Beaverlodge Grain Bin - Spring Light

Last February, my wife’s aunt was struggling with cancer at the Grande Prairie hospital. She went in during the Christmas break and remained there until May when she succumbed to the disease.  In February, when this photograph was taken I was making time to be away from the hospital to see what was happening in the world.  I got out toward Beaverlodge, Alberta. This photograph impressed me as one landmarking a period of time in which the intensity of light grows greater, day-by-day as we move forward from winter into spring – there’s something of ‘hope’ in it. Again, its subject is another grain bin; but, it sits upon a field that soon will grow black as snow melts into earth and then will grow green with as it’s planted and left to respond to the sun.

Again, listening to Liz Longley sing her song, Unraveling about her grandmother from her album Hot Loose Wire.

The chorus:

I’m the only daughter of her oldest son

I knew well before her spirit was gone

And her life is a thread woven into every part of me

She is unraveling, she is unraveling.

Quote to Inspire: “A good snapshot stops a moment from running away.” — Eudora Welty

Grain Bins - McNaught Homestead (near Beaverlodge, Alberta)

Enjoying this photograph of two grain bins at the McNaught Homestead … reminded of Bill Brandley’s conception of texture within a photograph being that of ‘visual touch.’  Liking the colour, glare and overexposure.

Listening to T-Bone Burnett sing River of Love from his Twenty Twenty: The Essential T-Bone Burnett; pointed toward this album in Stocki’s Rhythm and Soul broadcast, an album I purchased in St. Paul, Minnesota.

Quote to Inspire – “It can be a trap of the photographer to think that his or her best pictures were the ones that were hardest to get.” – Timothy Allen (quoted by Digital Photography School)

Tomorrow, after a day of school between 4:00-5:00 p.m., a salvage company will come to my house and tow away my 2000 GMC Sierra half-ton pick-up truck. Today, I checked with my wife and she agreed to my signing off the vehicle to my insurance company – the truck has been written off. The truck, a former Cargill elevator truck, has an ever-running small Vortec V8 engine and has had nothing but synthetic oil and regular maintenance through its 286,000 km history. The transmission has been upgraded to allow for the hauling of a motor boat during summers by its previous owner. While not a top of the line truck, it has been a presentable vehicle in terms of shape, chrome and gleam – at twelve years of age there is little rust.

I liked that.

The truck has required some mastery to drive. A two-wheel rear drive unit, without a load in the box, the light back end on icy winter roads takes a while to get to cruising speed. All season passenger tires on the front have made the steering a bit sloppy, as well.  Coming down the three kilometre hill from Twin Lakes, Alberta toward High Level in heavy snowfall has been more of a skiing event than rolling forward with steering, brakes and engine.  I’ve mastered much of that; but, obviously not enough to avoid last week’s buck.

With photography, I’ve appreciated having windows on all sides of me in the cab and the immediacy of light which well allowed me to sense direction, colour and intensity in considering possible photographs. Tonight, I have looked back through the past two years for photos of my 2000 GMC Sierra and found these four.

Quote to Inspire – “When I think of why I make pictures, the [only] reason that I can come up with just seems that I’ve been making my way here. It seems right now that all I’ve ever done in my life is making my way here to you.” – so says Robert Kincaid, in the movie and novel, The Bridges of Madison County by Robert James Waller; notable to me, not as romantic, but as photographer and GMC truck owner is that Robert Kincaid, a National Geographic photographer enters and leaves Madison County in a forest green 65 GMC pickup. Good schtuff!

Listening to Lucinda Williams from her album World Without TearsRighteously, Ventura and Bleeding Fingers; reminded that Sarah McLachlan adores Lucinda William’s album, Car Wheels on a Gravel Road.