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“There's always a fresh perspective to be found, even in the most familiar places.” —Jennifer Carr

I need to walk after most every meal as a way to help regulate my blood glucose (it’s a whole thing to live with a genetic predisposition to diabetes and try your very best to prevent the development of this disease). As a result, my husband and I spend a lot of time walking around our neighborhood. We wave to regular walkers in our neighborhood and know the names of all of their dogs (hello, Webster, sweet labradoodle). We watch as parents teach their kiddos to ride bikes. We notice when folks make home improvements or move away. We see the same Sugar Maple Tree on DeVonne Drive turn vibrant red and orange every fall, and every fall we stop in wonder beneath this glistening canopy. Sometimes we need a dose of novelty and take to the road, but most days we are comforted by this simple routine of a walk around the block.

The pride and care our corner neighbors take in painting their little shed like a country cottage, wheelbarrow propped to the side, door left unlocked. Evidence of thoughtful gardeners. They way our next door neighbor carved an old tree stump to form a pedestal for a pot of flowers. Faithfully filled with annuals to match the season. This marker, a tiny art installation, we have passed each and every day for 4o years. The homeowners on the next street over who have a glorious pear tree in their front yard. We have not met these neighbors, but we always stop to marvel over their tree. The fruit drops to the ground, a feast for the insects and birds and squirrels. I don’t know if the deer who roam our neighborhood like to eat pears. If they had been home when I took these pictures, I would have asked if I could pick a few pears. Maybe next time around.

The Book About Summer

I am working on a collection of summer images for a photo book I am tentatively calling A Virginia Summer. I’ve been building the book all summer long, using the MILK photo books editor, swapping pictures in and out, trying to see how the images relate to one another and how the story might unfold. Edit ruthlessly. Change up photo sequences. Look for connections. Leave room for the unexpected. This is work that does not feel like work.

You can find the book-in-progress over on my PROJECT page under the heading, A Virginia Summer. I still have some editing to do. Maybe some writing. I’d love to add some little element of surprise. I’m considering leaving a blank page for a tipped-in image (Yes, this is another book vocabulary word. A Tip In is a printed sheet inserted into a book by gluing or stapling it to the back edge of an existing page.) I’m hoping MILK will have a Black Friday sale and I can print my book at a discount. (Really, the quality of these books is phenomenal!)

I’m deep in a book, My Friends by Fredrik Backman. My friend Cathy said she loves this book, and since I love her style, I figured I might love the book, too. (Her blog, Knee Deep in Weeds, is one of my all-time favorites. She shares her life authentically, with gorgeous photography, and never tries to “influence me” beyond a gentle book share.) I won’t spoil the story, but so far, it’s about the friendship between three teenagers and a painting, The One of the Sea. This photo, taken at Westmoreland State Park, reminds me of the painting in the story. Where families are formed by the friendships we forge.

I’m keeping a list of my favorite lines from the book. Here are a few:

He was good at seeing the beauty in everything. That happens if you’re no good at seeing it in yourself.

With kind eyes and a tender smile.

Art is empathy.

There are beautiful things that are free.

Someone else needs to think something first so they’re allowed to know what they love.

His heart reached out to them like a plant reaching for the sun.

Life is Art When . . .

. . . the film scans arrive. It’s like opening a surprise from a friend who knows you deeply.

Beneath the Umbrella, Riverview Motel, Colonial Beach, September 2025

. . . the barista calls me sweetheart and I almost cry with joy for the simple kindness.

Crab Apple Tree, Colonial Beach, September 2025

Monroe Bay, Colonial Beach, September 2025

. . . my cheeks flush and I cannot hide this physical trait. I wish I could wear a sign that explains. I blush with joy and enthusiasm, when I am deep in thought and excited about a new idea. I blush with shame or embarrassment, too. But more often, I flush when someone connects with me and shows that they see me, all of me, even when I thought I was hiding those parts so well.

Add Water, Richmond, September 2025

Mellow Yellow Pumpkins, Toano, September 2025

. . . I sleep with the windows open and the chill in the autumn air swirls around me, but I am warm and cozy beneath the down blanket.

Ghost Sign, Williamsburg, September 2025

Pumpkin Oldsmobile, King George, September 2025

. . . the acorns have been falling for days from the big oak trees in the front yard. They sound like the captions from comics when they hit the roof. BOOM! BANG! KAPOW!

By-the-Pound, Toano, Septbember 2025

Mops Hanging to Dry, Williamsburg, September 2025

. . . again, the film scans arrive! And even though I worried that the pictures would all be out of focus because of my old eyes and the manual focus thing, they look pretty good. And I remember why I love film and Kodak Portra in particular. And even when some of the pictures were taken in both digital and film format, I still love the film versions best. Because they are not perfect. So far from perfect that the distance separates them to a whole different category where comparison is no longer necessary. It’s okay to love what I love. No explanations needed.

Slow Down, Do Less, and Rest

I walked the farm again this morning, but this time the skies were overcast. I squatted down many, many times to take these photos (and the 100 others that are not shared here). For the first 10 or so squats I stood back up easily. But by the 20th time, I needed a few work-arounds. To my husband: Here, you take the camera and then I will stand up. And by the 40th squat, Okay, you’re going to have to help me stand back up. I can do lots of mini-squats but these full squats where I need to be to take pictures . . . well, they are getting tricky. But this does not make me sad. Instead, I revel in my own resourcefulness. How can I modify this activity so that I can still participate? This is the physical therapist part of me—the part that loves to solve problems. I try to take my own advice. Slow down. Do a little less. Rest. Which seems like a lovely approach to life at age 65.

I couldn’t decide what to write to accompany this post. Other than the obvious . . . Here are some more pumpkin pictures . . . I wish you could hear me giggle.

Pumpkins in Watermelon Box, Braehead Farm, September 2025