Country roads took me home.
#006
This is one of my favorite photographs I’ve ever made. As is often the case with photography, what’s happening outside the frame says as much, or more than, what’s shown within.
In the summer of 2012, I took my kids, then 17 and 13, to their first drive-in movie at the Pipestem Drive-In, Athens, Mercer County, West Virginia. In my typical fashion, we were there much earlier than we needed to be and, at the time, were the only car in the lot. A short while later, a truck pulled in and drove to the far back corner. I watched as a young couple emerged from the two-tone Ford, dropped the tailgate, and sat down next to each other.
As soon as I saw them, I thought, that’s a picture.
I reached for my camera and told the kids I’d be right back. My daughter, teasing me a bit, said, “Oh, are you going to go make a picture?” recalling a recent conversation we’d had about making vs. taking and how I’d begun using make a picture instead of take a picture.
Camera over my shoulder, I closed the distance between my vehicle and theirs. They saw me coming from a mile away and I’m sure wondered who the hell I was and what the hell I wanted. As I walked, I doubted myself. I doubted my intentions. I feared rejection, confrontation even.
I arrived and presented my standard delivery, which is "Hi, I'm Roger. I'm a photographer. Would y'all mind if I made a picture of you?"
If you don’t know me, I’m usually an introvert. At 6’4”, I try to hide behind my camera and disappear. And now, I’m in a field in front of these kids asking to make their picture.
Cody looked at me, then to Emily, and back to me. "What, do you think we look good or something?" he replied, grinning.
"No, I think y'all look great and I'd love to make a picture," I replied, surprising myself with my own response.
They both grinned again. "Alright then, let me put this cigarette down. If my mom sees it, she'll beat my ass," he said. We all laughed. I raised my camera and made two pictures. I exchanged information with them, offered to mail them a print, and returned to my car. (Note: if you look closely, you can see a cigarette on the bumper. Sorry, Cody.)
I knew I’d made a good picture. More importantly, I knew that by getting out of my comfort zone, by risking being told no, and by being vulnerable, I was growing as a photographer and a person.
Country roads would bring me home, but those roads were filled with twists and turns and they took decades to travel.
When I finished grade school, we followed my grandparents from West Virginia to North Carolina. It felt like home because they were there, but after a few years they returned to Mingo County and we stayed behind. In high school, basketball afforded me the opportunity stand on the Great Wall of China and sink my toes in black sand beaches. Later, courtesy of the Army, I was stationed in California’s high desert and south central Alaska. In 2008, I spent time photographing in India. No matter where I’ve been, I’ve been able to make myself at home, but I’ve always known I wanted to go back home.
On January 27, 2017 at 4:07 p.m., I drove away from North Carolina for last time (as a resident). I sold the house I’d raised my kids in, their home of nearly 15 years. I left my steady job of 16 years to move home to West Virginia (and take a significant pay cut with no health insurance). It was bittersweet, but necessary. I found the road back.
When I made the picture of Cody and Emily, I was living in North Carolina and was dating (and eventually married) someone from West Virginia. Years later, as the relationship was breaking down, she said, “I wish you loved me half as much as you love West Virginia.” Those words haunt me.
There is something much longer to write, more to examine, about that. What is it about this place that inextricably links me to it? How do I parse out what I value and why, where home is for me, and connect all these dots that feel woven into my DNA?
I’ve thrown three wedding bands into the Tug Fork. I’ve been married and divorced several times - something I’m neither proud nor ashamed of. It’s brought me to where I am today, to who I am today, still learning and growing; at home, the ground at my feet.
In good weather, my wife and I sometimes sit on the tailgate of my truck. I think about the journey of miles and broken relationships and grace that led me here. We found each other several years ago and continue to encourage each other to find our true selves. This is for keeps.
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Hang in there; spring is almost here.
Roger
Greetings Roger, I'm so glad I found your Substack, spent time reading all of your posts last night. I, too, am a West Virginian, born and raised in Mercer County, Princeton, before I got too big for my britches and sold my thriving real estate and auction business at the young age of 31 and set out to see the world. I lived in NC, GA, FL, and spent 30+ years in Texas. As an auctioneer, I traveled not only throughout the entire US, but also to several foreign countries. In 2019, I returned to WV to handle Mom's estate, not knowing how long I'd be there. Turns out only about 6 months as a reconnection to a long-lost love brought me to Florida to be together. Fortunately, over my years away from WV, I returned home once or twice a year. Now we get back there more than that since I'm closer and I must get my mountain fix often. Sometimes, one has to be away from somewhere to realize how much that place means to them. Thus, I came up with this saying: "You can take the body out of the Appalachian Mountains, but you can never take the Appalachian Mountains out of the soul."
The picture of the couple at the Pipestem Drive in has special meaning, just across the road from the drive-in is a beautiful 2-story home, that home was owned and occupied but nearly 60 years by a man who was my mentor not only in business but in life, great man who now resides in a Mercer County nursing home but still sharp as a tack at 95.
I had a high school friend who became a state trooper in WV and was assigned to your hometown of Williamson. Oh, how he argued about going there. He almost quit, but I convinced him to go on and give it a try. It turned out he loved it there. The rest of his story is best told in a private conversation, however.
Jim Owen ~ Author of 'In Search Of A River", you would like the cover photo of my book and the story of how it came to be. It's of the New River near Hinton.
Beautiful photo you made. I say make also, intention makes it so. I’ve been by that theater sign on a motorcycle trip many years ago. Hoping to get down that way again this spring or summer. Love your way with words and pictures.