Tug Fork work + book giveaway.

#030

On the way home from work yesterday, I noticed a couple of guys fishing on the bank of the Tug Fork between Williamson and Chattaroy. I pulled over, slipped the strap of my camera bag over my shoulder, and navigated the gravel road down to the water. By the time I’d arrived to the part of the bank where Jacob and Jordan stood casting their lines, I’d convinced myself I wasn’t going to make a good picture.

Why are these guys going to give you the time of day? Why are you interrupting the only peace they might have today? They’re not going to want to talk to you much less let you make their picture. Who is this guy? What kind of person just walks up to someone and asks to make their picture? These are just snippets of the internal dialogue taking place from the time I shut the door to my truck to awkwardly approaching these guys a few minutes later. I have these conversations with myself often. Most of the time, like yesterday, I push through. And I’m glad I did.

I introduced myself, told them I was working on a project about the Tug Fork, and asked if they’d mind me making some pictures of them while they fished. They didn’t mind at all and they were unbothered by my presence. I mumbled something about the river flowing north. They were more interested in talking fish than pictures or courses of rivers, though they were eager to show me pictures of fish on Jacob’s phone they’d caught. They were serious bass men.

In between fishing stories, I moved around to frame and reframe some pictures and had resigned myself to the small victory of getting out of my comfort zone, talking to strangers, and asking if I could make their picture. I wasn’t going to come away with a picture I felt good about, but at least I’d tried. (Actually, I talk to strangers all the time. It’s the asking to make pictures of strangers that often keeps me from it.)

Just as I was thanking them for their time, shaking hands, and exchanging contact information, Jordan asked if their was any particular way I wanted them to stand for a picture. They both turned toward me, as if awaiting instruction, and I simply worked with the composition that was presented to me; they stood side by side with their fishing poles, a mix of pride and confidence quietly radiating from them to me on the riverbank. It all happened so organically, so fluidly.

Walking back to my truck, I was convinced that I’d made a good picture. I decided not to look at the back of my camera to check. I knew my composition, focus, and exposure were good, and I wanted to stay present and experience the joy of the moment. I rode the rest of the way home with my windows down and the radio off with my own mix of pride and confidence. Thank you, Jacob and Jordan.

---

I’ve been rereading Diane Gilliam Fisher’s Kettle Bottom. One of the poems seemed particularly timely, so I read and recorded it. If you’re not familiar with Kettle Bottom, I’d encourage you to find a copy and read it. If you do, I’d love to hear what you think.

As a matter of fact, I’m giving a copy of Kettle Bottom away. Between now and next Thursday, August 28, 2025 at 11:59 p.m. EST, simply leave a comment on this post (about why you read this newsletter or what you’d like to see more of) for a chance to win a copy. I’ll pick a comment at random and announce the winner in next Friday’s newsletter. Please comment only once. The giveaway is limited to US residents only (international postage is a beast).

---

Thanks for reading and supporting my work. Take good care of one another.

- Roger

---

The Ground at My Feet is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, please consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.