Feather snowshoes, ready for their first outing of the season
3. Short stories–during the holiday season, I don’t think I could maintain the momentum of reading a novel

Beard as White as Snow

I continue to get “Farther (sic) Christmas” hits, so I might as well have a picture of the Jolly Old Elf for people to see. This is the Santa who rode the Minnesota Zephyr “Polar Express” train on Sunday.

I can’t quite recommend the train ride, unless you’ve got a couple of four-year-olds who are obsessed with trains. It was a short ride–about 20 minutes or so, along Main Street and back–and the lunch was … unpleasant.

When I got the tickets in November, I asked (because I’ve learned) if there was a vegetarian option. I was assured that Kelly could have an egg salad sandwich–not a great option, but an option all the same. I was relieved.

But when we got there, everyone got the same lunch in a styrofoam box: dry turkey (two little slices) on a bun, chips, Oreos, fruit juice, and either vanilla or butterscotch pudding. I marched Kelly’s box-o-turkey to the first person who appeared to be in charge and asked very nicely if I could exchange it for the promised egg salad; I was met with genuine confusion and, just before we rolled out of the station, a plate of sliced oranges and kiwi. The fellow in charge–one of those pointy-faced important young men with a walkie-talkie and blue blazer–explained, not terribly, gently, that “We’re pushing 2,000 kids and parents through this year, so we can’t deviate from the box lunch.”

Which is reasonable enough. Though he could have put it a little more nicely–made me feel like we were on a Cattle Car of Forced Cheer–and, heck, Santa Claus deals with millions of kids and I don’t think he’s ever put a turkey sandwich in a vegetarian’s stocking after promising her egg salad. Fortunately, we fed Kelly (another thing we’ve learned) before we left, so she just gloured darkly instead of darkly and hungrily.

But the boys loved it. They loved rolling through the trees, they loved walking the aisles of the cars, they loved standing in front of the train for a picture. And no matter how crummy and over-priced an exercise it was, that’s what matters: Jack and Peter had a great time on the train.

Three things for which I’m thankful:

1. Kiwi
2. Butterscotch pudding
3. The Supreme Bean coffee shop, 402 Main St N, Stillwater, MN

Snowpants

Seven below zero this morning, eighteen below with the wind. Not a day to consider fashion; I wish I had snowpants like the boys.

Three things for which I’m thankful:

1. Clifford’s Puppy Days on the TiVo
2. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer–movie, song, and story
3. That my name isn’t Aloha Taylor, though there is something kind of fun about someone named “Aloha” giving the subarctic weather forecast

Splash

Fountains at Gaviidae Common, downtown Minneapolis.

Today we’re on our way to the Minnesota Zephyr “Polar Express” ride.

Three things for which I’m thankful:

1. My new coffee grinder (though I’m sure it will die like the others within six months)
2. Warm socks
3. Whoopie pies (made a double batch yesterday, all of which are, alas, leaving the house for various holiday events)

Down Escalator

A somewhat-blurry shot of the escalator into the menswear department at Nieman Marcus on Nicollet Mall. This is from my first roll developed in Diafine, a two-bath developer which will take a little getting used to but seems to provide good results on the cheap.

Three things for which I’m thankful:

1. Walgreen’s 24-hour pharmacy
2. Children’s PediaCare cough medicine
3. Russel Stover’s pecan clusters

Snow

Yesterday I had Oliver, the boys’ friend, for the day, along with Jack and Peter; we took the train downtown for lunch, roamed around City Hall, wandered the skyways, and the took the train home so we could play outside in the snow. Jack and Peter fell sound asleep at 7PM; I followed at 9:30PM.

Three things for which I’m thankful:

1. The LRT
2. My TLR
3. Hot dogs

Flyover

Washburn Water Tower, Minneapolis.

Three things for which I am thankful:

1. Little Debbie snack cakes
2. Drake’s cakes (though they’re hard to find out here in the Midwest)
3. Ring Dings

Candyland

Apparently, the boys’ grandmother used to visit this candy store on Wabasha in St. Paul with her allowance money. It’s a grandly old-fashioned place, with jars and cases of all nature of sweets. The boys selected Juju Fruits for their special post-Children’s Museum treat.

Three things for which I’m thankful:

1. Juju Fruits
2. Sour cherry balls
3. Chocolate Advent calendars

Outtake – Smug

The look on Peter’s face was just a little too self-satisfied to use as the holiday card.

Three things for which I’m thankful:

1. Prairie Home Companion: yes, Mr. Keillor is the epitome of self-satisfied smugness, but he gets great musical acts and I love “Guy Noir”.
2. This American Life: no smugness here
3. Speaking of Faith: even agnostics need a little time in “church” now and then.

Tying one on

The Christmas tree expert at Mother Earth Gardens ties down our new tree for the trip home.

Three things for which I’m thankful:

1. Fresh snow
2. Windshield wiper fluid
3. Thomas the Tank Engine videos

Outtake – Look at the camera!

The winter wind has arrived this morning with a grim attitude; though it’s not as viciously cold as a Minnesota winter can be (still twelve above zero even with the wind chill, but doesn’t everything between 20 above and absolute zero feel about the same?), there’s no denying that winter has arrived.

So on this blustery morning, three things for which I’m thankful:

1. My Mad Bomber hat (ugly as sin, but warm as a blanket)
2. Warm woolen mittens (apologies to Maria von Trapp)
3. The less-than-half-a-block walk to daycare (which will still be a struggle of Admiral Perry proportions, I fear)

Outtake – the Scowl

Another outtake from the Christmas card–Jack makes a lovely face.

Three things for which I’m thankful:

1. Going back to work after a long weekend (not that I don’t love spending time with the boys, but sometimes it’s interesting to talk to people who aren’t obsessed with trains, and it makes me appreciate them more)
2. John Dingley’s Sunday pub quiz at the Lake Street Garage (even though we didn’t win this week)
3. Whole Foods-brand whole wheat tortillas (Kelly has recently experimented with shopping at SuperTarget, but the tortillas there are … disgusting …)

Outtake – The Tongue

The day after Thanksgiving, we went to Mother Earth Gardens (”the pumpkin store”, since that’s where we got our jack-o’-lanterns) to select a Christmas tree. Normally, I’d prefer to wait until December, but Auntie Betsy had a tree up and the boys demanded it all the way home on Thursday.

It was a good setting for a Christmas card picture, so Kelly, in a rare moment of support for my habits, suggested I bring “the camera”. She probably meant a more normal camera, but I selected the Lubi since it had 9 shots left on it. This one didn’t make the final cut, but I like it all the same.

Three things for which I’m thankful:

1. Mother Earth Gardens
2. Kids’ movies that can entertain adults
3. The smell of pine needles in the winter

Pier

Pond in Autumn

For a season that turns so cold so fast, autumn has incredibly warm colors.

Taken with the Lubitel on my lunch break.

Pumpkin Study

From Mother Earth Gardens in South Minneapolis, again. It’s a cold, blustery morning, a rather sharp reminder of what’s on the way.

Pumpkin Wagon

The pumpkins are gone from Mother Earth Gardens now; they’re clearing space for Christmas trees. Soon winter will be upon us.

Pumpkins for Sale

At Mother Earth Gardens, 42nd Ave. and 38th St., in South Minneapolis–our favorite place for pumpkins and Christmas trees.

Pumpkins

I’ve had some good luck with color film in the Lubi; I first tried it out last month at the Afton Apple Orchard, where I got the boys to pose among the pumpkins. They’ve since discovered “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!” which we watch several times a day for the fun of seeing Linus get rolled by the pumpkin in the opening sequence. Oh, to be four again…

Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came

There they stood, ranged along the hillsides, met
To view the last of me, a living frame
For one more picture! in a sheet of flame
I saw them and I knew them all. And yet
Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set,
And blew.

Robert Browning, “Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came”

(another of my obsessive pictures of Harry Wild Jones’ Washburn Water Tower, this one with the Lubitel)

Fog and Bench

Lake Nokomis autumn morning. Lubitel. A little late for work…

Fog

The other morning, as I drove down 28th Avenue S., I saw the most wonderful fog over Lake Nokomis. I had to stop and finish up the color roll in the Lubitel–after all, I wanted to drop off the Hawkeye color roll from the cemetery, and I was running a couple minutes ahead of schedule. Work can wait for fog…

For the Picking

A Lubitel shot from the Afton Apple Orchard; I love the Lubi with color film, if only processing weren’t so pricy.

Lubitel Gallery

I’m working on getting my site back in line (long and unpleasant story…); here’s a picture to tide you over until this looks right…

The Secret River

Water and Stone of ...

By Michael Hartford

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