Because of the pandemic, I didn’t go to the Farmers Market very often this year. But on the day before Thanksgiving, I unexpectedly found a a few farmers set up selling produce in Hurkamp Park. I stopped to talk with one of the farmers. “It’s been slow today, not many people stopping by.” When I asked if I could take a few pictures, he beamed with pride. He led me around his booth, pointing out each item, telling me about vegetables, fruits and nuts in the same way a parent brags on their children. I said I didn’t want to keep him . . . he was ready to pack up for the day. But he was insistent I stay and take pictures of every little thing. It made me so happy to make him happy.
In the world of photography, it’s fairly easy to get lost in the crowd. After all, we live in a picture-taking world, often super-saturated with visual imagery. Whenever I question my craft or doubt my vision, I come back to this place—where pictures are connections. And connections are all that really matter. How many of these small connections stay with us? Sometimes they meld into the background and simply become a small part of who we are. But sometimes they surface with incredible clarity, power and presence. The friend that reached across the desk to hold my hand when I found out I was miscarrying. Or the time my husband, before he was my husband, walked miles in the snow from his home to mine, just to see my face and give me a hug. The times my sons smile at me and I see my own father’s smile beaming back at me. It is no small thing to see what is right in front of me.