Beyond words and miles.
#067
As we were leaving my Uncle Paul and Aunt Bev’s house, I saw the fog in the field across the road and told dad I needed to turn around and try to make a picture. I’m not sure he understood why, but he sat patiently in the car while I retrieved my camera and proceeded toward the edge of the bottom.
I’m not sure what my dad thinks of the art I make - try to make - but I think he understands my inability to not do it. I don’t need him to approve or even understand, but simply to respect that there is something beyond words that has me getting out of the car to photograph fog in a Kentucky field.
I’m writing this from my mom’s couch in eastern North Carolina (down East, as it were). She’s recovering from shoulder surgery (her fourth) and tomorrow is Mother’s Day. Her 69th birthdays is days away. As an adult with adult children, it helps me see my parents differently. I’m reminded that there are many people my age who don’t still have their parents (or even one of them). And I know there’ll be a time when I wished I’d asked one more question, waited one more hour before heading out, and lingered a bit longer.
On a recent walk with the dogs, we stood still for a few minutes and watched three fox kits play behind the cabin. Occasionally, each one would go over and make contact with momma fox. I caught this sweet moment and we turned around, avoiding our usual loop so as not to disturb them. By the fall, they’ll all go their separate ways.
I lived in North Carolina for a long time and one of a handful of things I truly miss is North Carolina barbecue. Good god almighty. I stopped at Ron’s Barn in Sanford yesterday for lunch. My eyes were bigger than my stomach, but I gave it a good ole country try dear reader. I highly recommend Ron’s (they also have a location in Coats).
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Take care of each other,
- Roger
“And I know there’ll be a time when I wished I’d asked one more question, waited one more hour before heading out, and lingered a bit longer.”
I believe this will be true no matter what. It’s easy to think there will always be more time. Both of my parents are gone and as I get older, I wish I could ask them questions about things I didn’t consider when they were around. The son of a friend has made recordings of conversations he has had with many family members. I think this is a wonderful thing to do and have recommended it to many people.
“And I know there’ll be a time when I wished I’d asked one more question, waited one more hour before heading out, and lingered a bit longer.”
I wrote a substack on that very thing... entitled "Just Ask" a while back. It's so true.