Serenity Scenes Nature Photograpy

When taking photographs from a train one feels a little like a voyeur. I get a quick glimpse of a life or area and my mind immediately makes assumptions. What do I know about this man? Very little actually. I know that he is standing in front of a nicely maintained house looking at a tree early on a Tuesday afternoon. There is a wheelbarrow on the sidewalk and he is dressed for outdoor work. Of course it is only from his build that I am assuming it is a man at all. Something about his posture and dress makes me think he is up in years. So from this little bit of info I have developed a story in my mind about this photograph. This man and his wife have lived in this home for many years. They have raised their children in this home. All along, while working to raise his family this man landscaped and maintained his yard. Now he is retired and he putters in the yard to pass his time. Of course he could just as easily be a hired gardener for the rich family living inside who is off to school and work at this time. It is a big house and you can’t see if from the cropped photograph but the original shows a very big yard. But it seems too modest a home, especially being right by the railroad tracks, for a family that can afford a gardener. Maybe he has just been hired to put down mulch but where is his work truck?

What do you think? Tell me a story of this man and this house.

I wonder about this little town too. Or perhaps it isn't a little town, maybe it's the historical area of a larger city. Maybe it's even the decaying area of a larger city. That's one of the interesting things about train travel. Unless you see a city sign or pay very close attention to the stops, you're never really sure where you are and you only get these quick glimpses. I wonder if this place is anything like this quick glimpse.

My mother grew up on a farm in Spring Mills, Pennsylvania. She never hesitated to tell me about the difficulties of farm life. She told me that the reason that Shoe-Fly pie was eaten with milk on it was because it was the last pie to be eaten in the winter and by then it had become hard as a brick. But I loved Shoe-Fly pie with milk on it and the idea of having room to roam and a horse or two was very appealing to me. I’ve never realized my dream of living on a farm and note, that what appealed to me about living on a farm was not the idea of planting things or manual labor of any kind. My dream farm is more like the horse farms I see in Middleburg, Virginia, rolling hills with beautiful horses, the bastion of the very rich. And thank God for the very rich, because even though I have no hope of ever living there, it is still a wonderful place to drive through.

This is not one of those farms. This is a farm that, through her stories, I envision my mother might have grown up on.