Drawing a line in the sand

My goal when I started this blog was to take a photograph and use that picture to journal about either the experience of taking it or what it meant to me as it related to a past experience.   In one of my previous posts, I talked about how a lot of photographs come to us accidentally and are just a moment in time that exists for a flickering second.   For this entry, while I worked to get the right angle for this photo, it was the experience behind it that came to me accidentally.   I had planned an entry on the benefits of teams and being part of some amazing teams in my life.   However, during this outing, I keenly became aware of one of the tenets of being an aspiring photographer.   In almost every picture taken, the photographer works to create a line of sight for the viewer, whether it is with the angle of a shot, the way the side of a building contrasts to the street, or with actual lines somehow drawn into the shot with the subject.    Here, I was lucky enough to have Mother Nature helping me to see those lines.   With the sun at a perfect angle, the backstop of the baseball field casting the right shadows, and the fences in the background, it seemed that the lines all came together to help me frame this one.  

So, I suppose that I could still use my team idea here in that in order to tell a good story about what is seen, sometimes the best team you can be a part of is one that you never knew you were on.

Fences and Neighbors

Wherever I have lived, I can count on one hand, unfortunately, the number of neighbors that I have come to know.   At our home in Memphis, we only knew the one family beside us and that relationship was nothing more than a passing wave of the hand as we moved quickly from our car into the caverns of our respective homes.   Living in Madison, WI wasn't any more conducive to friend making, as we only met our next door neighbor when a tree fell in the yard, six months after moving in.   I would like to think that our family is very sociable when it comes to entertaining and mingling with the neighborhood crowd, but we just aren't.   When we lived in Appleton; however, we became close friends with our next door neighbors and even kept in touch a little bit after moving away, but alas, that too became a relationship that ended.  

Monroe, on the other hand, appears to be that kind of town where your next door neighbor is either next door, obviously, or on the other side of town.   Going to the store, catching a movie, or just walking around the town square will almost always end up in a 30 minute conversation with an old pal or one of those new friends we are always trying to make.   The sunflower picture I took isn't in my garden, rather, in our next door neighbor's garden, lovingly referred to as "Charlie and Lola".    All the parents reading this would get the reference.   Charlie and Beverly were literally the first people we met when we moved in. Not an hour after arriving at the house, and sweating profusely from moving our furniture in, they stopped by to say hello.   When we were completely exhausted later, Beverly stopped by to offer us some fresh cookies and to welcome us again.   Their garden is one that is award winning.   They showcase their flowers and vegetables each year at the fair and usually come home with several ribbons.  
They also love to spend time with our daughter, as she reminds them of when their kids were little.   Charlie and Bev are just two of the many neighbors we have come to know here in Monroe with another 9,998 neighbors to go.

A greyt birthday

It has been a little over two years since we adopted our retired greyhound and brought him into our home and he became part of our family.   Today marks his 4th birthday and for those of you counting in dog years, he's past drinking age and should be getting a place of his own instead of living at home with his parents.   Since he made his resting spot known on two different couches, I have found a large and generous group of people that have become my support group and friends.   The GPA of Wisconsin is a group that tirelessly takes the hounds from their racing days and shelters them, fosters them to be acclimated to "civilian life", and finds adopters who are as much in love with the dogs as the dogs are with them.   I feel lucky to have found them, especially during a sad time of our lives.   

Just over two years ago in March, I came home from work to find that our back gate was open and our beloved pug had escaped.   A roller coaster search over two weeks was both exhausting and very emotional for our family.   When she was found, after a heroic attempt to catch her from a couple of good samaritans, we had to let her go to the "Rainbow Bridge" that all pet owners have to endure at one point.   The grieving took a while and soon we had decided that we wanted a new companion for us and our other dog.   Shortly thereafter, I met our new hound, aptly named Camaro, at the racing kennel where he was kept.   The funny thing about him was that when we first brought him home, he wouldn't leave his cage.   It was obviously a safe place for him to stay in a place of uncertainty.   Several days later, as we all went to bed, he came out of his spot and proceeded to enter our bedroom.   He sniffed me for a long time and then laid down on the floor next to us as if to say that he approved of his surroundings.   Camaro relishes his spot in our family and continues to relish his spot on the couch, no matter who may be sitting there that he decides to kick off.

A fore letter word

I can't remember the first time I ever played golf nor where I was when I did it but I do remember that when I watched it on TV or saw people on the course, I just associated the game with stuffy, rich aristocrats on a country club course.    Growing up I knew that I'd never be in their league and to take part in such a sport that required argyle socks was not going to be something I'd be a part of.   Slowly, however, it started to interest me and I would go with friends occasionally to try my hand at this high-class recreation.   After playing for a little while, the bug started to nibble at me and I became hooked.   The rules and regulations of the game have been emblazoned in my mind over the years and as a new golfer I always wanted to play it with dignity, with the exception of the forbidden foot wedge placed precariously in my bag. 

 

As I think about the experiences on the course, I look more toward the friendships I strengthened as well as the unique places I've been when I measure my success.   Nobody will ever talk about my rise to stardom on the PGA tour given my high double-digit handicap, nor will I have to turn the sponsors away at my door.   However, when I think about standing next to the statue of Payne Stewart just off the 18th tee at Pinehurst #2, walking in 100+ degree heat at the aptly named Long Hollow, or breaking 100 for the first time and earning my GolfTec yellow hat, I remember the people I was with and the relationships I forged.   

Rally 'round the flag!

I have always had a sense of patriotism even as a young boy growing up.   There was the very short membership I had in the Cub Scouts, the numerous high school football games where we played, or sang, the National Anthem, or the many places I've lived in the past ten years where a flag has most always graced our porch.   I can't remember if there was one on our house when I grew up, but whenever I would see a house with a flag flying from the porch or waving proudly from the top of a pole, I thought about how my house would one day look with one.   The reason I fly my flag; however, has changed from that young, naive boy's thoughts about completing the aesthetic flow of the house to more of a proud feeling of being a citizen.   Events surrounding different flags hold a special place in my heart as well, whether it is looking at a flag that is in a display box which draped a serviceman's casket or one that flew over a government building during a time of historic legislating.

The flag flying off of my house now is just one of the many purchased from the local hardware store with no historical significance surrounding it.   However, when we first moved to Wisconsin several years ago, we rented a house that had a flagpole installed in the front yard area.   Soon a flag was flying from that very tall pole that was a bit smaller than what needed to be up there.   However, that flag was very significant in that it was one my grandfather had flown from his house many years ago.    Each morning, I'd go out, run it up the pole, and have a brief moment with my grandfather that only he and I would know.   Then, when the wind died down and the flag fell limp, it would be as if he was watching as I walked away, blowing a little breeze so I could watch it proudly wave again and renew my sense of pride.

The Bock stops here

Since coming to Wisconsin in late 2001 (then back and forth from TN again), it has become quite clear that some of the stereotypical Wisconsin banter has some basis of truth to it.   While it may not be true that as soon as you cross the state line, one immediately becomes a "cheesehead" or that the faucets here in Wisconsin drip only beer, the state has become deeply rooted in both the dairy production and brewery production industries.   Not because there was nothing for us to do up here during the long winters, but because the land, weather, atmosphere, and what-have-you had so much in common with the landscapes of Germany and Switzerland.   Those "founding fathers of fun" came over to continue in the traditions of their ancestors and make a living while giving the community an economic boost, as well as a place to hang their hats when the going got tough.  

Here in Monroe, it is pretty crowded with the cheese factories and craft breweries, but what makes them unique is the following they all have.   Walk into any local eatery and you can pick up a Blumer's root beer to wash down that tasty Swiss cheese and sausage snack.   Hit up the tavern after work and kick back with the unique flavor of a Huber Bock.   Instead of the usual 6-pack configuration of beer bottles, the Minhas brewery offers up an 8-pack of Lazy Mutt brew to satisfy any beer lovers' appetite.   And when you run out of food to eat, beer to drink, or Limburger to smell, the picture perfect views of life in Monroe are all you need to wind down after a good, long, honest days' work.

Growth

One thing that I can never be accused of is having a green thumb.   My intentions of having a garden were always big, but the follow-through left much to be desired.   At our previous house in Madison, WI, a garden was already installed for me, so I figured that I could just plant some seeds and forget about them.   Unfortunately, several weeks and many weeds later, my garden was out of control and not bearing any fruits or veggies whatsoever.   I planted corn that the dogs and other wild animals ate.   I planted carrots that never came to fruition.   I planted pumpkins that grew wildly out of my garden area into the yard and only produced two pumpkins.   One the size of a deflated basketball and another that got subsequently devoured by, you guessed it, the dogs and other wild animals.   When that failed, I resorted to just mowing it over every time I mowed the yard to both try and forget about the failed experiment and redeem my sense of manhood.  

When we moved here to Monroe, this year I decided that it would be in my best interest to utilize a raised garden bed as well as the tried and true "Topsy Turvy".   While I made a few mistakes at the start (planting way too many plants in too small of a space, not pruning fast enough, etc.) we have been well rewarded by our bounty.   Countless jars of dill pickles, bread and butter pickles, pickle relish, dried tomatoes, canned tomatoes, pickled peppers, and more left yet to process have graced our pantry shelves.   I have learned a lot about boiling water baths, correct pH balances, how vinegar smells in your kitchen after a long day of canning, and the family closeness that comes with the experience of growing your own produce.   With this year's harvest coming to a close, my hands have become a little more rough from the vines; however, looking down I have noticed my thumbs changing to a faint, yet noticeable, shade of light green.

Perspectives

Earlier this year, the local esteemed carpenter and wood artist "Zoli the woodcarver" installed many different zoo animals around our town square for the enjoyment of the community.   There are flamingos, penguins, monkeys, a snake, mountain goats, and various other ones, all carved with a chainsaw from a single tree trunk.   What started as a unique way to dress up the newly renovated downtown area, has turned into an amazing space for the eyes to see all sorts of artwork in the carvings and the places they are installed.   I have been around the square numerous times this summer, either eating at a local joint, shopping at the farmers' market, or just enjoying the weather.   It seems to change each time I am there as I have discovered that while the art is enhancing the square, the people that are enjoying it are enhancing the art.  

In the center of all of the shops, taverns, restaurants, and meeting spaces, is the magnificent courthouse that is picture perfect in any way.   I've seen photographs of this building on anything that has to do with Southern Wisconsin and Green County and they seem to all be from different viewpoints.   That makes taking a photo of this building pretty challenging, as I am trying to stretch my artistic parameters a little more.   The "feeding of the animals" sign marks the unofficial beginning of the animal display, so I saw a unique framing opportunity with the courthouse in front of me.

Reflections

It has occurred to me that good photographers never go out to find their subjects or their pictures; rather, their art happens around them.   I spent a long time yesterday, after shooting my first picture, trying to decide where I should go to shoot day #2.   I had several landmarks in Monroe in mind and had even thought about going inside some of them to shoot the people working or walking around inside.   This picture came to me quite by accident as I had only decided, at the last minute, to bring my camera inside to see what might unfold in front of me.   My daughter's day care class had decided to take a field trip to the local bowling alley and were scheduled to leave from the day care.   When I arrived to drop her off, no one was there, so I took her to the bowling alley to wait.   I grabbed my camera to bring with me in case I could find my shot.   We went inside and, with the exception of the alley's staff, we were the only people there.   I looked around and immediately all kinds of thoughts were running through my head.   I wanted to take interesting shots of the alley lanes, or poignant shots of the staff doing their work, or even an action shot of my daughter throwing a ball down the lane.   I even snapped some pictures attempting to create an "award winning photograph".   As I stood there, contemplating what to do next, I looked into the jukebox my daughter was looking at and I found my subject.  

Campion is the Champion - August 22

There is a monument to one of Monroe's, safe to say Southern Wisconsin's, beloved servants of the cloth, Monsignor Thomas Campion that stands at the entrance to St. Victor Catholic Church.   It was erected a couple of years ago in recognition of his many years of service as the Apostolate to the Handicapped.   While I never knew the Monsignor, there have been many families here in Monroe and surrounding areas that have been touched by his tireless service to the community through various outreach programs and his connection with the community.   He died earlier this year and this monument became a fitting tribute to his life as it depicts him walking with one of his many flock, dribbling a basketball.   I understand that he was also devoted to the fitness of the young people in the community as well.   I have been going off and on to this parish on some Sundays and his legacy is felt throughout the building and the church congregation as well.  

You can't step out of your house, here in Monroe, without running into at least one person who proudly sports one of the various t-shirts that says "Campion's Champions" emblazoned on the front.   While the back of the shirts say different things, like "TC is my homeboy" or "1 TC" designed like a license plate, the people that wear them are just few of the hundreds, if not thousands, of his devoted disciples who carry on the virtue of volunteerism and continually commit random acts of kindness.   I have learned that you cannot buy one of these coveted t-shirts; rather, you "earn" them through your volunteer work.

On my bucket list during this "year of the photoblog" is to earn my place among the followers of the Champion of champions and call myself one of Campion's Champions.

The journey begins

As a budding photographer, I am working to get better at both taking pictures as well as creating a story behind the photo with my camera.   My wife and I have had cameras for many years and have worked to document our lives, as well as that of our daughter.   My goal is to become more artistic in my work and learn from the experiences that each picture brings with it, through the people I shoot, the places I see, and the atmosphere that it creates.   Join me on my quest for a picture each day for the next 365 days.