I am working on the marketing material for the house and thought I would share these photos with you all. What has always drawn me to a home is the fact that we are just its keepers telling a small part of an evolving story. These photos paint a picture from just the last 100 years. My imagination can vision the home before photographs were possible. But I can guess that the sounds of bucolic life and melodic songbirds have changed little over its many years. Over the years, civil war buttons, ceramic doll pieces and revolutionary pieces have been unearthed always making me wonder about their full story. George Washington was only a boy when the home was built in 1741 by David Miller. I love these photos for many reasons, but perhaps what I like most is that despite the passage of time, much has remained the same. The contours and textures of the home have become forever etched in my mind like so many who have dwelled here before me. We have shared the slight slope of the eastern wall and we have sat in the same space on the home's hearths during winter storms. We are forever connected though the bond of the home's woven history. I'll miss this home, but feel comfort knowing another family will have it's own story to tell here and become part of its living history.
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When I was a kid, I rowed side by side every day with friend of mine who was more than 40 years my senior. Jack was there through it all; during frigid winter workouts as snow accumulated on our boats, to the scorcher days of summer where the sun blinded you, glaring over the still water. When I first started training, he would always be handily in the lead. By the time I was 16, my boat moved forward past the bow of his racing shell. To my surprise, he smiled as I surpassed his speed. He was my mentor. He knew my potential and helped me realize it. His kindness has always stayed with me. Go Far grew out of the desire to help kids reveal their inner strength through the support of a true community of fellow minded folks. Achieving the Go Far way has never been rocket science, its notion exist in a community that persistantly nurtures its own people.
This weekend, on the 5th installment of Go Far Go Fast, I took a few seconds here and there to soak in the wonders that were going on around me. I would take mental pictures of little moments I witnessed. It was heart-warming was to watch our first generation of Go Far kids mentor the younger upcoming one. For me, the event was like a connect- the-dot image, drawing our small community together. As big hands interconnected with small ones, they ticked off one mile after another united in purpose. I saw coaches and teachers cheering from the side lines, parents reaching out their arms in congratulatory embraces with their children. I saw town leaders supporting their fellow citizens. Business owners and community groups gave, so the youngest of our community could fully receive the support they need for success. Somehow, everyone was giving and receiving all in the same moment. While I built trophies late in the evenings wearily in the back room of the community center, I reminded myself that this vision had merit that was worth the effort. A face tells the story and the faces of Go Far tell volumes. Each mentor or a child who wore the finisher medal or carried home a trophy felt important. I could thank everyone here as I have in the past. However, I’ll keep it simple because I know the faces of the kids racing and mentoring left an indelible image of gratitude for everyone involved. My sincere appreciation for this awesome little race committee grows with each passing year as well as to the community that believes we can Go Far every day. Well see you again soon. While were all busy going to work, parenting or going to school, please reach out to your community in some way. Become involved and you be amazed at how you too can Go Far. Thanks everyone! Another trophy project for Go Far Go Fast is in the books. This year’s space theme had me using cans of spray insulation, glow in the dark paint and lots of little alien and astronaut figures. My husband always asks me why I don’t just call Mr. Trophy as I come home bleary eyed with glue gun booboos from building these? I’ve come to realize over the years that these little creations have helped define our event and make it a unique experience for everyone involved. My goal is to raise the standard well over what our Walmart World would like to have us think of as acceptable. We can be so much more than we realize. A handful of us who put this race on do it because we have such great hopes for the kids of our community. So here is my little contribution, a vote of confidence that I believe in them. May these little shuttles be a reminder that we will cheer them on as they blast off on race day and in life. In the end of this build, I must thank Safari Ltd and Toy Wonders for their generous contributions in providing the figures and shuttles. Go Far Friend, Noah Ventola donated his wood working ability and materials, thank you! Their generosity is helping to build a community. Once again, Russ and Cory Hassman have come to my rescue in sharing their graphic genius and giving the trophy it’s truly finished appearance. Go Far wouldn’t happen each year without their behind the scene attention to detail. Thank You! Also a huge thanks to Marybeth Gossart, who was covered in glitter once again as she so lovingly built the bean trophies for those Go Far kids in our community who define the strength of little Brenna Zettergren.
So let’s get this race on! When you child say’s I can’t or I won’t, show them the better way to I can and I will. Wellness starts at home and Go Far defines it. See you on May 31st at the Durham Fairgrounds! As Kate rushed around desperately looking for her headphones, Peter stood with his back pack on, making funny faces at his affable companion, Miles . The morning routine is full of quest and surprises. One day the search may be for the team running jersey; headphones are always tops on the MIA list, and shoes often top the list of “where in the world”. The delectable lunches that another mother has prepared leaves me feeling guilty each day as my children head out the door. My husband has been gone for hours probably already contemplating lunch. They stand on the porch, looking so much older and ready for this world than I am willing to accept. These days, my daughter looks for affirmation on style which I rarely know much about. Despite my lack of fashion sense, my heart tells me she looks perfect. Peter still asks for a hug and I am so grateful for his affections. The kids stand by discussing who’s day ahead will be more arduous. They half-hear me over their discussion as I give my daily pep talk. I do think that the dog listens to me and will take my instructions to heart. We hear the rumble from the bus hulking its way up the hill. Standing by, the pets know what’s to come and they assume their bon voyage positions. From this little kitchen, we watch them leave as I have hundreds of times before. There is nothing better in life better than the rituals that are your own because they are tailor made for you.
When you settle into a home, its hard to ever imagine leaving it. Everything becomes familiar; the textures and the curves of beams, the familiar smells and creaks of a floorboards. It becomes very much a part of who you are. Our home, which was painstakingly built in 1741, has told so many stories; our own and the many families that have dwelled in it before us. The love I have for my home is real because it is here that I have raised my babies, celebrated 9 birthdays, re-discovered photography and came to fully love Middlefield. When my sister in law passed away in January, I spent hours at home thinking about my life, her past, her dreams that were cut short and my own perceivable future. In these cold and somewhat dark emotional days, I realized it was time for a change. We have always lived simply. I blame not my house, but myself. Ask anyone who comes into my home, it-is-simple. We have sparse furnishings, mostly handed down. Our towels don't match. To the chagrin of my kids, we have lived without a dryer for four years. My studio lighting lives somewhat permanently in my dining room as paintings of the ancestors sit patiently on the room’s walls posing for their head shots. Interrupting myself, like the intermission of a play, I began to think that I wanted the next act to have a very different tone to it. While I have dwelled in the footsteps of the past for the last decade, this next one will jolt me forward. So I am changing my address and perhaps changing a few of my regular notions. We’ll be moving soon, only a mile away, but a world apart. The first thing I’ll do is buy some matching towels and well see how it goes from there. I look forward to a door that’s always open for friends and a place for my family to make its next step forward. Our first day living on Miller RoadIt’s a new era for my 12 year old and his friends. It’s a time to navigate the tempest waters that swirl around their budding teenage years. There’s no such thing as perfect at this age. They have insecurities, voice cracks and zits. They have mounting homework, a social maze to contend with and gangly arms that know little control or direction. They know their childhood is waning. This image conjures memories of the film, Stand By Me, a coming of age story about 4 boys who contemplate life’s adventures all while trying to answer questions such as whether Goofy is a cow or just a dog? For the above boys, change will no doubt soon occur for each one of them. It will come fast and furious, leading them into uncharted territory. But as it all happens, the bridge from childhood to manhood will be tethered by their friendship, the only thing that has remained consistent over the years. I wish them many great adventures…and by the way, Goofy has got to be a cow…right?
Providence provides enough of an escape so that when Sunday comes around, you feel like you have adventured if only just for the weekend. While a marathon, a circus and a national cheerleading competition simultaneously converged on two blocks of Providence, the town was undoubtedly, a three ring circus. Here are some observations: In any photo, lighting will always prevail.Anyone know where this tunnel goes?Sorry Bostinites, I think Providence does architecture better.Oh to be a college students attending Brown!Until we bring back cobblestone as a norm, civilization is lost.Light makes an otherwise boring image better.Someone still gets milk delivered.Old and newWho doesn't love an old picture show?Next top model?Who needs a level?My romantic husband pointed this out.So bad and so good at the same time.I want this to be my next lawn.getting your GPS satellites is imperitiveDid this man run 13.1 miles naked?Call me jaded, but I am getting tired of seeing people make money from a tragedy.man (top), boy (below)...twins born 30 years apart?It worked, they got me to look.My son could quite possibly be... Superman.Life is best when friends come along for the ride.I couldn't be any happier than being mom to these two.THIS...MAN...IS...A...MACHINEyes, A MACHINE!On the way home we got stuck in traffic outside the circus having no idea of the horrible accident that had just occurred. So very sad.Sorry, I couldn't help myself.Providence provides!My childhood memories begin to get really fuzzy anytime prior to the seventh grade. Oddly enough, it’s probably the not-so-great memories that stick in my head better than the rest; like the time I got beat up by the kid from the wrong side of the tracks with a pillow polo stick (yes, a pillow polo stick can hurt). Being a photographer, I have cheated my kids out of fuzzy memories because I have captured so many of them that would have otherwise been forgotten over time. When I see an experience amounting into what would be considered a pinnacle memory, my lens and my concentration becomes uber focused. I have come to really respect the value of these moments.
Today, Kate ran the 800 meter at a track meet. She doesnt hide the fact that she is the family’s more reluctant runner. In this home, we are keenly aware that she could quite possible read 1000 pages faster than any of us could run a marathon. It’s her passion. But on this raw day, she put the book down so she could make strides off the pages of a book. There were no throngs of people cheering; the people that were there, just wanted to be in their cars with the seat-heater on. As a photographer, I wouldn’t have characterized it as a pinnacle picture type of day, but I have learned to stay aware. The top runners would leap ahead and there would be no exciting photo finish with my daughter breaking the tape first. Nonetheless, Kate would finish and I would cheer like she had just medaled in the Olympics. In my mind, the crowd roared even if everyone else around me just sat shivering as the rain started to fall. Kate’s coach, knowing the girl, approached my reluctant runner and hugged her whole-heartedly. The pinnacle moment had come, so I snapped the shutter. In that moment, an affirmation of one’s abilities was realized and rewarded in the form of a hug. Once again, I realized that the most photo-worthy moments don’t usually happen during the show-stopping high note; you need to look for the nuance that gets to the heart of the matter. While this memory would have grown fuzzy over passing time, it’s now locked in and justified in life’s bigger picture. As I hiked today, I listened to Bob Marley on my iPod. I looked up at the blue sky peeking through the highest branches of the tall maple forest. I sighed thinking that Bob Marley was taken while he was in his prime. I hummed as I ran along, thinking of my sister in law who was also taken from us too early. The chorus, "could you be, could you be, could you be loved", buzzed in my head along with the sound of peepers in a nearby pond. For the next 3 miles, I trudged through the early spring mud and over logs thinking only of her. I thought of how she would have loved a day like today, one where you could see winter become a distant memory; one where the positives outweighed all else. As I contemplated the sister in law I had recently lost, my husband was making his way home on his bicycle like he does every day from New Haven. He traveled down route 77 with his wheel hugging the inside of the road’s white line. Without so much the rev of an engine, a car driven by an elderly woman, lost control and swerved off the road sharply on his right. Her driver’s side mirror grabbed the small plastic case attached to his bicycle that held his spare tires and such. Before he knew it, he locked his eyes on hers as the bike jolted forward along with the force of the car. As it all flashed by, the small case tore raggedly off the bike and the torque forced the buckles of his shoes to tear off. being released from the cars grip, his legs now unclipped from his pedals, splayed out as he hit his brake and came to a dazed stop. Her car moved forward now nearly sideways on an embankment until it came to a halt. How he only walked away from this with only a foot injury may just be a miracle. In that same minute as I sang Bob Marley’s, “Could You Be Loved”, my husband was protected somehow. This blog has spoken often of the everyday ordinary miracles that happen in my life. Today, an angel like no other reached out and said, “Yes, you would be loved.”
Picking up my camera has been somewhat painful this winter. Somehow I couldn’t see the light and I couldn’t find the beauty. My glass that typically spills over admittedly ran dry. Nonetheless, as my equipment lay dormant, life went on. My kids enjoyed a few months of their adolescence unfocused upon. Barns went un-photographed as the lens cap shuttered any pastoral views. I found myself slap dab in the middle of mid-life only awaiting for that destined crisis to begin. After losing my sister in law, rather than jumping into a full blown melt down to the very core, I decided to just exist in the routine. I thought that lingering in a dull mind would be the safest route for everyone. I reminded myself often that no one escapes these moments. It’s how we get through them that matters. Yesterday, the sun cast a yellow glow over what has seemed to have become a perma-blue tint over our hardened winter landscape. The warmth, brought sound to what has become an idle soundtrack. Tufts of green began to push through March's snow melt. After feeling like Dorothy living in her sepia toned world for the past months, I could sense a Technicolor rainbow just around the bend. Grabbing my camera, I went to go look for it. These images are what I found.
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