A small non descript town on a road that meanders through farmland and coastal plains.  A turn or two and this little town appears.  It's home to a couple of vintage shops, a gallery, a restaurant and some cafes along with an elementary school.  It's unassuming and beautiful.  There are no sidewalks, just the highway jogging through at 25 mph.  This town is made for stopping.  Take some time to explore the galley which features a couple of artists and their works on display or browse the vintage shops if they are open.  Then order at the Bread Farm one of their Chocolate Croissants, Parisian Baguettes or this tomato, cheese Danish.  A burger and coke on a sunny autumn day during a motorcycle ride at the Edison Café makes a great lunch or dinner.  




 

Taking photos is all about light, using the available light, manipulating it, or creating it.  Some of the best learning I have done is to choose a type of light and photographing it.  Whether that light is front light, side light, or back light.  A technique that artists have used and we continue to use is called chiaroscuro.  It's the way an artist uses the strong contrast between light and shadow.  Think Cezanne, Vermeer, Caravaggio, Gerard van Honthorst.  This blog post by Pooky.com has a great explanation of it.  As a photographer I am a student of light and creating dramatic light is one thing I am striving to hone.  Since many of the Masters of Art painted still life and crated this dramatic effect, I can use their same technique only with a camera instead of a paint brush.  They didn't become experts in a day and there was trial and error.  They painted and repainted and learned.  Same for me.



 

When the kids were little we bought a book called Bear and Bunny Grow Tomatoes.  It is a lovely little picture book about one animal who takes their time to get their garden ready and tenderly grow their plants and the other who dreams big and lives for fun but doesn't put in the work.  Once reaps a harvest.  We lovingly refer to John as one of the animals.  

"Your such a stereotypical white soccer mom" my kids say to me when I say that I've been to the pumpkin patch.  Maybe so.  I raised three white kids who all played soccer so I guess I fit the bill.  And yet there is more to a pumpkin spiced latte, wellington boots, a scarf and vest snapping photos of large round pumpkins in a bin.  I come to the patch for photos yes.  But because like long ago when painters painted fruits and wine still life paintings, I can admire the subtlety of the differences in the form of the pumpkins.  I like the way the fog settles in among the orange globes in the field of dying vines sending vapors of mist curling along the tendrils.  The variations of color from creamy white Lumina pumpkins to the grey sage Jarrah dale pumpkins and then the range of orange from soft peach fairytale pumpkin to the vibrant burnt orange of sugar pumpkins all create a stunning montage for me. One thinks of pumpkins and sees only fall décor but I see more than just a pretty decoration.  They are unusually complex.  I can run my hands over the surface of a pumpkin but I can't close my eyes and describe it.  They aren't necessarily round or smooth.  There are imperfections and variations of color along with bumps and ridges and sizes.  To grow them, you need patience as with all plants and room, lots of room for their tendrils and vines.














 

Green vines trail along arbors and off cement tables.  Light filters through green glass windows.  Isles of pavers indicate walkways throughout. Wood trim painted white. Doves in wooden bird aviaries coo to each other.  Pops of vivid red and pink geraniums spill from the green foliage. A white Grecian statue, a fern as a center point, antique terrariums, and terra cotta planters are understated features among the healthy and varied plants.  As I step onto the property my eyes feast at vignettes of the offerings.  I feel as if I have entered another time, or have dropped my worries off.  The greenhouses at Christianson's are dreams, imaginations, transporting me to a slower pace. Each little turn delights me and I wish and dream of a smaller version of a greenhouse like the ones I find a Christianson's Nursery.  I can imagine puttering in the rich soil, planting tomatoes starts to get a jump on the season or keeping my geraniums alive during the cold winter season.  I imaging breakfasts of coffee and croissants in the early spring in the warmth of the greenhouse as buds start to swell on the plum and quince trees outside.  The fresh smell of growing plants makes me breath deep and find a quiet spot to just sit and write or to pour through plant catalogs.  I dream of fairy lights at night with slow jazzy music and wine, relaxing with friends as we talk about hopes and dreams, sharing our fears and worries, encouraging words flowing and building us up. I realize that this spot, so unassuming is a sort of friendship that wraps around me as soon as step out of my car and I make a trip at least once a year to dream and be inspired.