February Sucks All Color from the World

"It look like February 19th and November 8th/ They had an ugly little baby and they're gonna call it Today" -- Greg Brown, "Help Me Make it Through This Funky Day"

How frustrating to have a new camera, a renewed and voracious interest in photography, yet be stuck in the midst of one of the dreariest months of the year. And so was contenting myself with reading articles on photography instead of actually taking pictures. One great read, linked here: "How to Find Interesting Photo Subjects When There Are None" inspired me to go out on some local "photo safaris" rather than wishing for exotic locales.

So last Friday I decided to stalk some color on a gray February day. I ended up in the little Ohio River town of New Richmond. It was 38 degrees, with a stiff wind off the water and the occasional ice pellet, but amazingly, color abounded on the two-block long riverfront.

I did make sure to stay on the opposite side of the street from the sketchy guy wandering aimlessly and looking in windows. This little town is trying so hard, and it does have a few little shops and cafes, but many empty store fronts as well. I was struck by the soup kitchen in the middle of the block.

There were also a number of fronts that I guess were residences. Many were kind of sad, with sheets covering the windows, but I loved the monochrome browns of this one.

I couldn't resist this pink downspout; I loved the color and texture. It reminded me of my old friend Pinky the Elephant in Marquette, Iowa, where we used to camp at Bloody Run. But that's another story. And the electric meters lined up like little blue robots made me smile.

Just around the corner from the riverfront I was struck by the colors and contradictions of this scene: an attempt at cheer from last fall in the form of plastic leaves and a scarecrow, a scattering of kids' toys, and the peeling paint of a rundown house front. Across the street a young drifter rummaged through the dumpsters behind the buildings in search of food.

There was also color to be had down by the river. Down on the mud flats beyond the docks was a tiny shack. A man was doing something on the front porch. In the distance was the cooling tower from the Zimmer power plant, and a barge was taking a load of coal upriver. Overseeing it all was a lone seagull perched atop a tall pole. This scene really summed up for me life along the Ohio River for so many generations.

At that point, however, the ice pellets were coming harder, I could no longer feel my fingers, and I was feeling a little voyeuristic. I really need an invisibility cloak.

"It's a Dangerous Business,

Frodo, going out of your door," he used to say. "You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to." 

And so I'm off. When I first heard of blogs, my initial thought was, "Why would anyone want to do that?" But since then I've come to realize it may have a benefit. Journaling, they say, is good for the soul, but since my hand no longer seems made for holding a pen, any journaling I do will most likely be typed. As for photos, it seems that most of the sharing I do on Facebook these days is in the form of pictures, and I often find myself wanting to delve deeper into the "why" of the pictures than that forum encourages. 

While my own journey has been going on for 48 years, it seems to be taking more turns lately than it has in a while, with interesting possibilities popping up and seemingly endless choices before me. And the camera...well, there is always a camera attached. My kids will sometimes say "Mom, put your camera down and just enjoy the view!" For me, though, that is how I enjoy the view. Photography makes me see the world as light, composition, beauty, irony, and brings me to things I would otherwise pass by.

So off I go, without a pocket handkerchief, perhaps, but with my trusty new Pentax k-5ii, to see where the road leads...