Proper humility.

#018

Recently, I watched a 2005 interview with then-West Virginia poet laureate Irene McKinney. When interviewer Kate Long asked about her connection to small things in nature, she remarked that she was connected “in a way that you cannot if you’re busy with the human world. I think that seeing the world as full of all kinds of things: plants, animals, cloud systems, weather systems, and human beings, gives us proper humility - a humility that is very hard to come by if you spend all your time in the completely human world. Because in the completely human world, we tend to think we are all there is.”

God, I love that.

In late summer of 2013, I was driving back from West Virginia to North Carolina and stopped in Welch to get gas when I noticed Charles Parker standing outside smoking a cigarette. His shirt caught my eye and I thought I’d ask if I could make his picture. Walking by him and into the gas station, I lost my nerve. What if he said no? I paid for my snacks and walked back to my car, passing him again, this time exchanging head nods. Once in my car, I realized that if I didn’t go ask him if I could make his picture, that’s all I would think about for the next five hours and would regret it for the next five years.

I reached for my camera, got out of my car, walked over to where he stood, and delivered my best introvert-forward “Hi, I’m Roger. I’m a photographer. That’s a great shirt. Would you mind if I made a portrait of you?” approach. He took the last drag of his cigarette, dropped it to the ground (uncomfortably close to the propane tanks), and replied, “That’ll be alright. If you like this shirt, you should see my favorite one. It’s got cross guitars on it.”

I could not have - would not have - made that picture if I hadn’t got out of my head and over my fear of being uncomfortable and the possibility of being told no. Something about the interview with Irene McKinney connected me to this memory.

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Everything is greened out now and summer is almost here. Here are a few pictures that make me think of summer.

Mr. Tom Pecco, Jr. in his store on Pike Street in Williamson, West Virginia, May 2013. He was 91 when I made this picture of him. Later that year, the building his store was in burned down. He passed away in 2017 at the age of 95. I’m still fascinated with all the handwritten notes on the wall behind him.

Driving through Jolo, West Virginia in March 2012, I saw this kid popping wheelies over and over again on the main road. I pulled over and made a single picture of him welcoming me to Jolo. I know March isn’t summer, but dirt bike wheelies make me think of summer.

Fishing on the Tug Fork of the Big Sandy River, May 2014. Kentucky is to the left and West Virginia is to the right and that river will always make me think of home and fishing for catfish with my granddad and Uncle Rick (and swimming and grapevines and forts and treasures).

Big Creek Pizza, Sidney, Kentucky, August 2013. Another fine dining establishment that is no longer with us, but they had mighty fine pizza.

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I’m still reading Irene McKinney.
I’m listening to Jake Xerxes Fussell.
I went to bed at 9 p.m. last night and I can’t recommend it enough.

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Now, please go outside and enjoy almost summer.

Roger