Uniquely Yours

August 30, 2023 by Donna Hopkins

When I asked my husband what he thought of the picture of the floating log, taken from the pier over the Rappahannock river, his answer was “meh.” He couldn’t really tell what it was a picture of (even though he was standing beside me when I took it). But he loved the photo of the old El Camino. And it’s okay that he doesn’t like or understand every picture I make.

Maggie Smith’s Pep Talk was just what I needed.

“You’re not for everyone. Your work is not for everyone. So be it!

Whatever happens to your work when you send it into the world, with its sometimes treacherous landscapes, is none of your business, really. You made the thing, and now people can make up their own minds about it. Will everyone love it? Probably not. Will everyone hate it? Also, probably not.

But do you love it? Are you proud of it? Do you stand behind your choices? Have you made something uniquely yours?

Be for you first. Create for you first.

You’re not for everyone, but the people you are for will find you. Just keep going.”

Fruit Season

August 24, 2023 by Donna Hopkins

It is an absolute truth that when I am bored and don’t know what to photograph, I almost always take pictures of fruit. In a garden, an orchard, a field, a farm, a bucket.

As I was taking the picture of the mashed blackberry on the dirt path at Snead’s Farm, a little girl walked up to me and politely asked what I was taking a picture of. Her mother was nearby and gave me the go ahead to engage in conversation with this curious 7 year-old. I explained that I was tired of just taking pictures of blackberries and trying to come up with a new way to see the berries. I told her that the squished blackberry reminded me of the very best part of summer—the hot, sticky and sweet part. She agreed and went on to tell me that she had a camera, too. Her two little brothers joined us and we all took turns taking pictures with my camera. It made my day to share something I love so much.

There was a bumper crop of blackberries this year. And the figs are just ripening. The peaches have been mostly picked, and what remains is the sweet mush for the bees.

What Counts

August 23, 2023 by Donna Hopkins

A little bit like a sketchbook. A little bit like a notebook. A little bit like a diary. Photos live here, telling the stories of every day life.

We disagree and sometimes we argue. We say hurtful things we don’t mean. We rely on old patterns, well-worn and wired tightly. There is no question—we will pull apart at the seams. But what’s really important? It’s always the repair. We bring edges side-by-side and mend. That’s what counts.

Ocean City

August 18, 2023 by Donna Hopkins

My parents worked very hard in our family-owned seafood restaurant, Parker’s Crab Shore, and seldom were able to take much time off from work. All of my growing up years, Tuesday was their only day off from work. My Aunt Shirl and Uncle Bobby had Thursdays off. Uncle Cal and Aunt Alva took Wednesdays. And as far as I can recall, Grandma and Granddaddy (Big Head and Dot) didn’t take any days off. But they were determined we have something akin to a vacation. They would load us in the station wagon, in the early morning dark hours, and make the 3 hour drive to Ocean City, Maryland. We stayed the whole long day, packing an entire vacation into one day, so they could be home for work the next morning. There was little debate as to our itinerary, because we all agreed on the list. Swim in the ocean. Ride the rides. Play games of chance and win a prize. Eat—caramel corn, ice cream, hand-cut fries, a Taylor Pork Roll sandwich, fried chicken. Walk the boardwalk and shop for an M. R. Ducks t-shirt. We begged to take home a hermit crab (the answer was always NO!) and tried to talk Mom and Dad into buying something called an invisible dog (which was truly a stiffened leash with no dog attached!). Sometimes we worked in a game of putt-putt golf or a ride through Assateague Island to see the wild ponies. And some years we stopped on the way home to visit Aunt Flossie and Uncle Bradford who lived along the way on Virginia’s Eastern Shore. We’d arrive home at midnight—sticky, hot and tired, and thoroughly satisfied.

When my husband and I took this little getaway to Ocean City last week, it wasn’t about nostalgia or trying to recapture the past. It was a kind of tribute to the people who love us and the many ways they show that love. It was an understanding that most of us do the best we can, and figuring out how to belong, how to love and be loved, is our life’s work.