These are pictures from Elizabeth City, Kitty Hawk and the Great Dismal Swamp National Wildlife Refuge. These images have appeared on my blog before, but this is the first time I have put any of them together in book form. If you like the book, you can buy a copy. It is printed on top-quality Fuji Crystal Archive paper, with true lay-flat pages that allow for beautiful photo spreads. I’ll even throw in a free autograph. Seriously. Help a hungry grad student. Treat yourself to some fine art. Celebrate North Carolina’s coastal heritage — all in one move! Buy one!

Click here to view the book in greater detail, or to get your own copy.

We’ve been cautiously letting Abigail have more and more freedom around Samuel. She seems to be able to distinguish him from food now. Our real worry has never been that she would consciously hurt him, but rather that she would trip over him, or forget she was standing beside him and just collapse into a nap. To be so elegant, she is the most clumsy dog I have ever seen.

Our pediatrician encouraged us to let them spend time together though; he thought it was good for puppy and boy to grow old together, although puppy has grown much faster than boy. Up until now, it has always been Abigail that has approached Samuel. She will lick his hands and feet a little, get bored and move on. Today, however, Samuel decided it was time for him to take control of their relationship. He climbed on board and hasn’t looked back since.

Photo by Kristen Anderson

Photo by Kristen Anderson

I am way behind on pictures, and even more behind on work, so I’m just going to let you sort through these for now. Click a thumbnail to open the viewer, browse through at your own pace and enjoy. If you’re feeling really adventurous, start up some theme music before diving into the pictures.

Just based on the photographic record, it would be easy to wonder where I have been during Samuel's first few weeks. Kristen took this shot to help create a semblance of my presence.

I’ve barely had time to seriously reflect on my first semester at Divinity School. My summer classes, and a propitious summer internship, will be starting up next week. The house is a mess, and the remnants of my last few home improvement projects still taunt me when I pass through the hallway, but Samuel doesn’t care about that. It doesn’t worry him, and I won’t let it worry me.

Parenthood is good. Already, it feels as though Samuel has been a part of our family all along. I look at him and love him. I take him in my arms, cup his head in my hands, press my belly into the bedspread, prop myself up on my elbows and just stare into his bright blue eyes. Yes. It’s true. I love him.

So many of our “first” moments are flying by faster than I can register them. We met my former boss and wonderful friend Bing Oliver at McDonald’s (his choice, by the way) this week; once the meal was done and the conversation was moving fast it suddenly hit me that this was Samuel’s first time in a restaurant. Sunday night was Samuel’s first time in church. Monday was his first doctor’s appointment. Wednesday afternoon he made it through his first cookout and Thursday morning he made it five hours without waking mom or dad up.

Today we took Samuel to the photo studio for his first big shoot. He did great. I have to give thanks to Ken Tart for having an infinite amount of patience, and diaper wipes. Ken was also kind enough to lend me a spare lens while my 50 mm f/1.4 is being repaired after conking out during Samuel’s first week at home.

Today we also had our first big scare as parents. I’m a natural worrier. I try to keep things in perspective, and I’ve been doing pretty good about letting things go, but having Samuel in our life pushes the potential for worry to a whole new level. I worry when he cries too loud. I worry when he gets too quiet. I worry that he’s too hot. I worry that he’s too cold. I worry about leaving him alone to rest, and then I worry about over stimulation. I worry. Kristen, on the other hand, is not a worrier. Whenever she begins to acknowledge the validity of my worries, then I know it’s time to get serious.

Today Samuel had us both worried. This afternoon we noticed he was breathing heavy when he was awake and wheezing when he was asleep. His doctor’s visit Monday revealed a healthier-than-normal baby (he had gained 14 oz. since he left the hospital four days earlier) so we took a little comfort in that and just kept an eye on him. Then he started crying. And crying. And crying. He was crying like I had never seen a baby cry before. Every now and then he’d take a break from crying to cough a little. Each time he’d cough, I would have an opportunity to suction a sizable chunk of mucus from his mouth. Then the crying would pick up again, and the cycle continued for about 40 minutes. Once he began to lose steam, I swaddled him up and he drifted off to sleep. I called the doctor for advice and was told to bring him in.

Samuel continued to spit up mucus in the car, but by the time we got to the doctor’s office, he was in a smiling, contented state. We described the symptoms to the nurse and got Samuel undressed so she could weigh him. The moment his diaper came off, though, he spewed a mucousy mess all over table and the nurse. It was like he had a Super Soaker 3000, loaded with slime, hidden in his pants. The nurse courageously threw herself between Samuel and her laptop; I had never seen anything like this before, but clearly she had experience dealing with such assaults. We cleaned up the mess and the doctor came in. He checked Samuel over and couldn’t find a thing wrong. Apparently, Samuel had developed a mucus plug that had given him a little trouble breathing, but he managed to expel it on his own just in time to shower the nurse and a moment too early to give the doctor anything to do.

Just in case you were wondering, this time he tipped the scales at 8 lbs. 6 oz. (that’s a post-mucus-explosion weight). It looks like he’ll be catching up to Abigail in no time.

Since we’d already made the drive to Garner, we felt obligated to go ahead and share another “first” with Samuel. For his first taste of Goodberry’s, Samuel decided to order his daddy’s favorite: a regular vanilla mint chocolate-chip concrete.

• 7 lbs. 14 oz.
• 21″
• Absolutely Wonderful

It only grinned a little wider.“Come, it’s pleased so far,” thought Alice, and she went on:
   “Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?”“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the Cat.“I don’t much care where—” said Alice.“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the Cat.“—so long as I get somewhere,” Alice added as an explanation.“Oh, you’re sure to do that,” said the Cat, “if only you walk long enough.”

Celebrating Mother’s Day has always been a regular event in my family, but this year offered extra cause to celebrate as Kristen prepares to join the ranks of motherly matrons in our clan. We were blessed with the opportunity to host both of our moms, as well as Kristen’s two grandmas, for a Mother’s Day dinner and a wonderful afternoon of family fellowship.

Mother’s Day also means I get an opportunity to cook for all of the women in our family — a task I really enjoy, but rarely get away with because everyone loves to cook so much. I prepared eight thick-cut, pan-fried pork chops steamed with red onions, squash, zucchini and asparagus. I topped the pork chops with asparagus, drizzled fresh hollandaise sauce over the vegetable-meat combo¹ and left the squash-zucchini-onion medley on the side. White rice and baked macaroni and cheese (which Kristen prepped before I could step in) rounded out the main course; Grandma Mayna brought a Hersey’s chocolate chocolate-chip cake for dessert.

A grand time was had by all.

After lunch, Kristen tried to teach our moms and grandmas a few new stitching patterns to incorporate into the quilt she is putting together for Samuel. I haven’t begun my own quilt square yet, but I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to bond with my brothers, Zachary and Jacob, as the three of us rarely end up in the same room together very often. We jumped head first into Resident Evil for some co-op light-gun action.

And no, those pictures were not posed; that’s just how intense my brother gets when the undead threaten to interfere with Mother’s Day.

Is there anything of greater import to a child than a mother who understands the struggles of life and gingerly guides her children down the path to adulthood? I don’t think so. Kristen and I were blessed with such mothers. It would be impossible to pick out what elements of our personalities, of our worldviews, of our lives, were impacted by our mothers. They deserve much more than a fun day and our heartfelt thanks, but I know that’s all they will accept.

I was reminded again about the critical role mothers play in shaping the perspectives of their children this afternoon while reading a short story. On this one particular street in this one particular village in South Africa lived a great diversity of people: a widowed concert pianists who had taught nobility in London; a retired colonel who had spent his life laying down roots in a multitude of countries across the globe; a few native Afrikaans; two families of American missionaries and a plethora of other expatriates from Germany, Sweden and Portugal. The children living on Kruger Park Street, as is typically the case with children everywhere, didn’t let their varied backgrounds stand between them. Gathering in the street for games and adventure became a regular afternoon ritual. On this day, the children’s game turned out to be knocking on doors, then hiding before the targeted neighbor could get to the door. The children took turns pranking different neighbors as the crowd looked on from a safe distance. As it would happen, one child’s mother found out about the game and was less than pleased. This child was forced to walk back to the house of the old colonel who she had pranked an hour earlier to confess her sin and beg apology. The worst part of the ordeal was that the other children, though equally responsible, seemed to get by unscathed. Still, at least one mother is intent on using the situation to teach her own child a lesson. The apology is offered.

“Very well. Your apology is accepted,” the colonel replied. “And you may thank your mother for caring enough about you to discipline you.” ²

Thanks mom.

Sunday evening Kristen and I took a walk (as we often do) through our neighborhood and into downtown Benson. We noticed signs around the neighborhood pointing towards a new coffee shop on Railroad Street, so we strolled down to check it out. The store was closed, but looking through the windows it was obviously a place somebody had put a significant amount of work into — lots of soft seating, a new floor, fresh paint, a cavernous lounge space and did I say lots of soft seating?

We were excited to see the new business, Crossroads Coffee, downtown as there really is not a good place to just go grab a cup of coffee and hang out in Benson. In fact, if you’re not in the mood for bar hopping or Italian food, there really isn’t anywhere to go in Benson after 6 p.m. The downtown community seemed to be on the verge of a serious renewal just a year ago. Several new business have opened in recent months and the Main Street area has received some long awaited upgrades, including new benches, improved landscaping, the opening of a new town history museum and full renovations of several neglected building facades. Still, for every step forward the downtown area has made, it seems like Benson has fallen two steps behind. Some key stores have closed and, this winter, a group of business owners successfully halted plans to create a unified historic district downtown.

With that in mind, it’s definitely a pretty cool thing when a nice, snazzy, spacious, comfortable coffee shop opens just three blocks from our home.

On our walk today we noticed the store had an open sign and a couple of cars out front. Kristen and I walked over. Abigail, our 5-month-old Doberman, was with us, so we took turns going in and seeing what Crossroads was really like. As it turns out, Crossroads Coffee is not just a coffee house. It’s actually called Crossroads Church. Pastor Scott Betts organized the church plant several months ago. About 60 regular worshipers have been meeting in the back of the building while the coffee shop was being built. The building, on the corner of Railroad Street and Parish Drive, has a relatively large sanctuary, a game room and a nursery area separate from the coffee shop, which takes up about half of the building. Betts just completed his M.Div. program in 2008, so we talked a little about school and about what he hopes to see happen at Crossroads.

The church is officially non-denominational but has a doctrine grounded in the Baptist tradition. Crossroads has a regular Sunday morning worship service in their building on Railroad Street, men’s and women’s Bible study groups on Monday nights and a midweek gathering at Betts’ home. On the coffee shop side of things, they are open Monday through Saturday from 6:30 a.m. to 7 p.m., although hours may be extended once the shop gets established. Proceeds from the coffee (which comes from Larry’s Beans by the way) goes back to support the mission of the church. Betts said the church has just hired a worship director, although he continues to work as an electrical contractor and does not yet take a salary from the church. This Friday, at 7 p.m., Crossroads Coffee will host its first musical act — a local bluegrass/gospel band. Betts said he plans to make concerts and open mike nights a regular event. Entertainment will be a blend of religious and secular, but always family-friendly.

Regardless of your church persuasion, the coffee shop atmosphere really is top notch. It’s worth supporting ventures like this to help Benson develop into a more vibrant place to live.

I plan on going back. Let’s meet up some time.

Leaving Sunday afternoon, Kristen and I both felt a little perplexed as we reflected on the fact that we won’t be returning to Myrtle Beach until we have a new baby boy to bring with us. Actually, it was mainly just Kristen that felt perplexed; I was too queasy to drive.

  ]]> http://galleryd.net/2010/04/beachsansbaby/feed/ 0 http://galleryd.net/2010/04/elizabeth-city/ http://galleryd.net/2010/04/elizabeth-city/#comments Thu, 08 Apr 2010 00:45:17 +0000 David http://galleryd.net/?p=1632

For Easter, Kristen and I travelled to Elizabeth City, a small harbor town at the mouth of the Pasquotank River, near the northern end of the Outer Banks. Our goal was simply to get away from home and be someplace peaceful and quite, knowing this would likely be our last chance to travel together before Samuel is born next month. We stayed at the Culpepper Inn, a prominent local fixture that I had seen many times before but never really visited. We arrived earlier than expected and immediately took a walk through the historic downtown area and strolled the docks. We listened to a pretty good bluegrass duo from Chesapeake fighting for the crowd’s attention at a local eatery and then made our way back to the inn.

Saturday morning we decided to head out to the islands. We drove through Kitty Hawk, where the Wright brothers made their historic flight, stopped for a delicious order of fresh cut fries and chocolate custard in Kill Devil Hills and then pulled over at Jockey’s Ridge in Nag’s Head. Jockey’s Ridge is the largest active sand dune on the East Coast. The bulk of the dune is likely the same pile of sand the Wright brothers launched their airplane from a few miles up the road in Kitty Hawk, it has just steadily migrated south over the past century. The dune is absolutely huge. The main plateau is probably only about 35 feet high, but the giant table-top of sand literally stretchs on for acres. Hundreds of families with hundreds of kites were already fixed atop the dune when we arrived, along with a few hang gliders. Still, it was easy to find a quite place and settle down in the dry, powdery sand that felt so different from the wet, sticky course, beach sand just a few hundred yards away. We capped the day off with a quick visit to the Currituck light house on the northern end of the island.

The dock at Moth Boat Park in Elizabeth City, where the Pasquotank River pours into the Albermarle Sound on North Carolina's inner coast.

Sunday afternoon we decided to visit the Great Dismal Swamp — a national wildlife refuge that spans the North Carolina-Virginia border. We saw turtles, frogs and a woodpecker during our stroll through the swamp, which isn’t really as dismal and swampy as the name implies. The huge swamp areas on the northern coast of the state are worlds apart from the stagnant, slime-coated, bacteria-laden waters found in the woods in the central part of North Carolina, or in my native South Carolina. The Dismal Swamp is full of clear, blue-hued water that lazily flows to and fro among the forest of cypress trees that engulfs it. Wildlife is abundant.

We had a good visit in Elizabeth City. It was Kristen’s first time seeing the town, and the first chance I have had to explore the streets and creeks that occupied most of my time as an adolescent. I had the joy of living in a variety of locals growing up. Each one had unique advantages and disadvantages. It’s hard to compare my experiences growing up in different places because the first 18 years of life are so full of constant changes in themselves. For the most part, the bulk of my time spent living in each different community also marked a different phase of life for me as a child, adolescent and teenager, so it’s not really fair, or easy, to compare them. Still, all things considered, I think Elizabeth City was by far the most interesting, and simply enjoyable, place that my family brought me to live in. I wouldn’t have a single qualm about moving back, if that is the direction my life ever moves to again.

Visiting the places I have lived before is always a little strange though. I can’t help but to recall the experiences I hold connected with each familiar landscape. I notice how so many things have changed in my absence, while other details seem fixed forever. I never really know how to react when I encounter my past. My life has changed so much over the past few years, when ever I visit a place from my past, I can’t help but to feel that I’m no longer the same person I was when I left. I don’t know whether I want to let myself go to reconnect with my past, or whether I should just explore the city anew, looking for new experiences and new details that I would easily miss if I were only looking for things connected with my earlier life. I always face this dilemma when I visit the places where I grew up; I don’t have the same problem when I visit Blowing Rock, where Kristen and I went to college, got married, began our careers and turned our first apartment into a home. I think the difference has something to do with the fact that the life I built in Blowing Rock was my own, while my life in Elizabeth City, and the many other places I lived growing up, was inseparable from the life my parents built for me — not a bad thing by any means, just the way life is. Moving to Blowing Rock was my choice; the things I did there, the job I had, the house I lived in, were all my choices as well; perhaps most importantly, leaving Blowing Rock was my choice. The fact that I wasn’t in control of most of my earlier life — my parents decided where I would live, what I could and couldn’t do with my time and when I would move again — greatly affects the lens through which I view my past.

At least that’s what I think today. Who knows.

So, now that you’ve made it through all of that, enjoy a sampling of my shots from our holiday weekend in and around Elizabeth City. I know this gallery is way too big. Click any image or thumbnail to pull up a full-size viewer that will let you click through the entire collection at your leisure.

*I (David Anderson, Jr.) am the original author of all of the images connected with this post except for the final picture, which was kindly taken by our waitress at the Marina Restaurant in Elizabeth City. Enjoy!

Last weekend Kristen and I found ourselves in downtown Raleigh on the first truly beautiful, warm Saturday of the year. We had a purpose to our visit, and it was not photography, but I couldn’t resist trying to get a few shots off. I have been longing to just take a day to myself and explore the city, gathering pictures of people as they go about their lives. I want to improve my portrait techniques, and I want to take more portraits of real people, doing real things, in an effort to better represent real life. Part of my problem is I don’t afford myself the time to go out to practice photography simply for photography’s sake. I bring a camera along when I’m out for another purpose and end up feeling awkward when I try to break away from that purpose to figure out how to set up a good shot. My other problem is I feel awkward taking pictures of strangers who just see the weird guy with the camera and must be wondering what he’s up to; but I love looking at the simple beauty in life, at the way people interact with one another, and sometimes that’s best appreciated as an outsider looking in. Some of these photos were cropped with a viewfinder, most were simple quick-shot street photography. My favorite ended up being a serendipitous hip shot taken outside of the Museum of North Carolina History. There are four people in the picture, a group of guys, maybe family, maybe friends, all sharing a quick meal. The camera only found one face though, and that face is what caught my attention right away. If the picture had been of the men laughing and finishing their hotdogs would you have even noticed the boy sandwiched between his guardians? I couldn’t have set it up any better.

Looking Ahead

So, my photography has nearly dried up completely. On the way to the airport, at the end of my vacation in Colorado last summer, my camera fell out of its bag, landed on its lens and took some damage. Whenever I felt the need to take a picture over the past few months, I have typically turned to my iPhone, which is a terribly addicting habit I plan to break.

I’ve gotten a new lens for my camera body, which survived the fall, and I hope to get back to taking pictures. Image making is such a stress relief for me. It doesn’t carry any of the burden or stresses of writing, and typically I feel much more satisfied with the results. Don’t take this to mean I think my photography is anything special. I just enjoy making it and looking back at it more than I do my writing.

My new lens is a Canon 50mm f/1.4 prime. It’s my only focusable lens, so it is the one I will be using for the foreseeable future. I haven’t used a camera without a zoom lens since I got my Polaroid Captiva for Christmas in fourth grade. I have heard photo-type people say over the years that using prime lenses is one way to become a better photographer, helping you focus more on the subject of the picture rather than worrying so much about the cropping. It also helps you appreciate a good point-of-view more, because you have to move your body to get it right. I don’t know if this will turn out to be helpful or not, but I do know that if you’re looking for high-quality optics, prime lenses are a heck of a lot cheaper than zooms. That was my primary motivation. I wanted to get a lens with crisp optics, a sharp focus and a wide aperture, and the only way I could afford one that fit the bill was to give up something — so no more zoom for me.

So far the lens has been great. It’s my first experience getting to use a very wide aperture, which opens up a whole knew world of possibilities for image making. Now I can take pictures in very low light, outdoors at night or inside with little artificial light, and avoid having to use the flash, preserving more of the natural colors of the image, not to mention the mood created by varied lighting.

One example of this is my night-time shots taken a few days ago in the snow. I got these pictures in my front yard, hours after sunset, using only my porch light for illumination. The pictures may not be spectacular, but doing shots like this without cranking out the ISO to an unnatural level would have been completely impossible with my old setup.

I hope to take some photo trips to downtown Raleigh, Durham or a nearby park soon, but I haven’t found much time for getting away this close to midterms. For now I’m just cruising the block trying to look at things from new perspectives. Here’s a few of my recent favorites.

Yesterday morning as I was getting ready for school, I glanced out the window into the backyard and was totally caught off guard by a steady stream of snow charging towards the ground. I had heard there may be some snow in areas west of us, but the latest weather report I saw for our neighborhood called for temperatures in the 40s and no precipitation. Granted, that had been a few days before.

When I lived in Blowing Rock, checking the weather forecast was a daily — and often hourly — ritual. Unpredictability was the nature of the game, and a little change here or there could have a huge impact on my plans for the day or business flow at work.

Working at a newspaper, I saw it as part of my responsibility to stay as informed as possible about as many things as possible, including national news and politics, local government, behind-the-scene politics, crime, social happenings, school issues, and weather. Always trying to stay a few steps ahead of the game has a way of sapping the excitement out of surprises. Now that I no longer spend my days in a newsroom, I try to avoid the over-saturation of information that has characterized my life for so long. Sometimes, I may even go a whole week (or two) without glancing at the weather report. I might not be able to get by with this in some places, but for right now, facing a few rainy days here and there without an umbrella is well worth the occasional surprise snowfall…not to mention the peace of mind.

The best thing about the plaza is that it gives the Capitol District its first Krispy Kreme Doughnuts. Four identical, smoked glass cottages sit at each corner of the square. Three of the buildings are slated to hold a Jimmy Johns Sandwich shop, a shish kabob restaurant and an arts & crafts center, but none of them are close to being ready to open. For now, doughnuts and coffee are the main attraction as the new Krispy Kreme stays busy churning out sweet snacks to passersby.

South Core Sound.

For a variety of reasons I won’t begin to mention here, the past two months have been the most trying stretch of life that I have dealt with in several years. I’ve drawn little pleasure from writing. On the few occasions that I did feel like jotting my thoughts down I was simply too discouraged to find the right words.

But I have a good life. God has truly blessed me with far more than I could ever earn by my own hands, and I’m grateful that I have the presence of mind to use the hard situations as an opportunity to examine my life and refocus my path to keep me working towards the ultimate goal, which is to glorify Him in all that I do.

In truth, my hard times aren’t that hard at all.

Cape Lookout at sunset.

My cousin Rhett married his long-time girlfriend Sayla in August of 2009, and I was thrilled to have the opportunity to be involved in their wedding. As one of the groomsmen, I wasn’t able to get any shots during the actual wedding, but I did have a good time trying to capture the excitement of the rehearsal and the reception that followed. This was my first experience really taking pictures at a wedding, and I have to say that from a portrait photographer’s point of view, weddings have to be a dream come true. Everybody wants their pictures made, and everybody wants to do it right. Every face you see has a smile and every interaction is overflowing with emotions. Trying to catch it all in a single photograph is a challenge, in the same way harvesting a tree heavy with fruit is a frazzling task.

What got me back on the fairway today was a guy’s morning out with my cousin Rhett and his buddies to celebrate his upcoming wedding. Kristen and I got into town at 1:30 this morning. My brother Jacob woke me with a phone call at 7:20 to tell me they had booked an 8 a.m. tee time. I got to the golf course tired and hungry, but I’m so glad I went.

I’m very excited to see Rhett and Sayla take the first step in building a new life together tomorrow afternoon. Rhett is just the second person in our generation of my family to get married, and I’m thrilled to see others recognize the true blessing that marriage can be once you have met the person that God created for you to share your life with. I want to support them in whatever way I can. If that means stumbling through 18 holes of golf to show him a good time, I’m there.

I visited the science museum often as a child when my dad would take me and my younger brothers strolling through on Saturdays while my mom was at work. At that time, the coolest things in the museum were a fake T-Rex skull in the foyer and an impressive blue whale skeleton that hung high overhead in its own exhibit hall. Years ago the museum underwent a major renovation, and though I had stepped in from time to time, I hadn’t taken the opportunity to really soak it all up before.

Obviously bored with his audience, this guy made his own perfectly sized hammock to chill out in.

One of the highlights of the museum is a prominent exhibit hall with a fully-developed dinosaur display. The old T-Rex model still greets guests as they walk up the stairs, but the star of the show is a full size display of Acrocanthosaurus. The dinosaur supposedly lived 45 million years before the first Tyrannosaur arrived on the scene. More importantly, “Acro” as he’s affectionally called at the museum, lived in the southern states from Texas to Maryland (including North Carolina) while his larger, younger and better-known brethren hung out on the West Coast.

Acro circling his prey.

The skeleton at the museum in Raleigh is only 53 percent authentic, with the rest being cast models of bone. Still, this is the most complete Acro remains found to date. Only four sets of Acro bones have ever been found, making this dinosaur one of the rarest known to science. At just 40 feet long, Acro doesn’t have the size of T-Rex, but he made up for it with an aggression all his own. While T-Rex is largely believed to be a scavenger, Acro was taking on dinos twice his size to grab a bite of lunch.

As strongly as I believe our state needs to keep a better grasp of how they spend money and reign in some dollars that aren’t being used in the best way, I am very proud to have such fine museums in our capital city. These projects represent a great use of state funds because they are offered to the benefit of everyone, everyday, free of charge. Most of the exhibits, including the $3 million Acro skelton, are funded through donations and grants from companies and individuals. The state keeps the doors open, the lights on and the payroll staffed with experts who can educate the citizenry — school children, seniors and guys like me who just like to know stuff — whenever they take the time to ask.

An open rainforest exhibit, staffed by teenaged-volunteers, is planted on the top floor of the museum and is free and open to the public. A similar attraction cost tourists $13 each in Myrtle Beach before business dropped off and it shut down.

Kristen and Acro

Clouds Over Grandfather

We made it back from the camping trip with nothing put a set of sore legs, a half eaten box of oatmeal and some good memories. I don’t believe I’ve really spent a whole weekend vacation with my mother and brothers in the five years since I graduated from high school, and so it was good to have the whole family together in my old stomping ground in the western part of our state with nothing on the agenda at all.

After much coaxing, I was able to get the group to set off on a hike of the Boone Fork Trail — a five mile loop that should take two to three hours. During the first three hours we tried unsuccessfully to find a spur trail off of the loop that would lead us to a waterfall / rock formation we had only driven to before.

Zachary frolicking over the falls

Then Zachary, my 19-year-old brother, disappeared up the side of a mountain and into the woods. We didn’t think much of it for a while and continued on down the trail, but after 30 minutes or so when he didn’t show up, we began to get worried and set off looking for him.

By this time we had given up on finding our missing waterfalls and were just hoping to find Zach and get back to camp before nightfall. Jacob and I set off into the woods about 1/4 mile from the spot on the trail where we lost Zach, hoping we would head him off. He heard us calling for him and shouted back. He had no idea how he’d done it, but while trying to find the trail again, Zachary stumbled into the rock formation we’d spent all day looking for. The boys played around some and then we got back to camp just in time to get a fire and supper started before the sun set — six hours after we’d started our hike.

At The Village Cafe in Blowing Rock

Earlier in the day, Kristen and I set out on a hunt for breakfast. I decided not to tell Kristen what we were doing and just lead a walk from our campsite alongside the Blue Ridge Parkway and into Blowing Rock, where we had a formal brunch in the outdoor garden of The Village Cafe. Our smelly camp clothes stood out in sharp contrast to the waitstaff and tourists that sat around us, but after walking more than five miles to get to our table, we felt like we deserved a good breakfast just as much as the next guy.

As far as photographs went on this trip, I was pretty captivated with the cloudy skies over the mountains at every vista. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to shoot the mountains in sunny weather and generally tried to avoid taking the camera out in the rainy months. After the first night, we never had much rain on this trip but the scattered cloud cover hung over us the entire weekend, creating some neat sunburst scenes and really providing a powerful atmosphere that matched the prominence of the landscape.

Reading by the lake

Jacob. Lost.

Dusk on the river

Camp stove

On the way to breakfast

Parenthood

Endor Iron Furnace near Sanford, N.C.

I’ve been working on a story about Endor Iron Furnace for The Herald for a few days now and I thought I really should see the structure for myself to get a better understanding of its significance. The furnace was built in the years leading up to the Civil War. Sitting just a stone throw away from the Deep River, the furnace churned out iron ore to be used for munitions and railroad equipment for nearly two decades before the local mineral deposits ran dry.

In 1874, the furnace was abandoned. For more than a century it sat alone and forgotten in the woods two miles off of the nearest road.

In recent years, local advocates have been trying to raise money to turn the furnace and the adjacent land into a state park, but they’ve had difficulty raising support for their cause because people just don’t know what the furnace is. Hopefully a recent turn of events will change that. Read more about that in The Herald next week.

I love finding new trails to explore and finding a cool historical site along the way makes it even more worthwhile. While it may not be the best time to be raising money to build a new state park (or maybe it is exactly the kind of thing we should be doing during a recession, who knows?) this is a neat stretch of public property that anyone would enjoy visiting.

My pictures don’t do a good job putting the furnace in perspective. It is about 30 feet high and 25 feet wide at the base. A grown man standing beside the furnace would stand on level with the top of the hearth. The side shown above is in the best condition, while much of the smokestack on the other sides has collapsed.

Here’s a few more pictures.

I've been playing around with white balance settings, trying to bring out the richest colors without making the images unnatural.

On the trail to Endor.

A surfer scopes out the waves at Wrightsville Beach while a sailing armada drifts in the distance.

It’s been almost three weeks since my last post, but I still don’t have a motorcycle. During the interim, Kristen and I have been stripping and repainting the interior of our home, I’ve been transitioning into a new job at The Sanford Herald and working with our downtown development director on a personal project to add some atmosphere to my neighborhood. It feels more like three months than three weeks, but I had a good energy boost that kicked it all off.

Back in May, Kristen and I took a day trip to Wilmington and Wrightsville Beach. We had lunch on the waterfront in Wilmington, strolled through the historic district and then spent a good five hours wasting the day away on the sand at Wrightsville.

Kristen strolls near the water's edge looking at the treasures washed in with each new wave.

I’ve been to dozens of beaches along the Carolina coast, lived at a few of them, and seen more exotic shores in Asia, Florida and the Caribbean. The more beaches I visit though, the more I’m impressed by how unique each mile of sand really is — especially in Carolina. On this overcast Saturday, we found Wrightsville Beach covered in a powdery white sand that faded into the bluest water I’ve seen north of Cozumel. Typically the ocean in the mid-Atlantic holds a greenish-gray tint within 10 miles of the coast and then slowly starts to blend into the richer blues of the gulf stream 100 miles out. Not this day, though. I couldn’t take a picture that did the water justice, but standing their looking out, it just seemed to transition perfectly into the rich blue sky.

About 500 yards out, hundreds of sailing dinghies clustered together for a couple of hours, possibly waiting to see if the brooding clouds would dish out any rain, and then scattered off into the sea. Without any fanfare or warning, a wedding party complete with a steel-drum player, stormed the beach, each guest carrying his or her own folding chair, and held a short ceremony in the midst of the sunbathers and surfers.

Being at the beach really gives Kristen and I a great chance to catch up with each other and talk about where our life has brought us and what we plan to do next. We split most of the day between laying in the sand reading and walking for a few miles along the coast. I couldn’t resist the rush of racing into the cool water and fighting with the salty waves, though, and I was able to drag Kristen along a couple of times. The ocean offers a true feeling of renewal when I need it most.

At times I wish I could live in a real beach town again. Somewhere with real character and history like Wilmington, a peaceful fishing village like Beaufort or even my native Myrtle Beach. But I do love the town I’m in now, and Wrightsville Beach is just a little more than an hour’s drive from my door — not even twice my daily commute to work — so for the time being, it’s perfect. I hope to make many more day trips like this as the summer continues.

Looking Ahead.

I was flipping through some of the thousands of pictures I’ve taken over the past few years (most of them were better left covered) and, even though I’m sure I’ve seen them all many times, every now and then one pops out that I never really noticed before.

Distant Dreams

I don’t remember what inspired me to take this far-off picture of the U.S. Capitol, but I do remember the trip I took it on. I can say with certainty that as I walked along the gravel path that day I was almost spellbound at the experience of being in the midst of real power. When I look at the picture today it leaves a different impression. I’m struck by how far away the Capitol — one of the many grand products from an earlier age, when a nation was built on personal sacrifice and hopes for a better future — is. It seems almost too far to reach and definitely too small to be of any real importance in the world of this image.

The picture of the Capitol serves as both a reminder of my trip to D.C. that day and, at least in my opinion, a fun piece of art. Other photos fall short of both of these goals, but are still just as fun to make and look at.

Spinning Turkey

This was just a spontaneous shot of Kristen pulling the bird out of our oven last Thanksgiving. Below is another fun shot of my brother Jacob, having fun and smiling of all things. I think the different shades of green and yellow in the background add a neat touch.

"Where's my helmet?"

Neither pictures try anything that hasn’t been done, and over-done, millions of times before; but both were fun for me to take and fun to look at again.

I would recommend the museum to anyone looking for something cool to do within 100 miles of Fayetteville. If you’re a military or technology buff, it’s definitely worth traveling even further. The main exhibition hall features exhibits arranged in chronological order, beginning with the army’s first attempt at deploying airborne troops and ending with an awesome display of Operation Iraqi Freedom. All of the displays are very interactive and constantly being updated. (While we were there, one exhibit hall was closed while a new feature on dessert guerrilla warfare and the war on terror was being finished.) A changeable-exhibit hall told the story of the United States’ operations in France during World War I — an area of history often overlooked in favor of the more dramatic conflict that occurred 20 years later. The museum also houses a full size movie theater with a variety of free shows and a separate theater set up as a flight simulator.

Still, the best asset the museum has is obviously its volunteer staff: Retired military personnel, all experts in their subject area and all passionate about sharing their very real experiences.

Check it out.

Most of my time was occupied with keeping my group of adolescents together and answering — or teaching them how to use a museum to answer — the endless barrage of questions their minds blasted out. I did manage to snap a few pictures though.
Click the image below to see more.
 

—David

Families of all shapes and sizes get together for community concerts. Kids run and play, parents rekindle romance on the dance floor and old timers just take it all in.

We went to nearly every public show the town put on that summer and each time walked away more than satisfied with the free entertainment, but also awed at the sense of community the outdoor event created. Here in a municipal park in the center of the town, around 350 people (more than 10 percent of Benson’s citizenry) came together, put aside the cares of their days, sat, listened, talked, danced and relaxed. Many people drove from nearby towns to enjoy the show. Others simply walked a few blocks down Main Street, plopped down in the thick grass and soaked up the rich sounds of beach music. It was then, during my first full week of work at The Daily Record and less than two weeks since we’d unpacked our first box into our rental townhouse in Dunn, that we decided Benson was were we wanted to lay down roots.

Last Thursday night the first Sundown in Downtown concert of the season got into full swing just before 6 p.m. This was the first show since Kristen and I bought our house in Benson; we had been waiting for a night to walk to the park, setup some lawn chairs and pass the evening in classic Southern style ever since we signed the dotted line. Expectations were high but The Coastline Band didn’t disappoint. Ben Murphrey, Benson’s downtown development coordinator, was more than pleased with the attendance at the first show of the summer. The park was packed. The music was good. The weather was perfect. I brought a book to read while the band played in the background. Kristen graded papers in between sets and Dulles tried to make friends with every child and dog that passed his way.

By 8:10 Dulles — a friendly but overly energetic Doberman — was getting bored with sitting and we had to head home. The music followed us. Dulles got to stretch his legs in the backyard, but Kristen and I hung out on the sofa in the living room, opened the windows and, on this perfect evening, the simultaneously soothing and energizing beats of beach music wafted into our home alongside the familiar sounds of night.

    I can’t help but ask, why don’t other communities stage monthly events like this? By ‘other communities,’ I mean every other community. Sure it takes some planning on the part of a town employee and sure someone has to foot the bill (in Benson, a long list of local businesses sponsor the concerts, getting a quick plug-in halfway through and gaining access to pedal balloons, t-shirts and other freebies emblazoned with their logos to the crowd). It really is a small price to pay for seven high-quality monthly concerts, all free to the public. But the real benefit is the sense of community the events create and the neighborly relations they help build. It’s tough to put a price tag on these things. Especially during a recession.

–David

After years of neglect, our yard was unquestionably the worst in our otherwise picturesque neighborhood. We have big plans for our yard, but they involve tons of stone, lumber, fence posts and fresh flowers — things just out of reach for a first-year teacher and a lazy writer. Most of our efforts thus far have been focused on ripping up the old and making room for the new, and that has kept us plenty busy. We’ve already cut down seven trees on our 1/4-acre lot, cleared a dump-truck load of hedges, storm debris and beer bottles from the gutter that surrounds our house and reshaped our existing fence to more than double our backyard. Still, all small things compared with taming the jungle that was our front yard.

My tool set available for the task at hand included an old-fashioned reel mower I bought to trim the patch of grass around our rented townhouse — clearly it was no match for the weeds and fire ants I was preparing to battle — and an ancient push mower my mother donated to our cause. After much coaxing, priming and adjusting the twine rope that was attached to the engine in place of a long-gone throttle control, the mower coughed to life. The impromptu throttle control put the mower in the same sound class as a strung out, oil-thirsty Harley. It fought diligently, but three tanks of gas later, it tapped out. Though more than half of their comrades had fallen, the weeds had won…or so it seemed. As the broken mower limped into the shed, Phil, our next door neighbor, offered me his new Cub Cadet mulching mower to finish the job.

It was a wonderful act of mercy, and a great way to build neighborly relations, but I’m sure Phil was just as glad to have our weeds out of sight as we were.

–David

Kristen and I spent two nights in the Wilson Creek wilderness area, just south of Grandfather Mountain, over Easter weekend in 2009. We had intended to stay for longer, but, being freshmen backpackers, we weren’t able to accurately pace ourselves using the rough map of the area.

Click any image in the sequence to open up a slideshow viewer.

At least we started the trip on the right note. This was our first time backpacking together, and the first real outing we used our new Canon 450D.

Our trail followed the Lost Cove Creek for the first four miles. The lightly blazed trail crossed the river every few hundred yards, usually with no 'easy' way across.

We didn't start hiking our first day until about 5:30 p.m., giving just a couple of hours to get familiar with the terrain before we had to set up camp.

Kristen managed to find the sun, despite cloudy skies and thick rhododendron overhead.

Having not passed anyone but a group of a day hikers who started at the same time as we had, we just set up camp on the trail by the creek our first night.

Posing together after breakfast.

Much to our surprise, barely 100 feet from our camp site was a beautiful set of waterfalls we lounged by the next morning.

In April the water was still too cool for swimming, though it was tempting.

Water crashing off a rock

We spent hours baking on the cool rock, reading, eating grapes and listening to the rushing water on Easter Sunday.

Waterfalls feed a whirlpool perfect for soaking.

Kristen and Dulles romping on the rocks.

Another mile or so down the trail and we came across this towering blue waterfall.

Kristen rests after reading by a mountain lake Sunday afternoon.

We camped just above this waterfall, which poured down another tier before emptying into a crystal lake.

Camping in the Blue Ridge.

A mountain watering hole.

Loaded up and ready for the home stretch.

The only crossing where staying dry was an option.

Days well spent.